the worse part of wondering

 

 

“The worst part is wondering how you’ll find the strength tomorrow
to go on doing what you did today and have been doing for much
too long, where you’ll find the strength for all that stupid running around, those projects that come to nothing, those attempts to escape from crushing necessity, which always founder and serve only to convince you one more time that destiny is implacable, that every night will find you down and out, crushed by the dread of more and more sordid and insecure tomorrows. And maybe it’s treacherous old age coming on, threatening the worst. Not much music left inside us for life to dance to. Our youth has gone to the ends of the earth to die in the silence of the truth. And where, I ask you, can a man escape to, when he hasn’t enough madness left inside him? The truth is an endless death agony. The truth is death. You have to choose: death or lies. I’ve never been able to kill myself.”
― Louis-Ferdinand Céline

why the internet is like a penis

It can be up or down. It’s more fun when it’s up, but it makes it hard to get any real work done.

In the long distant past, its only purpose was to transmit information considered vital to the survival of the species. Some people still think that’s the only thing it should be used for, but most folks today use it for fun most of the time.

It has no conscience and no memory. Left to its own devices, it will just do the same damn dumb things it did before.

It provides a way to interact with other people. Some people take this interaction very seriously, others treat it as a lark. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what kind of person you’re dealing with until it’s too late.

If you don’t apply the appropriate protective measures, it can spread viruses.

It has no brain of its own. Instead, it uses yours. If you use it too much, you’ll find it becomes more and more difficult to think coherently.

We attach an importance to it that is far greater than its actual size and influence warrant.

If you’re not careful what you do with it, it can get you in big trouble.

It has its own agenda. Somehow, no matter how good your intentions, it will warp your behavior. Later you may ask yourself “why on earth did I do that?”

Some folks have it, some don’t.

Those who have it would be devastated if it were ever cut off. They think that those who don’t have it are somehow inferior. They think it gives them power. They are wrong.

Those who don’t have it may agree that it’s a nifty toy, but think it’s not worth the fuss that those who do have it make about it. Still, many of those who don’t have it would like to try it.

Once you’ve started playing with it, it’s hard to stop. Some people would just play with it all day if they didn’t have work to do.

so here is your wake up call and that life thang…

For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken.
It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
–DH Lawrence, “Pomegranate”

They always… do…

there will be men who enter through the back door..a side window..somewhere where you are less expecting it but most needing them…could be a life event..a career intersection..the loss of a loved one..and they show up….

Then you give someone your whole heart and he doesn’t want it, you cannot take it back. It’s gone forever……………………..Don’t say I Love yous that you dont mean..and never love someone who can not love you back..…

Feeling lost, alone, in despair, depressed, incredibly sad. I mean…the sobs that roll out of me are so painful and horrible… you would think someone died…

Something did die though.. That girl you use to be… The one that loved with her giving soul..and now it is gone………….

 

Then you’d sob and sob and sob so hard you couldn’t stand up until finally you’d go quiet and your head would weigh seven hundred pounds and you’d lift it from your hands and rise to walk into the bathroom to look at yourself solemnly in the mirror and you’d know for sure that you were dead. Living but dead. And all because this person didn’t love you anymore or even if he/she loved you he/she didn’t want you and what kind of life was that? It was no life. There would be no life anymore. There would only be one unbearable minute after another and during each and every one of those minutes this person you wanted would not want you and so you would begin to cry again and you’d watch yourself cry pathetically in the mirror until you couldn’t cry anymore, so you’d stop…

You let time pass. That’s the cure. You survive the days. You float like a rabid ghost through the weeks. You cry and wallow and lament and scratch your way back up through the months. And then one day you find yourself alone on a bench in the sun and you close your eyes and lean your head back and you realize you’re okay…and the fucking best news of all..you find you can love again and damn it girl….you WILL

trust me YOU will

Not all eroticism is degrading to Women

ism

There are some areas I can immediately eliminate from good erotic art – those which portray degradation, humiliation, or treatment of people as merely objects with no consideration for their feelings, and those which portray any sort of pain, brutality, or violence in some manner that tries to extol or equate it, or tries to associate it in some positive manner, with sexuality.

