Waiting for Passion in Reality - pursuing my distractions

Searching repeatedly for a distraction from the tedium, I click and double click at anything, hoping for something exciting - some news, an email, anything; but nothing. I am engaged in almost mindless activity at this time; some what of an insult to my ability. Pursue your passion they say (some what of a cliche; a saying deserving of a hallmark card - those are often discarded shortly after the warmth has passed). Where is the instruction manual on finding your passion? Some passions are more easily discovered than others - some you stumble upon by sheer dumb luck. What if your passion could not even generate sufficient income to buy you a loaf of bread to quiet the growling in your stomach; should it still be pursued - or should it be abandoned for something with a bit more nutritional value.

There are many things I enjoy doing, but to call them a passion might be a stretch; to think I could earn a meaningful living from them - hmmm (let me sleep on that one). I may stand a better chance pursuing water in the Sahara (albeit I may get water in a mirage). So, yeah, I'm here, pursuing the next best thing to my passion; my reality - and perhaps I will make enough money from it to on occasion buy myself an escape from my reality and find some momentary passion.

Pain Killers

I can not escape this pain that I feel
Mind over matter this time matters not
I breathe into the pain to think it away
Such thoughts though escape me
Breathe out and hope it fades with my breath
This pain is lingering and won't let me rest

My pain like a cancer refusing to leave
It stays to remind me of my many deeds
Everyday through this pain I must breathe
You would think by now to this pain I'd be numb
But it stays to remind me that I'm still human

Tomorrow I awake knowing what waits
This pain that resides here, has become part of my fate
I've learnt to embrace the unpleasant truth
This pain is of my making, there is no one to blame
Like the hours of the day, it too will pass
Till then, I'll accept this pain, as what it is
A pain in my ass

Bundle of Irritation

Bundles of joy, they are not. My son is driving me nuts today - though it is not the first time; and I know he is driving Sofie nuts too, she is holding it together; less visibly annoyed than I. I want to sleep, I'm tired - but he wants to play and run around (can't fault him for being a healthy child). But seriously, what the fuck. Have you ever heard the sound of finger nails on a chalk board - yeah, he's that irritating today.

I went to the bathroom and he followed me - fine, I was trying to urinate and he placed his hand on the toilet bowl; J don't do that - he stopped (and gave me that pseudo innocent look - you know the one; it means I'm just prepping for the real mischief); I began to urinate, and the minute it came down he shoved his hand in the stream of my piss (Piss-interrupted; midstream) . Did I tell you at that point I wanted to smack him (that child has taught me some patience) - but instead I yelled (I know I should not have - but it was my first reaction) at him and he took off crying to his mother.

Don't get me wrong, he doesn't always piss me off, sometimes he brings joy, a joy that I have not found words to describe - where I just look at him and grin like at idiot; but other times he grates on my last vein. I'm less patient than Sofie (it's either that or she pretends better), and she too gets to her point of frustration; but she holds it together. Today my bundle of joy is not such a bundle - because he won't allow me to sleep; he is buzzing around like an annoying mosquito in your ear that won't go away despite your many attempts to squat it.

Release

Mouths open widely, but no words are spoken 

Eyes wide shut, the future is certain 

Nostrils flare, the breathing hastens 

Skin is flush, the heart beats are racing 

Muscles now tense, urgently waiting 

Sweat dripping, bodies moving 

Bed sheets grabbing, loins pulsing 

Sound escaping, obscenities spoken 

Climax is reaching 

Moans, grunting, the beast unleashing 

Ecstasy releasing

Ohhhhh Shit! Baby, baby, baby, I'm cumming

Monster girl

You feel is love dat dere

What de fuck

You're just another cut

You get a fuck and now you stuck

You feel is love dat dere

What de fuck

You walked on by, everything look right

I was curious to examine your size

My boy, is not love dat dere

It's just a cut

Your swagger your style, the way you smile

I could not let that pass me by

Doh feel is love dat dere

What de fuck

I only wanted to cut

The way you move, the way you groove

Just sought of put me in the mood

To feel your chest against my breast

My hips and yours they dare not rest

Becoming one, until I cum

And then my boy, we are done

But you thought was love that was dere

Oh Fuck

I only wanted a good cut

Your mysterious allure, I longed to explore

What's at your core, I prefer ignore

Can you work that thing the way you whyne

I'm not interested in making you mine

But you thought that was love

No pal, you block

All I wanted was some cock

Don't need your money, I have my own

I'm not one of those hungry girls

Can you rock my world, make my toes curl

Leave me thinking, I've found a pearl

But no, you thought was love

How is me, what the fuck

Boy shut your mouth and pass da cock

These words she said rocked his core

This macho man's ego now bruised and sore

Some how this time he wanted more,

Than just another girl he scored

Aa, you feel is love dat dere

What de fuck

Baby, you were just a good fuck

Forward Ever

This feeling of distress can't be permanent, much like this inclement weather; it to will pass. The clouds of disappointment and defeat will break and the rays of hope and the prospect of a brighter day shine through.Yeah, falling is easy, it's the getting up part that sometimes proves difficult. But I don't like the view from down here - I'm meant to prosper, to be free, strong, determined like the fowl of the air. So, whatever it takes I will pick myself up, dust myself off and press on. The day is already looking brighter - I just need to change my view.

