Saturday, March 21, 2009
I reached out with an invite to snoop around the halls of your life and you caught me with a nosy nose of your own and signaled me to find my way in.
The first few days were as potent as a summer romance in the city of Paris. Our minds spoke a common English, but secretly I dreamed that we both were bilingual so that our lips could speak a little French. The official language of Lovers. Do you like to teach? If so can you tutor me with this grammar? You probed with interest and I sparkled, like the Eiffel at night. The image of your smile splashed across my face, like morning rain. Baptized in your glory I felt like a saint because my thoughts practiced abstinence. My lust tightly dressed in chastity couture I held back, like a bull in its pen, steaming to get out. The chatter of cute convo has grown up, moved its way out and moved short talk in. Silence has fallen upon this loud party of feel good flirting, but like old folks who wear aids to hear clearly I will turn my ears up volume high until the sound of intrigue blasts sonic again.
Photo Model: Brandi ALexander
Friday, March 20, 2009
Never been a slave to ego but I now realize that when I'm in your company or when I'm composing some form of wireless connection (sent technologically your way), your non-attraction and non-excitement for my life stings hard like an army of pissed off bees. At the moment I am Toby "Yes sir-ing" to ego like it's my master and letting it boss me around like some grade school bully.
A lion by zodiac, but I'm not quite sure if I'm the king of this jungle or just a coward, cowardly traveling down that yellow brick road seeking a solution for my Heartache because I lack the courage to stop Loving you. An answer hunter with a thirst for figuring things out. I wish the Wiz were a real guru instead of some fairytale fraud faking foolish fortunes because I no longer trust the advice of my own wisdom. I envy he who now holds you closer than close; a place that once was mine...Or was it? A maverick I am, all for the fight to win you back. But am I fighting an old war that only I care about? Is the equipment upgrade way too late to boost the morale of a true trooper whose dedication to my life's cause (which at one point) was concrete? Being at peace with what's meant to be is not always easy to digest when the outcome is not what you dreamed it to be. The anger upsets gut feelings like third world food cooked the
opposite way of healthy.
"The hopeless romantic"...Is that just a sympathetic way of quickly stitching up the (many upon many) bad relationships with romance? Is the bleeding of emotion a self- inflicted pain? Is it bad when we make ourselves vulnerable by stripping down naked, exposing all our fears and doubts to an opportunist Lover who has no limits for taking? "Give me every thing you've got including the Heart you keep hidden in that chest on insecure lock." Taking all they can take, until there's nothing left but a bag full of regret and bitter complaints. Does the stain of lost Love on the palm of our brittle hands make us responsible too... Subpoenaing us to stand trial and testify on behalf of our involvement in the partaking of that infamous crime "killing our own happiness"? In order to supply our Heart's surplus with fundamental answers that would reassure our faith in feelings, one would have to: live this life; die; then, live life twice. Even then, there's no guarantee because Love is often moody...
Thursday, March 19, 2009
It sucks when you're forced to not think about the person that makes your world spin round and round until your punch-drunk-dizzy with foolish Love. Birthdays and holidays important to them are erased from the notepads of chivalry and the discreet sheets of a damsels diary. A once long and lengthy to do list full of charming and caring errands are now crossed out...
And not because you're purposely neglecting what's meaningful to them, but because it's what you need to do in order to get over them. I mean, Less than a yard stick away across a quaint little dinner table made special for two. Lit with illume candles, pineapple-plum scented which makes the evening even sweeter....An intoxicated host "the crystal carafe" also known as "the functioning drunk" or "the panty key" stands tall decorating the center piece with it's belly less than half full (because the thirst of lust makes the two of you so parched that you become instant lush) of a perfectly aged, cellar temperature wine. Gourmet food prepared by some top chef lays pretty like a model relaxing on a foreign beach, but its sand is fine china... hand crafted and tagged with the neat signature of the dreamer who built the dream that holds the seat up underneath your cheeks. A grateful date who is not afraid to spend your time and enjoy it...sits with: Honest eyes focused only on seeing the possibilities of how in Love the two of you could be; Pure Patience for your growth like a botanist raising a rare plant; and amazing attention to your unique detail like some crazed OCD patient. Yet all we do is think about you....And why?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
We met at a zoo in a city where the weather's thermostat was right in the middle of hot and cold. I stood in front of a deep blue aquarium full of fish that looked as if they were colored by a rainbow. Waiting on you to arrive because I was one step above being on time..."I was early"...I held a bouquet of mixed berry-flavored cotton candy behind my back like a dozen red roses. As you arrived I kneeled on one knee just below your waistline like it was the measurement chart at an amusement park. I handed you your sweet gift and asked, "Will you be mine?" Blinded by your high beam smile you said, "No silly I have a Boyfriend," then out of nowhere one tear fell from your eye and with a look of surprise you wiped it dry, then started to taste my surprise. We walked and held hands in the imagination of my mind, but it felt beyond real because I could feel your fingers massaging my knuckles, clutched tight between mine. You talked about your day and I listened with joy like it was soul music. My shoulder was tapped so I looked behind us and it was our shadows, all hugged up showing us how we really should be; hand in your back pocket and yours in mine, pecking kisses being exchanged every other... other step we make. You mentioned that he never takes this time and out of nowhere another tear fell from your eye. This time I caught it with the tip of my thumb and placed it in my pocket because at that moment I promised to save you the price of spending anymore tears.........Then I woke up
Photo Model: Brandi ALexander
Friday, March 13, 2009
As a teen enrolled in the school of studying girls, one of the first lessons I learned as a focused student was to always follow "Code." Never call a girl the first week you meet her or act like you don't like her when you really do. Or ladies, don't let him go down on you or else you'll fall deep in Love (well maybe it was some truth to that one..lol.)
