women and relationships

 

Not bedding, but a “relationship,” is what women seek. And in this difference it is impossible to fail to acknowledge a distinct superiority of the feminine sensibility, however cantish this may sound. Whereas men are overwhelmed by the strong pulsations of the body, women remain free to bestow a wider meaning to the corporeal elements of the erotic. The erotic does not end in spastic contractions and reflex discharges; it transcends them, to reach into the ethereal realms of memory and feeling, like a note that reverberates long after the string has pulsated.

Woman may resort to her body in ways congruous with her aims and in a fashion is apt to be ranked as “manipulative.” But only when she is long remembered and continually desired, as if by a cyclically renewed, ever kindled thirst; only when her image fills to capacity the consciousness of the man she has chosen, and stretches temporally beyond the meager boundaries of physiologic immediacy; only then does she claim to have won. When her immanent presence projects across time and space to leave a profound impress on another being: then she has “scored.”

Life..colors…black and white …………

 

I remember

growing up

and the idea

 was floated

 by me

about life

being

choices between

black and white

hell

I was

just a kid

did not know

life was not

just a vibrant array

of colors that were

found in my coloring box

then guess

life happened

and you realize that

there are choices

what seem to be

black and white

which friends you chose

which love you pick

which school you go to

and I did paint part of my life

in black and white but with hues

and now

watching my Mom

slowly succumb to the second

bout of lung cancer

where she

 has now chosen

what appears to be

a black and white choice

refusing more

chemo or radiation

let the cancer take its course

she has less

then a year now

that yes maybe they were right

so many moons ago

sometimes life is really

a choice of black and white

and yet I live

 in the shadows and hues

of a grey period

in my life

right now

He dug so deeply

 

“He dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing, and that was how in the ripeness of autumn she began to believe once more in the youthful superstition that poverty was the servitude of love. Both looked back then on the wild revelry, the gaudy wealth, and the unbridled fornication as an annoyance and they lamented that it had cost them so much of their lives to find the paradise of shared solitude. Madly in love after so many years of sterile complicity, they enjoyed the miracle of living each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs.”
— Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude) 

 

I can listen no longer in silence

 

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening or never.

Captain Wentworth to Anne Elliot”
— Jane Austen (Persuasion) 

Runaways are romantic

 

 

“Runaways are romantic. The girls are waiflike with dyed ratty hair and baggy pants. They usually own a stray dog of the mutt variety and drag it along by a rope, plopping down in front of storefronts to beg for money from passersby. They’re a mess. It is likely they’ll charm you, make you think you’re their best friend and savior only to end up using you and then they’ll disappear. That’s why they’re romantic. They’re there and then they’re gone. Romance is always about people appearing in a flash out of nothing or people who are there and then suddenly are not. A magic trick.”
— Bett Williams (Girl Walking Backwards) 

when you do face your dark side…

you were not born a butterfly or a daisy. you were born at the top of the food chain, and innocence isn’t an option.

you don’t get to be perfect. you don’t get to be pure. you don’t get to live in a world where everything you do is righteous and respectable. that’s not this world. and maybe not even the next.

but along with your opposable thumbs you were given the ability to reason. you were granted the capacity to see into the pool of human experience and, from the very tip of your finger, drop a bit of your Self into that place where darkness reigns. your Self, your beautiful Self falls into the blackness where greed, ignorance and cruelty swirl. and, for a tiny moment, the ripples of your being – your wisdom, your awareness and your light expand in circles, stirring the waters, creating a space for all that’s good in the world. and then, when the ripples fade and the surface settles, the blackness returns and in it is your own reflection.

so, what are you then Little One? are you merely an insignificant drop in the human experience? or does everything you do carry such weight that you cannot step carelessly, even for a day?

are you part of that great spiral of good and evil, black and white, stars and darkness?

yes.

and to really live in this world, you have to get right with the wrong things you do. they are only a part of the whole. they are the reason you do good. they are the mirror for your righteousness.

be bad sometimes, woman. and then be really good. and then, just be.

and when everything settles and you think that all is lost in darkness, your beauty, having reached the farthest shore, will come rippling back to you.