Disappointed

Every disappointment is a blessing they say - over the years I have tried to convince myself of that saying; but at times I find it difficult to see the blessing that has came from my disappointment. Disappointment to me is a by product of expectations, and I have often said that the best way to avoid disappointment from people is to have little or no expectations of them. However, the same can not be said for oneself. How do you live your life - at least meaningfully, if you have little or no expectations of yourself; and when you do have high expectations of yourself and you fall short of that expectation - what then.

Do you beat up on yourself? Do you say, well what did you expect - do you engage in the otherwise negative emotions and comments that would follow if it were some one else who did not live up to your expectations. Self loathing and doubt is destructive, but one can't help feel like shit when you let yourself down - it's difficult not to feel inadequate. Today, I feel like shit, inadequate and extremely disappointed in myself. I am sitting here hoping this feeling will pass; but it's taking its sweet time. I can not afford the time to sulk - but I do not at this point have the motivation, will power or fortitude to pick my chin up off the floor and press on ahead.

I'm hoping by the graces of the north wind this blessing will materialise - yes, I am relegated to the point of pinning my deliverance from this crappy feeling on the north wind, so distressed am I. Perhaps after a good nights rest, I will wake up re-energised and focused on the way forward from my latest disappointment. Time waits for no man, and I do not have time to feel like this.

No Subject

Every time you call me it puts a smile on my face
I am happy that we are in this space, this place
Where yesterday is almost forgotten
And past transgressions are forgiven
Where together we can grow
And look forward to tomorrow
Where we can say I love you
And reciprocate I love you too.

Silver Lining

The hemorrhaging has ceased, no longer am I on that emotional roller coaster, running into the seemingly growing and shrinking hurdles of my consternation and no longer is the wall of my emotional recession up - what is left of all that are memories of a darker time. Brighter clouds are over head and the rain has dissipated - and with bended knees, hands held high, I whisper a quiet thank you to the north wind for making it through this storm. I look back on some of my blog postings and sometimes smile - but it is not a smile of joy but one of wonder; wonder that I harbored such ill feelings . I sometimes read them and in amazement think to myself - you wrote that shit, what the fuck were you thinking; rather feeling.

Almost six months later I'm here with a different outlook on things and the more menacing, bitter, angry version of me finally in repose. A lot can be said for the therapeutic benefits of venting. As I sit here typing, Schizophrenic Conversations by Staind is playing in the back ground and it is so ironic to me that I had many such conversations over the last few months not realising that I was slowly losing my mind to rancor. Thankfully I was able to find all the constituent parts of my mind in time to keep it from becoming permanently lost to a vessel of misery.

Happiness is truly relative to your state of disillusionment or perhaps perception at that point in time in your life. Ultimately it would seem that a state of happiness is trail and error and changes much like the weather. That being said, at this point in my life - I'm in a good space, I'm happy; so until somebody pisses me off or I have an experience which puts me in a less than happy space - there will be no further dark postings from me. Just musings of the things that bring me pleasure in this short life I call my own and I may be to busy enjoying them to even bother posting about them.

Achilles Heel

In the words of the corpulent rapper Sir Mix-A-Lot, "I like big butts and I can not lie...when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung..." You know how the rest goes right.

There is great truth in those simple words - but as with everything else there are exceptions; I've stumbled across one or three in my time. Though I have a weakness/preference or pre-disposition as it were (and sometimes engage in adulation) for a well rounded posterior - it is not in an of itself the subject of the pursuit. No, the subject of the pursuit rest in the front of our female counterparts. I have yet to come across a song with similar lyrics (perhaps I have not listened well enough) that captures the sometimes gluttonous pursuit of pussy.

I remarked to a friend recently that I loved good pussy - as if pussy is mutually exclusive from the person with whom it rest. A pussy by any other name is a pussy (no offense meant to the literature buffs). Clearly I have hit the height of boredom - I am trying to have a philosophical soliloquy on good pussy. Right! So I postulated that good pussy relates more to good sex than anything else - and good sex is relative to the persons engaged in the activity. It depends on their energy, the circumstances, the balance or imbalance as it were of chemicals in their brains - your connection with that person (momentarily or not). There are many variables that make a sexual experience good, great, or mind numbingly fabulous.

Separate and apart from the ecstasy one experiences when fully engaged in the look, feel, taste and scent of pussy - it really is nothing without the person attached. The experience of good cock + good pussy = good sex is truly dependent on "good vibes" between you and your fucking partner(s). So yeah I love good pussy; but it's only good if the person has some molecule of good in them that I can vibe with. I've been fortunate thus far - I even managed to marry someone with more than one molecule of good in them. Thank the north wind for small mercies, I should be having good sex till the Viagra runs out.

Can I

Can I, Can I have
One more kiss from those sweet lips
Can I, Can I have
One more chance to experience bliss

Can I
Touch her skin, hear her purr
Lose myself inside of her
Can I

But time has past, her strength has grown
No longer can I make her moan
Or can I
Make her quiver in my arms
Relinquish her desire in my regard

Can I
Have one more taste of those sweet lips
One more night to experience bliss
Can I, may I, pleassseee.

Shhhh!!!

What do you want?
I do not know
This question asked, the answer unsure

What do you want, repeated again
Temporarily frozen by mysterious restraint
What do you want, a step, then hush
Silence, a blush
Questions no more

What do you want?
In a hurried rush the answer rings out
I want more

Sophia

She's been at my side through darkness and light 

We've struggled too much, this has to be right

Through laughter and tears, she still remains here

I wonder sometimes, why does she still care

Another like her too difficult to find 

To search for another, I must have been blind

Beauty through out, intelligence unbound

God thank you for the blessing of this gem that I found

Soliloquy

My writer is not to impressed with me these days - that's the conclusion I have come to of late. He/she does not keep me up as much; does not wake me like clock work every 3am; it's just stopped doing alot of things. I suspect that motherfucker prefers me miserable - then he/she has more material to leech off my brain. My mind is quieter, a bit more peaceful.

The fuel for the flame of the seemingly non-stop writing has died down, and there are only so many joy joy things it cares to write about. You know what, I'm not complaining - that fucker better have a coke and a smile and cool out. He/she vex, now it's at my pace - I have that fucker by the balls/puss (as the case may be). It feels good being in control - I have not had that in a while, I will relinquish control of my own dictate (for my personal pleasures). It's been a battle to get here - though the war is not over; I have claimed this battle field - and for now there is armistice.


My writer is not my enemy - we're just very opinionated; I love my writer dearly, without that mofo I would not be here today.

Recovering Junkie - WIP

In a court of law an attorney could claim temporary insanity as a defence for a client having committed the egregious act of terminating another's flame of existence. In the wake of such an act, those left behind bear permanent scares forever etched in their minds, though pushed to the back with much effort; but the memory and the pain lingers on.

Unfortunately the same does not hold water in the court of a relationship - more so not a marriage. A plea of temporary stupidity would on occasion, (rare as it may be) fly - but those are with mitigating circumstances - as dictated by the presiding judge (the madame). I had cause to ponder, albeit briefly on the events that unfolded, imploded and eventually exploded recently (recently of course being relative) and could not help but ask myself - how thick could you be; when did the glaucoma set in?

It is an understatement by any stretch to say that the cocaine high got the better of me - a jumbie run a muck, I was. I'm usually better at keeping the junkie within in check. What was I thinking; was I thinking? I dare say I think not. A good friend once told me that I should judge an experience at the end - the end result. This of course was after a not so hot fete - but at the end of the fete my friend ended up with a girl; so in his mind it was a good fete. Clearly, I am paraphrasing the words of my astute friend - but what I took from it is more important.

So yes; 2008 was not my best year - I almost didn't make it to the end. But 2009 started good, and has progressively gotten better. I wouldn't be stretching it too much if I said I came out of it a better man - I accept that I will still mess up on occasion, after all I am a work in progress; but as with every life experience we learn from them and where we err we adjust and improve.

I know I'm in a better place, because I feel it and I see it - there is something about my disposition that radiates and can be seen and has been noted by other people; that is enough to tell me I'm moving in the right direction. They say after joy comes sorrow; but at the end of my sorrow came joy - and I don't intend on relinquishing it in any hurry.

Curious Bodies

It would appear that my writer has temporarily (I hope) switched gears and is more inclined at this point to flood my cerebral with poetry - at least my version of it - I'm no Derek Walcott; so here goes - again.

Every strand of hair in place
For the unofficial first date
Alluring, taunting her potential mate
The make up is right
The jeans fit tight
She wants him, and will have him tonight

No words are spoken
The code still unbroken
Standing in silence on parade
Not once has she escaped his gaze
They disappear to where no one stares
Entangled now, passion heats the air

Curious touches, feverish blushes
Bodies perspire, their loins retire
The date is now over
With sated desire
They reappear to where no ones cares
In place remains every strand of hair