Now some feminists regard all erotic art, by its very nature, as degrading women; but I doubt this is a fair assessment, since

(1) Some women themselves who have a good self- image enjoy looking at and/or posing for some erotic images.

(2) Some men who respect and think very highly of women like to look at some erotic art without therefore thinking any less of the women who pose for it or of women in general.

(3) If sex and sensuality are something both men and women can find wonderful and/or can enjoy equally, then I see no reason why art which deals with it should by its nature be one-sided or degrading to one sex.

Some artists even seem to consider some of their work as an effort to elevate in the mind the sensuousness of women, or at least as an effort to capture or portray the sensuousness of a particular woman or women in general. And they do this for the same kinds of artistic or communicative (or whatever) reasons that one might try to capture, point out, or express any human quality, emotion, or insight.

 

I never meta a phor I did not like

How to indulge in one of the many verbal entrees in the writing smorgasbord of life…how I love my metaphors I do..the metaphor…describing something by relating it to another thing is the essence of metaphorical thought…it is one of the oldest activities of humankind (guess what one of the others is…LOL) and one of the most impressive ones when done skillfully. Throughout history, many mastes of metaphor have crafted observations…that are so spectacular they have taken up a permantent residence in our minds….some of my favorites…

 

 A committee is a cul-de-sac down which ideas are lured and then quietly strangled.Sir Barnett Cocks (1907 – 1989)

 

I am one of the searchers…

n, reflecv

 

“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains,, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know – unless it be to share our laughter.
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.

For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.”
— James Kavanaugh (There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves)

what are you hiding my love

“Where are you hiding my love?
Each day without you will never come again.
Even today you missed a sunset on the ocean,
A silver shadow on yellow rocks I saved for you,
A squirrel that ran across the road,
A duck diving for dinner.
My God! There may be nothing left to show you
Save wounds and weariness
And hopes grown dead,
And wilted flowers I picked for you a lifetime ago,
Or feeble steps that cannot run to hold you,
Arms too tired to offer you to a roaring wind,
A face too wrinkled to feel the ocean’s spray.”
— James Kavanaugh (There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves)

Personality…pretty legs and getting a man

 Personality, pretty legs, common sense, or conniving – you can’t get a man that way either. A new hairdo won’t get a man. An old pair of blue jeans won’t get him either. (If they are tight they might get him temporarily). You can’t get him by being good in bed (although it too might get him temporarily), by batting your eyelashes, puckering your lips, or preparing the world’s best bouillabaisse. Being tricky will do you no good. Being tender won’t either. You can be sweet or sour, play hard to get or pant like an over-anxious pup. You can have an unsightly pimple or be porcelain-skinned, share his interest in old cars, iron his shirt, scream, shout, coo, cuddle, be as mercurial as the Mad Hatter or as serene as a ship under sail. Makes no difference. You can’t get a man.
      The reason you can’t get a man is quite simple, and it’s something your supporters won’t tell you. You can’t get a man because a man has to get you. And 999 times out of 1,000, a man is not in an acquiring mood. Unfortunate maybe, but that’s the way it is. You see it’s a big world out there, and there are lots of women for men to love. Not to mention that there has been propaganda to the effect that love today is free….

We Are Made One with What We Touch and See’ by Oscar Wilde

Of course, it’s well known that Wilde’s romantic exploits got him into trouble, resulting in a two-year sentence for hard labour.  He’s better known for his comedic plays and witty quotes than for his poems. This poem has the joyful line; ‘we draw the spring into our hearts and feel that life is good’.

 

We shall be notes in that great Symphony
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,
And all the live World’s throbbing heart shall be
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!

soul mates and mirrors

 

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person that you will ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it.”
— Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia)