Fragrance of a flower

A delicate scent lingers in my memory. An exotic fragrance from a tropical land. Warm sand with gentle surf line the shores of the islands in my dream. I am not alone, in this dream. A sensual creature, a warm and sharing lover, holds me. Together we explore, discover and create. We remain connected over miles of ocean, forest and mountain. Our grip is firm, yet gentle. We smile. And continue our lives.

From consistency to sick needs

I try to make it a point to blog everyday. I really want to get into a real hobby, or habit – a good one at that – and be CONSISTENT. My significant word for today.

CONSISTENCY. Preferably, for me to use it as a noun than an adjective, it is defined as a harmonious uniformity, reliability, or agreement of successive results or events. A logical coherence to serve a principle or a purpose.

My lover slash friend and I talked about this today and how I wanted this characteristic applied to our unique and unconventional relationship. I told him I want consistency. He asked me of course what I meant by it. But while asking me that question, he had already assumed (or guessed) differently. He didn’t quite get the meaning of my wont, but I somehow expected it would be misinterpreted. Men easily assume and get sort of defensive (uh-oh I hope I don’t get crucified for saying this). Notably my new friend, an exemplar family man, in our early acquaintance had clearly told me of his firsthand priorities. Needless to say, I will never be the first choice - which to me is sensible and understandable. Regardless, I made him recognize the value of how his consistency would be gratifying to our relationship and to me. After all, I am his "special friend.” And so, our discussion about my needs ended amicably.

Let's be consistent. We do not fail in our regularities. Practice good habits. Need it end, break it to me; just don't evaporate into thin air.

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While most people won't nod at my unconventional ways, ultimately, it is still my call. To put myself in a situation, or a predicament such as this can only constitute heartbreak and a tragic end to the connection we would initially establish (and in this case - have already done so). So you ask, why do it, duh?

It is because I have needs. Selfish, impossible or otherwise, they are still legitimate needs. A person comments that I am traversing on a dangerous path. (Well, not exactly those words in effect, but along those lines.) She opines I want to embark on this assignation (again, not her precise words – but I like to play with my own) to fulfill my sick needs (these are her words now).

Sick or not (NOT, in my belief) I made damn sure I realized those needs. One can only fill her cup if she would want it filled. She would want it filled because she is thirsty. Doesn't that make sense? In simpler terms, if you have a need and you certainly know where and how to obtain it, I say, "Go get it!" Whether or not your methods are appropriate or questionably pure, the desires cannot be labeled ‘sick’. But that's another topic to discuss (maybe next time)

As far as I'm concerned, the politically (mentally?) incorrect phrase, "sick needs" ought to be rearticulated.

Call me sick but don’t call my needs sick…. after all, I only happen to be a living thing.

Of men and truffles

My day started pretty good, and it kinda got stuck.. the pretty good part. Until now.

Why do men yell at their wives? Why do wives yell at their husbands? Why all the yelling in front of the kids? Are we blind? Or are we just so selfish, thoughtless, and abusive as human beings? Do we really have to resort to therapies and popping anti-depressants so we can take control of our emotions? Why are we so angry at the ones closest to us?

I understand the complex human being because I am one. I do like to think I take in life's lessons day by day, or at every situation that promotes heavy contemplating. And yes, we are human beings capable of making irrational arguments. We are all guilty of that. But we can't expect to be acting like loonies everytime we raise a point with a partner/spouse/parent... etc. At some point, one calms down and actually listens. As intelligent, educated mature people, we digest every word. We point out reasons instead of making excuses. At 40 years old you are no longer expected to pout and sulk and say, "fine! you hurt my feelings!" just because you ran out of arguments. Emotional blackmail is so low. Even for pitiful cute women. Women though actually get away with that antic! They do it to their sucker boyfriends because these such sweet and loving men or husbands just bleed everytime they see their poor beloved crying and so vulnerable.

However... a man is not normally known to make a face, although he is more popular to retort (after he's ran out of excuses) such as, "well fuck you... you don't even respect me!" Duhhhh! How friggin cheap! I can't say I've been there, done them shit, but I came to a point where I have ALMOST lost my entire faith in men....

Then from nowhere, without venturing, I met a man. He tells me he can be a dickhead everytime he hears me praise him. He wants me to believe that he is not the "great guy" I describe him to be. But I strongly disagree with him. I met this stranger out of the blue. He could have gotten away with lies that would make his chances actually better (in hooking up with sexy girls), but he had to be a man of honor. He had to be honest. Now how the hell can that be possible? If you want to get laid, you lie - especially if you're married. But how the heck can you turn a woman on if you told her you're married and that you loved your wife dearly? Tell me if that make sense or what?

I try to find answers to that one. Hmmm. Maybe that's the strategy. I don't think so, especially if you're a novice in the extra-marital dating scene. Maybe a dumb dickhead? NOT! He's got graduate degrees and freelances as a magazine writer. In other words (duhh) he is brilliant! Anyone would know that if you write, you are expressive. And if you are expressive, you pour your thoughts and knowledge into a piece so you can share that knowledge. Right?

Swish! Eliminate dumbdickhead. So what's left on our multiple choice question?

Under some weird leap of fate (pun intended) I hooked up with this guy. Mentally at first, later on progressing to a physical contact. I had to test the waters, my scientific hypothesis still in mind. I became more and more drawn to him, then "taken" - the word he actually used - by him. I couldn't help it. This is one of those decadent luxuries you simply cannot say 'NO' to. And boy, was he decadent! Talk about the truffles of men. I had to be the gourmand to try this sweet flavor, no matter what.