 

 

You are beautiful to me Little One

Masks..and Mardi Gras

 

not sure why I was thinking of Mardi Gras.and Masks .today but my mind is a scary amusement park…might have been the Louisiana hot sauce I had last night…so on that note……

Mardi Gras is French for “Fat Tuesday” the day before Ash Wednesday when Lent, the traditional period of penance that precedes Easter, begins. The origin of “Fat Tuesday” is believed to have come from a pagan custom of parading a fat ox through the streets before a period of fasting. The celebration surrounding the parade was filled with excessive eating drinking and general bawdy behavior before the fast.

Masks have been part of human celebrations since primitive man picked up an animal head and put it on to act out the hunt prior to sharing in the bounty of the kill. Their use grew from these simple celebratory stories to the telling of stories of creation, ritual practice, use in theater, opera and dance. Masks tend to carry within them the stories of the cultures from which they originate as well as reflect the tone and theme of the ritual celebrations of life for which they are used. The masks of Mardi Gras carry this history as well.

Carnival masks and Mardi Gras masks have their origins in ritual celebration and the tradition of disguise for the mingling of classes, the ability to engage in deviant behavior without retribution and the representation of the celebratory themes. For example, many of the masks in the Swiss Carnival celebration are drawn form the rituals of putting on frightening masks, grabbing a drum and a bunch of cow bells and running down the mountain side to scare away the spirit of winter and bring in the spring.

Mardi Gras has a 300 year history in the City of New Orleans and is rooted in the French affinity for masked balls, royal ceremony and public entertainments. French culture finds itself married to the African culture’s attraction to ritual art, rhythm, mask traditions, dance, spirit and soul. Mardi Gras, the Carnival of America, is the largest masked part on the continent.

The tradition of wearing masks at Mardi Gras has evolved since the late nineteenth century. Originally the use of masks was considered a diversion for poor people and the reputation of especially women who wore masks during Mardi Gras was in question. Today the wearing of Masks in Mardi Gras is widely practiced by all. The Mardi Gras mask and costume allow the wearer to transcend his or her daily life in a mass of others who are doing the same thing. The transcendence is the magic and power of the Mardi Gras celebration.

On the Subject of a Crummy Childhood and playing the Parent Blamer game

Dear Parent Blamers…………….
I think I have three words here…”Just stop it”
It’s sad and pointless. And for the rest of us innocent bystanders… very annoying.
To be completely honest, we’re sick of your whining, your complaining, your anger, your victim mentality and your inability to see that your current attitude (not some historical event) is your biggest problem. We’re also sick of you blaming your (current) bad behavior on your parents. What’s standing between you and success right now is YOU. Not your folks, not your history… you. And the fact that you think THEY have sabotaged your life and are somehow responsible for your (current) stupid behaviours and less-than-desirable outcomes, wreaks of denial, immaturity and delusion.
Yes, we all get that your childhood, or parts thereof, sucked – welcome to the world’s largest club…been there done some of that myself
We also get that your old man was periodically a completely insensitive, uncommunicative *%#@* at times. Sadly, that’s what (many) fathers do. And yep, we know that your mother was a selfish cow that time when you were in the eighth (and ninth and tenth) grade; it happens.
Okay, let’s be honest and blunt… some parents are crap. And yes, many of us have been hurt – physically, emotionally and/or psychologically – by our parents. I am not suggesting that you deny your past, but I am suggesting that you don’t live there. It’ll kill you. In so many different ways. Some people have been inhabiting the seventies and eighties and re-visiting their childhood for the last few decades.
No matter how much you think your parents deserve your anger, vitriol and resentment, I’m telling you (1) it serves no positive purpose (2) it will hurt you more than them (3) stop being a big, immature, stupid baby and (4) you and only you, are responsible for your current reality – no matter what your parents have or haven’t done to you, or for you.
Even though you may have a very good ‘reason’ to be eternally pissed at your folks, I’m saying let it go anyway. Move on. And it’s not about what they do or don’t deserve; it’s about what you deserve. If you want to destroy your potential, your enthusiasm, your optimism and your hope, then become a chronic Parent Blamer. Hang on to that hurt, no matter what!
Or you could let me save you some serious time and pain and just believe me when I tell you that being a parent Blamer is a pointless, destructive, pathetic waste of your potential and emotional energy. And if you’re not careful, a waste of your life. It will destroy you from the inside out. It’s true; some people will die angry, bitter, resentful and tortured souls because they never found a way to let go of the self-perpetuated – yep, read that clearly, self-perpetuated – misery. When you’re still desperately holding on to emotional crap from years ago, it’s YOU that’s the problem. When you’re twenty five, thirty five or fifty five and you’re still thinking, talking and behaving like a teenager who’s mad at their parents, you need a big reality check.
The only thing you can change about the past, is how you let it affect you now…cause as hard as it is to admit life is a terminal illness..and you need to let go..to grow..be healthy and finally take responsibility with that part of your life you control..now..the life sans your parental control as a fully functional and hopefully well adjusted…adult…

