Legacy of the Gypsy Girl

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On a very humid summer mid-day, when the sun is scorching hot, in the park, under the cooling shade of a weeping willow sits a gypsy girl; among her other gypsy girlfriends, she’s reflecting quietly, sitting there in her many-layered, many-colored dress which is a little bit shabby and dirty here and there. Her beautiful long hair, fluttering and flowing under the golden rays of sun is a little damp. She’s looking down, towards the glimmering green grass, freshly cut.

The other gypsy girls have formed a circle and are playing one of their many colorful, gypsy games. They are playing the game, very joyfully, with no cares in the world. One can see their dirty, colorful clothes and the shredded layers of their many-layered, many-colored dresses very vividly under the bright, burning sun. they’re playing a game, laughingly.

Our quiet gypsy girl has eyes of creamy, caramel gold; With those creamy caramel eyes she looks through the rays and beyond the little park, right beyond the mountains and through the shattered horizon. She seeks something; Something rare.

The man suddenly emerges out of thin air. He’s big and bulky with a blackened face and filthy hands. His hands are charcoal black and his face, smudgy. He has disheveled hair and is wearing a muddied white shirt; or perhaps a shirt which once used to be white.  He makes his way through the game-playing lot and moves directly towards the girl; our girl.

From afar, I can only witness that very harshly he asks the girl to go with him. The girl just sits there, very indifferently and does nothing. He starts acting all desperate and childish, the girl says none and only sits there. He then does what appears to be very loud shouting because for a few minutes the other girls pause their game and look their way; they get on with their game shortly after. The girl sits even more firmly on the grass and does not move. The man gets hold of her arm and forces her to go with her, she persists. The man becomes a monster. Down from the creamy, caramel golden eyes of the girl, come a few drops of dew and glitter in the golden rays of the sun. her lips, tied.

He pulls her very harshly once more & drags her on the freshly-cut grass as the girl struggles to let go. He grabs her tiny wrists and takes her away.

The next moment, I see no more of her colorful beauty among the greens of the park on that golden summer day.

May 2011

Sexperience

The monastery was somewhere up the steep hill; where all the colorful flags were fluttering in the morning breeze that flowed upwards, all around. On that serene, sunny day one could only breathe in all the freshness that the mountain air had to offer; and so did the young boy while he was making his way through the numerous twists and turns of the path. He had learnt a variety of breathing techniques from his master and was putting them to practice at a moment of need. He thought to himself while doing so that his master would probably not approve of the way he was doing it; that perhaps he was doing the right one in the right place at the right moment; all the young boy was thinking though, was that he had to do them, even if randomly just as each felt right at every of HIS moments. He didn’t have time to think of his masters’ absurd worries and concerns; his master was nowhere near and today he needed no more masters; he simply wished to live and of course to go up the slopes of the hill; right where the monastery was.

As the monk was going through his morning, he was waiting; for the young boy that is. He had a rosary in hand and was somewhere among the beads, chanting. Incense in the air was visible, moving silently at peace wherever it felt like; it was the time for some kind of prayer or meditation or something that had to do with peace and the divine of some kind that for sure only the monk knew of. He was waiting for the young boy whom with such thrill was on the way. He could feel his lively soul coming his way; full of something the monk wasn’t quite sure of, except for the obvious excitement and boyish joy. Halfway through with his ritual and quite excited himself by this point he walked rather swiftly to the door and waited just beside the door where the fresh morning breeze and the divine sunlight caused him to have an orgasmic feeling of love. He could see the young boy; he was almost there.

They greeted in the way which suited each and without any pause went inside the monastery. The boy drank up every detail of the place; it was a very special place, he thought to himself while the monk was just walking behind him in such silence. The monk offered him a hot liquid which tasted like plants and told him that it would give him more spirit, as if he needed any more spirit of any kind, the young boy! He took a few gulps regardless and cleared his throat without further ado.

“Hmm. So, you said you had a few questions.” He said with great confidence, knowing that the monk was not much older than him anyways so there was no reason to be distressed or more polite than he normally would be.

“well, yes boy. I do have a question or two to ask you; and I suppose the same goes with you. ”

“what I don’t get is why you men of religion must always speak with an authority of wisdom, if that’s what you can really call it. How are you certain that I have a question or two as well?”

“I’m only using common sense you see; you can’t come all this way and ask no questions now, can you?”

“I guess not…anyways shall we get to the point? Not that I’m not enjoying this amazing experience of seeing this place and coming here today but quite honestly, I’m quite listless and I just want to get to the point. I feel like a little child.”

“Alright then, proceed. Go on boy.”