Which brings me back to where I started. Are men distinct from each other? Do they belong to the same species or alien form from Mars? Are they categorized according to age, status, upbringing, values, morality, etc? Are they in classifications under married, divorced, single, gigolo, unexperienced, desperately married, desperately single, frustrated, dickwad-husbands, hen-pecked husbands, suckers, mama's-boys, etc etc etc??? Who knows!

But, ahh, the mysteries of MEN kind.... I'm glad I'm a woman, but I'm not glad I have to figure men out. In the meantime... I only want to love them, and I know I can't live without them... therefore I will continue to live life as the contrast, cute, and vulnerable woman all put together...

pout, pout, sulk, sulk... :(

Of skies and you

I wake up and I smell coffee beans. A mocha latte is alluring.

Why is it that one wakes up early on holidays and weekends but struggles on a working morning? Today looks like a lesser of a sunny day than the previous days. Clouds seem to appear gray; definitely an overcast sky.

The past pretty bright sunshiny (need I emphasize more?) two days were prolonged by overcast gray skies in this newfound place I'm in.

You sent me to that place of rainbows and songs; Of starry nights and warm bodies; Of shared laughter and spontaneous explorations; Of tensed meetings and simultaneous orgasms. Two nights of the quest for paradise lost was later found. Two minds meeting in limbo were sent back to where they came from. Two cold, shivering dusks 'til dawns were obscured by intense heat from our joined skins.

I went through the confusion between hot and cold, dark and bright, right and wrong, sunny and overcast, on those two short days and nights. I died and was born in your sweet limited love. I reached the tops of the tallest mountains as we trekked them together. Your body in mine, guiding me, holding me, tightly embracing me to keep me from falling. And as I reached those heights you didn't let go, but instead rejoiced in our prized goal. You hid in my cloak. Obediently, I draped you. As you passionately entered my dark world, I unabashedly sheltered you.

Two days of seeing the sun set at dusk, and hesitantly meeting each dawn, two lovers were formed. Two days of bright and overcast skies, a mysteriously beautiful friendship was born.

However gray the skies are today, as I imagine your blue-sky smile, my wonderment of life will not cease. Instead I come alive to confront each struggling day.

I will never forget the paths of our journeys.

Two days after

My back feels a heavy load even as I lay on a comfortable bed. Could it have been the position I was in? Morning is cold as I scramble for my blanket. The person next to me continues to sleep in reckless abandon. I don't have to stop to think. I think of you. My back aches more. My limbs are dull. I lie down some more. Falling asleep last night while James Taylor's concert on DVD was a good idea. Boy, is he old. His bald head doesn't do justice to his sweet baby james face. But that voice is still mellow and soothing.

Remote controls in hand, I power the DVD player and TV. Ok, let me get pass the new songs. I know, I know, it isn't fair. The guy went on tour to promote his new songs, but hey, old hits are going to remain favorites. Even the audience agrees. Look at them middle aged folks. Couples, actually. As the camera crew studies the audience, I could tell this concert was meant for dating old couples reminiscing the good times... the 70s.

"I've seen fire and I've seen rain... I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I'd see you again. There's just a few things coming my way this time around..."

No shit.

So, where do I go from here? Nowhere. Live by the day. Focus on other things. No obsessions. Feel the ache for now. Pine if I have to. Cry if I need to. But bear with me. Don't cut me off. Not just yet. Let me enjoy the memories of the joy, and at the same time embrace the sorrows that come after.

As The Prophet spoke:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
... When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. --- Kahlil Gibran

I'll remember those words. And my 150mg Zoloft everyday.

The morning after you

Morning is bright, the sun stabs its rays through my curtains. Hungry, I go to my used kitchen. The children were just here, I say to myself. Hmmmm... there's eggs and dirty dishes.

But I make a stop at the mini AIWA. I have been ignoring this one for a while. It's the fucking computer, that's why. I don't have to spend my long fickle time looking for music. I just purchased Jackson Browne's very best album from my recent multi-purpose trip to Anchorage. The new inductee Rock and Roll Hall of Fame - Jackson Browne.

Two CD's of his greatest songs. I don't recognize some of them, I mused. I put CD no. 2 in. Running on Empty plays. I crank up the volume. Very nice... what a sexy voice.

Then ... I remember you.

I go back to my stomach's purpose. I see a piece of pizza on a tray that belongs to the toaster oven. I open the fridge door, well.... there's my bottle of Diet Lemon Coke that I bought from Wal-Mart. The friggin coke is not over yet, I smile to myself. It's come a long way. Coke and pizza, I am ready for breakfast.

But you just won't leave me alone.

Jackson Browne sings more songs. Then suddenly I hear him... "you've got to be somebody's baby...."

No shit.

I see you everywhere. I see every bit of you; each line on your face, every curve of your muscle. I feel you; the softness of your hair and how it contrasts with your muscular hard body. I smell you on myself. Your sweet breath lingers. I hear your breathing as you lay there. With me. With your head on my chest. You make raspy soft breathing sounds as you inhale, more alive as you exhale. I watch you sleep and I know I have fallen in my deepest pit. I tell your sleeping form that I adore you. I close my eyes to study my own feelings. I probably am just fucking desperate, I try to convince myself. But, no. That's not it. I could lie but not to myself.

I love this man, I finally confronted my worst enemy. Myself. I love this man. And it fucking hurts...

A Lover's Song

Note: This poem can now be viewed on my other blog site

http://wildylang2.blogspot.com