You may wanna read that again.

Peace…. Eros

the artistic poetry of Alfosina Storni

 

Artistic expression is greatly valued in South America. South American poetry has been interwined with the history and politics of the land from very early on. Great poems inspired, documented and celebrated revolutions across the region and are still remembered today…so from time to time and with my long term affinity and having grown up in Latin America I am compelled to hopefully share some new poets with all of you..so allow me to introduce you to….Alfonsina Storni
Although she was born in Switzerland, many Argentines consider Alfonsi Storni one of the great poets from Argentina.
While she was known for her work focusing on the repression of women by men, she is just as famous for the work before she died. Struggling with breast cancer, she often wrote about being drawn to the sea.
She sent her last poem Voy a Dormir (I Am Going to Sleep) to the La Nacion newspaper and the day it was printed she committed suicide by jumping into the ocean in
Mar del Plata… but many Argentines perfer to say that walked into the sea and kept walking until she drowned..a bit of a downbeat ending to her life..following hat tragic poet./.syndrome but nonetheless a wonderous talent…PS..words flow better in Spanish….then the back translation..always been my experience so those who can read in spanish an extra delight to read in her native tongue (Photo modern day Mar de Plata..in Argentina)

Voy a Dormir….

Dientes de flores, cofia de rocío, manos de hierbas, tú, nodriza fina, tenme prestas las sábanas terrosas y el edredón de musgos escardados. Voy a dormir, nodriza mía, acuéstame. Ponme una lámpara a la cabecera; una constelación; la que te guste; todas son buenas; bájala un poquito. Déjame sola: oyes romper los brotes… te acuna un pie celeste desde arriba y un pájaro te traza unos compases para que olvides… Gracias. Ah, un encargo: si él llama nuevamente por teléfono le dices que no insista, que he salido…

English Translation….
Teeth of flowers, hairnet of dew,
hands of herbs, you, perfect wet nurse,
prepare the earthly sheets for me
and the down quilt of weeded moss.

I am going to sleep, my nurse, put me to bed.
Set a lamp at my headboard;
a constellation; whatever you like;
all are good: lower it a bit.

Leave me alone: you hear the buds breaking through . . .
a celestial foot rocks you from above
and a bird traces a pattern for you

so you’ll forget . . . Thank you. Oh, one request:
if he telephones again
tell him not to keep trying for I have left . . .

she saw all struggles

“she saw that all the struggles of life were incessant, laborious, painful, that nothing was done quickly, without labor, that it had to undergo a thousand fondlings, revisings, moldings, addings, removings, graftings, tearings, correctings, smoothings, rebuildings, reconsiderings, nailings, tackings, chippings, hammerings, hoistings, connectings — all the poor fumbling uncertain incompletions of human endeavor. They went on forever and were forever incomplete, far from perfect, refined, or smooth, full of terrible memories of failure and fears of failure, yet, in the way of things, somehow noble, complete, and shining in the end.”
— Jack Kerouac