“So I guess I’m asking first right? Okay then, as long as we finally get started…oh! One more thing: could you like not call me BOY? It kinda gets on my nerves and all that. So tell me, what’s the deal with sex? Or let me put it this way, what’s the whole deal about not having sex? How can man deprive himself of his most basic needs or better said his basic instincts? How do you guys deal with it? I’m sure no god of any kind would want their people to suffer this way. I can never quite get around the idea of saying no to sex of any kind. What WOULD you do? It’s just insane, the thought of it even! I’m not even one of those sex conscious kind of people you know, but you know…I mean…let’s face it, do you ever like think about it in your many hours of loneliness up here in the monastery? Does it not drive you nuts? Seriously!”

“What is sex, really? Could you define it for me boy? Do so, so I can answer all your questions one by one. ”

“Sex is that sudden rush of blood to certain places which causes certain…certain juices to flow where they should and then hormones and then awakenings and then certain smells and tastes and the many things of pleasure poking at you with such splendid harmony that you feel alive and full of life…full of love and passion you just want to burst and you’re just not there anymore…you’re in nothingness, in emptiness and all the while you’re just filled with something which is just what you desire for and you keep asking for more and more of what you’re experiencing. That’s what sex is dammit!”

“And when you ask for more of this THING that you’re describing, do you actually get any more of it?”

“well that’s just…I mean that’s not even the point you see, because you see, it’s pretty much the ride’s that your after really. I mean a few moments of pleasure and divine passion experienced through another human being…through their body, their skin, their smells and their…god I’m going crazy just talking about it!”

“I am a man of god and when I talk of him I get the feeling you’re describing. I know it doesn’t sound quite as tangible as one would wish but you see, the same energy, the same rush that you talk of, is what I get when I’m with my god; when I’m spending time with him. I take pleasure in his company more than anything else in this world and when I ask for more, I quite often would receive more of his compassion and love for me and I’d be filled with something of the same strange air you’re talking about. My god never lets me down. I use my senses just as much as you do; I smell the sweet aroma of spring and become so alive; I touch the velvety greens of nature and feel bliss; I taste the pure ambrosial gifts of it and am filled with euphoria. This ecstasy is constant just like the ever-flowing breeze of life that never ceases.”

“But have you ever kissed a lover on the lips? Have you ever wanted to kiss someone so bad you just didn’t know where to start and how to kiss…how much to give? Have you ever done that? have you ever touched a lover with all your being everywhere on their skin? Have you ever felt like you know a lover’s body as if it were your own? Have you ever made love to a lover with such passion and desire that if only for a few second you though you couldn’t simply live anymore? Now tell me, have you?”

“I hear your words and that’s all they are to me: words. Are mine the same to you…All I say? I do know what I talk of, I do feel every single word. But I can’t quite understand what you’re saying boy. I do feel the passion in your words, but what are words, really but words? If they cannot show you the love I’m feeling inside, then what are they but useless words? If they can’t give you the pleasure of the existence you could feel next to god then what are they, really other than some alphabets playing the game of confusion so well?”

“But I speak of no words “boy”; I speak of a greater love, maybe you cannot understand my words or what I say, but you can feel them perhaps?”

The monk had never felt so lost and confused and full of something so strange capturing his soul; it was like no sensation he had ever had. He looked into the eyes of the boy, they were flickering with something so bizarre to him…something which was yet so familiar. The boy came close, put them on his lips, his lips; and showed him what he meant; just to get the message across.

And then he knew.

July 2011

Meta-Me Thesis

 

Is there no stability in life? The answer would be either yes or no and either way it wouldn’t make a difference; the inevitable duality of a lifetime.

If I heard the sound of a violin, in the arms of someone who really knew how to play the tunes, I would be overwhelmed and be taken away by the sweet sounds of love and music blown through the air and I would close my eyes and die if only for a moment. Then I would love to be the one who was playing the sweet melody and I would know how to hold the bow and play. But then I would open my eyes and know for a fact that I do not know how to play the violin, which consequently would deprive me of the ability to play at all. Then I would close my eyes again, or would I? with open eyes I would listen to the beautiful sound resounding. It would sound less real but it would keep playing regardless.

There’s a line and there are people waiting. They are wearing clothes of many colors; but they look very sad, the colors are all faded, mostly greyish. The sun is very scorching and there’s an air of sorrow all around. Life has been sucked out of every living being and the smell of gasoline and bitterness fills their lungs. They are waiting in that line, the taxi line, waiting to be carried elsewhere to keep on with their deadened lives. He goes and stands at what at the moment seems to be the end of the queue. He’s looking at their expressionless faces and their speaking eyes. There’s a flower store on the other side of the narrow street. Seems like they’re closing up; he feels the breeze from afar and leaves the line and goes inside. No one notices but a few. After a while he comes out with a bunch of flowers in his hand. Smiling in that green shirt, he comes, walks very slowly as if in slow motion and goes towards the line. The flowers are absolutely brimming with life and color. They are soulful. He goes back and stands in the queue. Everyone’s still waiting.

