A lost relation-friend-ship, from long ago

There was sex, sleep, conversation, and art. There was no love. We did not even love one another improperly.

The art was tired, and made in the spirit of fun. Art is only art when it is expressing an emotion. We expressed our humourous side, with a slice of our inner happiness.Happiness took its foot of the gas occasionally, and the remnants of past glittered with pain in the pupils of our eyes.

The sex was never tired, even when we were. The conversation never struggled, but never went much below the surface. Sleep didn't matter.

We existed this way for months, in between relationships, ex-lovers, and competing friendships. One day it broke, and we may have spoken a total of three sentences each since.

Even broken friendships are worth remembering. Some things that glitter lose their appeal too soon.There is an abyss of lost friendship, and conversations that should have happened. 

Sometimes we dance on the edge of both love and friendship. Sometimes we are too broken to dance.

telltale love

 

A divine comedy dances,

on lines etched into flesh,

long ago by the crimson beauty.

 

A foggy mirror reflects,

beams of radiant moonlight,

through the evaporating tea and milk,

 we used to drown all of our problems.

 

There's no cycle here,

no spinning wheel to,

repeat the same story.

 

There's nothing to reinvent, 

no foundation for this to ride on,

and no carriage pulled by wild horses,

symbolic of our deepest desires and dreams,

now withering and dying in the cracks of love's floor.

 

No heart beats,

beneath floor-boards,

of cryptic, rotting elegance,

to alert the proper authorities.

 

Something is screaming,

deep within my soul however,

and I'm begging for an outlet;

It will die between these lines.

do you still dance?

I wonder what memories revive,

when you touch my hand or see my face.

 

Is what is old new again?

 

Are you lost in pillars of memory,

which impose the will of this broken architect?

 

Do my building still stand strong,

tall,

beautiful?

 

What power emanates from them,

and what force of will overtakes you,

when the sun catches their corners?

 

Do you still dance in the great hall,

of our lost, and broken-down love?

the weight of loved ones

Skin,

eat this water.

 

It is necessary.

 

Warm , salty water crawls,

down chiseled cheeks,

rolling off a hero chin;

no sustenance. 

 

Jets of hot water slap,

my thick hair and blank face,

my skin refuses to drink it in.

 

A ghost walks into my shower,

observing the way I am curled up,

helplessly soaking in chlorinated fire,

no chemicals kill these feelings or memories.

 

The ghost sighs,

unable to affect me.

 

A lonely time,

with delusions for company,

and the weight of loved ones' feet,

pulverizing my fragile, fleeting sanity.

Numb floating

Numb,

floating,

helpless,

splitting the water,

as I drift,

towards nothing,

significant.

 

What matters?

 

The tears,

touch down,

on paved street,

reeking of asphalt,

and blurry memories.

 

It was never enough.

 

Heels echo,

in crowded corridors,

where the rug tries to muffle it,

and fails miserably.

 

Pressed shirts,

dark pants and ties,

a gathering for a fallen,

cherished and loved one.

 

Pain spikes through,

the numb feelings that,

reside in fractured hearts,

pouring blood into your soul,

swelling it with pain and bruising.

 

Life's not easy,

and every loved one,

eventually leaves,

until you leave them.

 

Cold reality,

and I love you,

don't ever forget that.

 

I hope I don't,

leave you first,

I couldn't bear,

the thought of you sad,

on my unworthy account,

my dearest of friends and loved ones.

 

Times are tough,

and they'll get tougher still,

but we hold hands and heart,

and rebel against death the best we can.

 

That's the only way.

a special day

1:03,

and it's a special day,

a big dawn coming for all.

 

We will remember you,

always,

memories of you,

indestructible,

vivid.

 

I remember you smiling,

in no-so-distant flashbacks;

your benevolence changed us.

 

An angel passes,

we must all grow stronger. 

sex, sex, and SEX

Well, now that you're all here because of the keyword "sex" (half-joking…), I'd like to open a serious dialogue about the topic.