I would like to know who is author of these codes? What is it's origin?
Is it Latin like most of our language? I think our current state of failed Love and bad male and female relations is due to the practicing of these awful codes and all of it's million other siblings for more than half of our lives.
So tell me, what do you think?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Now, I am not one to agree with being a vicious dictator or to police the
lives of others, unless that is, they're your children. Children who you've
spent nine hours in labor trying to deliver with no epidural or not enough
of it. Or children who you've worked sixty hours a week for, on a job where
your labor is never honestly rewarded; just to feed their hungry little
stomachs and greedy ass consumer-goods appetite. In that case, rule on, but
let me be human for a second and contradict my previous statement to service
my long overdue opinion on the topic of how pop culture trends can go really
Certain trends to me should be left in the vault of trends history where they belong.
If Hip Hop is the youth's Capital Hill, then there should be a governing body,
a commission of some sort, that controls the trends we decide to green light
or flat out say "hell no" to. Like the latest 80's UK-rocker, skate boarder
look, "skinny jeans," it's like a bad horror flick. Everywhere I look I'm
being attacked. Boys and girls of all races and creeds, and even a few crips
and bloods (which for the life of me I still don't
understand this species of gangsta) have been spotted rocking these sore sights for healthy
I'm not real versed on the history of skinny jeans, but I wonder were they created by some rogue division of government to sterilize men by smothering the shit out of the man sack and it's precious cargo? Or to help women sweat that fat away in those trouble places called the thighs? Either way it is beyond disturbing to see my fellow brothers, who in my eyes are the Gods of creating style, swag, and all the other cool trends in the last...shit this lifetime, fall victim to this awful invasion by the
"Attack Of The Skinny Jeans."
Now, "Brothers!!!" Based on our African genes (by the way real genes) and the anatomy of our bodies, skinny jeans just ain't for us. I mean needing more room to let our nuts hang wasn't that the whole reason for baggy jeans and
starting our own clothing lines? So that we could make the sizes that fit us just right? You know, for us by us, " F.U.B.U." And there's no straighter way of saying this, but accidentally catching eyes with another man's (Pause!!!) is un-comfy and honestly I'm flat out offended by you wearers of these poor excuses for denim jeans.
The fact that you owners of these jeans on a diet could be so selfish to not think twice
about creating a disturbing image for our sensitive homophobic nature
(wait is that a oxymoron?) is real Bush like, just plain "evil." This is why I have found it
challenging to attend ballets. The exaggerated cup on the male performers
makes it hard (Pause!!) to enjoy the show. To the ex-girlfriend who couldn't
understand why I didn't share the same joy for that form of art, there I
said it, that's why.
In conclusion, we are Americans free to...wait let me rephrase that, we are Americans under the illusion that we are free; there's a price for it and we all pay dearly. We are free to define who we are, which is a God given right that we all should take full advantage of. A bag of skittles wouldn't be a bag of skittles if they were all one color. Know when to say no, master being leaders opposed to being followers, and stand on your own two feet. This is why the styles and unique inventions of those who created before us are being jacked left and right like Egyptian tombs because they were original trend setters. Don't get me wrong, we're all inspired, even they were, but the act of inspiration is to build your brick on top of the brick that was laid before you. Your brick can be painted with color, chipped a little on the edges, and even laid different to the side, backwards or standing up right. Point is set trends, don't just be a part of one. This is America people!! For once be greedy when it counts, and stop the
Skinny Jeans was a loved trend, they rocked out on many stages,
styled every Goth kid on the planet,
(and I'm sure a few aliens or two in the far off galaxy) and
caught rail with every skate boarder from the 80's up until now.
Let us hold hands, bow our heads and say it all together, "may they please recycle in peace.".....Amen
To not put anyones narrow-shallow-minded ideologies on blast (because there's probably a nation of them out there, much deeper than the taliban and I don't want that kind of attack...lol) I will respectfully remove the names of all those involved in this here topic (especially my own..lol) So I was having a conversation with a certain elusive species called "Woman." A fine creature, I might add...with an obvious outer beauty, truly favored by God because of the careful attention for her physical detail; pretty black hair that looked as if it never had to argue with a comb, skin colored with a perfect tan, legs carefully designed like a pirates map, but the booty was a little hard to find...lol...
Any who, she spoke, and the words spoken from her mouth revealed a sad theft of inner beauty. She said without hesitation "I will go out with a jerk who's rude to me and has all these other girls much quicker then I will with a Nice Guy to see if I'm missing out on anything." Now I tried hard to not hate and I tried with superhero strength to try and see the logic in what she said, but I'm sorry "That was the STUPIDDDDDEST mess I've ever heard"....lol Is this the new Woman? I thought the women's revolution songs: "Put a ring on it"..."Call Tyrone"..."I Kissed a Girl" (ok maybe not that one) or any one of Mary J's songs was the theme music for the rebirth of the real woman movement. Is that woman now extinct? If so, then The Nice Guy is sure to be at the top of endangered list....(glance at watch)... Like now!!!