There are only certain days when an angel would feel safe amidst the wild crowd. With its wings tucked in and its ever-showing smile lowered to a very subtle curve. But that certain light of purity, that glow could never be concealed and it never should. So they would see it, feel its different sensation through their soul and they would care to venture many a guess as it flows through their lives and lifts their spirits if only for a second. The angel knows every single soul so well, except for a few which would remain lovers forever for all eternity probably.

Supposedly the new shoes would fit perfectly; many shoes I’ve tried on before, many I’ve worn and outworn. Many I’ve walked in and walked by. New shoes always do come with a price. If only I had wings, then I wouldn’t need any shoes for I would fly everywhere and never land. But then there’s the valley and the green land. How can not one walk; for all eternity?

To have loved a few or a few more than a few or even a little bit more than that was a burden at times. It also was a very guilty pleasure which would leave this overwhelming aftertaste in your mouth. That sweet taste of a first kiss which would certainly bring all the more determination of its persistence, that’s of the many tastes of the forbidden fruit or fruits. And then there were boundaries, or none. And then there was lust over the many touches and the heat of a burning desire which needed to ravage something. So we did what we had to do and it felt good. The water turned into fire so many times that one could not tell the difference between water and fire no more. There was this huge difference though.

The shiver of a very sordid autumn day kept me warm and made it all feel so cozy and heartfelt. Yes, those autumn days were so long lacked and were the answer to the many questions of this wandering soul. Autumn was my home and even winter knew this very well.

We all did.

November 2010

Elements

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Welcome to my secret garden. If you have arranged an appointment, you can enter right away; if not, we’re gonna have to—sorry, you’re gonna have to take some precautions. Perhaps you should be a first timer, or even worse, an old timer who has forgotten all about the thrill and danger; of the many rules and their perpetual nonexistence.

In the garden of my gathering love, lies a valley of lively lilies which are just there to be appreciated and loved. There’ a long road of old dust and pebbles for tough walks yet to come. The road shall ever be unpaved by the many souls who walk it or try to walk it off.

The sky shall remain as gloomy as a sunny day’s sorrow which is right there under the glowing light, exposed to all those with darkness inside; And then shall the cloudy night bring with it, an air of dark joy, just to light a shattered soul and fill it with a glowing beam of raindrops.

The drops of rain, when they pour or simply drizzle, surpass the many fears of the many spirits that carry them and break the soulless heart of those who are scattered in that trodden ocean of darkened blue and rustic flow. The raindrops have known better in the past; today though, their ignorance is their sole legacy to the rain.

The fire which burns comes in that cold and warms the soul which is very weak to the touch of aliens or lovers or simply any living soul that cares to share a flicker of flickering fire that burns. It talks with the sparkling sparks of the warm glow that it releases into the rainy night and it says things of heartfelt feelings and a warm touch of fire is their gift.

The heat that fills the heart with touching the external soul comes and takes away the shaky heart of a frozen spirit and offers a warm embrace, so that maybe a sweet after taste of sunlight would be the only heritage it has to leave in the empty heart of this soul which has long suffered.

November 2010

Narcissus: Delve or Dive

In the creamy world of chocolate bliss all you’re ever expecting and looking for is pleasure and bliss; that sweet taste of creamy desire melting right there, where it should and nowhere else. The creamy texture touches your insides and leaves places moist; inside your mouth that is. You want to just lie somewhere and be blown away by all the movement that’s happening and recurring inside you, in your soul; you want to be very still.

Elsewhere though, you’d really want to get up, push your way through all the crowds and be left with only one other body and soul; half a soul even and you would like to lick the chocolate off their bare skin. But this time it’s salty as well as sweet; it’s all the taste you’ve ever been after, all your tongue has ever been seeking. You would love to be left with just the taste and that sensation felt beneath your many places, your skin and inside your soul.

The look of something pretty that you die to wake up and see; the sight of that certain something that drives you absolutely into a frenzy where you just want to feel more and more, that’s what you live for. In that place where pleasure is the least of all the pleasure you’re ever gonna receive and where an orgasms is just the beginning; that’s where you’d want to be. Where you can see all you think of as absolute beauty and you may have all the beauty inside, outside.

In that lost world of your dreams where nature itself gets confused and loses her way, its way, you can be still and then move forward and just dance to the music of inner joy. Your heart can be ignited and it shall bring warmth forever and more. You can touch the wind as it moves swiftly through your many souls and many bodies as it swiftly travels beneath your skin.