First, I believe that we live in a society where sex is rarely spoken about, and is treated as though it's something to hide. If a person speaks about it too frankly, or too often, they are classified as either a pervert or a slut, and sometimes both. That being said, I still talk about it openly, honestly, and relatively often (labels/stereotypes be damned!).

The response I get when I discuss it is usually something sexist. "Typical," most people say, "a guy wanting to talk about sex." HELLO!? Women have sexual needs too, and some of them are not afraid to discuss it openly and honestly, if they trust you. There's some mystifying sexist belief that men talk about sex, because they're the perverted gender. I've had far more discussions about sex with females, and not just because I had a sexual interest in the person I was conversing with (because I know everyone was thinking that was the reason).

As a male in his twenties, I become pigeon-holed the moment I bring up sex oftentimes. As soon as I mention the subject I get the above-mentioned 'typical' response. It's frustrating for a number of reasons. First, I legitimately enjoy discussing sex. It's a fascinating subject, and explains a lot about the person you're talking with. Second, despite the conventionally-held belief, as a male, I don't want to sleep with every girl I try to chat up. Third, sex SHOULD be discussed in great detail, it's one of the most important parts of life (if not the most important, depending if you talk to heavy supporters of evolution and general supporters of humanity's on-going existence :P). 

To be honest, I've been incredibly surprised by a lot of my conversations regarding sex. Some people have zero (or almost zero) experience with sex, well into their twenties. Despite the obvious assumption, some of these individuals are not overly-religious, and are actually attractive. On the flip-side, some of my friends have a vast amount of sexual experience (yes, even some of the ladies too, who aren't "sluts.")

It's always interesting to have perspective into the sex-life of friends. Humans are naturally social creatures, and therefore love discussing things we can relate to. EVERYBODY can relate to sexuality, even if they haven't had sex before. It's rare to find an interesting topic, which everybody can discuss. Interesting + relative + passionate = great conversation. And if there are three things I know about sex; it's that these words describe it well, at least most of the time. ; )

What are your thoughts about sexuality? Are people open enough about it? Do you find people who discuss it honestly and openly? Are you open and honest when discussing it with others? How strong are the stereotypes regarding sex?

to err is human

A raging beast I've become,

crush that rock with my bare palm,

I emerge from a broken landscape,

promises of brighter future dance on,

my blood-soaked, salty, sweat-dripping lips;

too raw,

powerful,

for soft peers,

an outcast thrown out,

of he broken institutions,

of the white towers,

and all their failure.

 

I crawl,

powerfully,

not pathetically,

slow and steady,

an ascent against odds,

far past improbability,

balancing on the edge of possibility.

 

You should question where that places you,

fragile-sanity girls, and broken-ego ex-lovers,

and apathetic strangers who watch the tides turn,

while never being the reason.

 

Tides turn at the will of a tremendous beast,

of power unforeseen since ancient Asgardian myths,

Jotunn, who will not be stopped by the melt of glaciers,

super-nova sun, global warming, be damned for your impotence.

 

Some things will not end,

human,

some thing will not end,

despite your limited imagination,

highlighting all your ineptitudes and flaws,

culminating in an incredible parade of suck.

 

To err,

is indeed,

to be human.

graveyard of your past

You built your present,

on the graveyard of your past,

and didn't flinch.

 

I hope you enjoy the lonely path,

with the ghosts stuck to your ribs,

tearing at your empty heart.

 

The past can't hurt you anymore,

it's paid you back the favour,

you're abandoned,

left with emptiness,

a soul-death.

 

The only thing worse than a broken heart,

is an empty life in an absent world;

you call it home and walk your path,

alone.

I remember a face I never knew

I remember a face,

I never saw,

bouncing around,

in my mind.

 

It bobs and weaves,

ducks and covers,

explodes into my mind's eye,

I can't shake the beautiful face,

of one of my loves,

who I've never met.

 

She stopped me in the light,

scrapped away insecurities,

and stood me back up on shaking feet;

an infant learning to walk on cold tiles,

desperate for feminine approval.

 

Georgia.