You would’ve if you ever could have, gotten right out of your own body and made love to that body which has held your soul inside for so long; for only you would’ve known how to make love to what would’ve been left of your soul: the body. You would’ve touched that body in those many places where it would’ve given you all the pleasure that you’d ever known of pleasure itself. You would’ve kissed you if you had the chance, because only you would’ve known how to kiss those lips that are so thirsty for that kiss you hold. You would’ve laid your fingers on that head, between all those locks; for only you would’ve known how lacked, a touch from those touching fingers is for them. Only you would’ve known the many senses it would sense, and only you would’ve known what textures the tongue was to feel. Yes you and only you.

The mirror though, was no friend to you and you had to leave long ago. You had to be where all the other souls were and were nature would take control. You would go places that the wind so harshly would put you through and you would cover all your being because of the cold. It was a long way to that unknown destination where you were headed. And you chose the path to that place; wherever it was. You managed to drown yourself in that surface where that lie began to draw you in. and to have known of the depth was not your intention; you just wanted to sit by the lake and make love to that lover who kept looking at all your being, admiring every single part; all the irresistible beauty.

December 2010

Gay, Straight or Simply Great

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Tom is a boy. I mean he is a man. Uh…no, what I mean is, Tom is a guy. Wait…a male! Yes, Tom is a male as opposed to a female. Simply put, Tom’s gender is masculine and ultimately Tom’s sex is male and he is a sexual person and this means he has sexual desires and fantasies towards people he meets in the course of his life.

Most of Tom’s sexual fantasies include physical and mental images of a female, of a woman and basically a feminine being and of course a vagina somewhere among all the fragments and notions. You see, Tom would love to be the giving end of that end where a woman receives and he knows perfectly how to be that and have the rein of every single detail.

Now let’s say Maria is the possible case on that receiving end. I mustn’t forget to mention Maria’s gender and sex: she is a feminine female and hence, the beholder of many masculine fantasies of rugged images, the least of which and the most basic: a phallic image which for those of you who are not familiar with literature jargon, pretty much means the image of a penis regardless of size. (size is not an issue at this point.)

Maria would know a vast number of things to do with a penis once she spots one; because Maria—as I mentioned earlier—is a feminine female which causes her to crave for precisely that. From the beginning of her puberty—if not ages before that—she has been living with those images, she has developed a sexual identity where she and a phallic image would give vent to their many sexual fantasies and desires.

Tom, likewise has known of a woman’s bosoms and of course something a little bit more on the soft side; simply put, a yonic image which again according to literature jargon is synonymous with the vulva: the vagina. In his many years of living in fantasies, he has always been the one who penetrates and gives and this is what defines Tom’s sexual identity.

Jack though, falls into a very different category. You see, in the world of Jack, things are not quite as black and white as they are in that universe of Tom & Maria’s; or perhaps they are exactly that: black and white or if you want my opinion, simply of one color. Jack’s ideal fantasy includes whatever that Jack himself has never been, but in the way that he sees them as a need, as a lack, a craving. Jack does have possible inclinations for the yonic imagery as much as any other guy, but you see, Jack’s pictures are a bit and at times a lot more than a bit on the rough side, they are rugged and brutal and harsh to the point that it all turns into this fetish and then Jack loses interest in any picture which lacks this roughness (off the top of my head I can say anything that Maria is NOT would interest him.) and well, he chooses a whole other category: one, let’s say, more like Tom’s.

Of course it’s needless to say that the same story is also true of Maria’s case. I’m sure by this point you know the drill pretty well and I don’t have to bore you with a whole other tedious paragraph on that one as well.

Personally though, I suppose, Jeremy’s case is a very interesting one; in that, Jeremy applies this whole other system and works out a very different way to deal with the whole thing. In fact, Jeremy’s many fantasies, his many pictures and images—phallic or yonic or whatnot—are basically regardless of any kind of identity. Jeremy is simply interested in that whole concept of giving and receiving, all sex words aside. Jeremy knows that there is something called sexuality but he does not know of this other thing called sexual identity. Jeremy basically feels the need when it knocks in the form of any kind of urge and moves on.

Now, with all the facts (dare we call it that!) you have right here, you tell me now; Is Jeremy a male or a female? Is Jeremy masculine or feminine? What is Jeremy’s sexual identity and most importantly, what label would you stick on Jeremy? in fact, just tell me, does Jeremy really NEED  a label? Could he not survive this lifetime without one? Without our definition of Jeremy, would he all of a sudden cease to exist? Can’t he just be ‘Jeremy’?

November 2010

Motion of the Living Pinwheel

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It was the busiest street in one of the biggest cities in the world and it was a holiday of some kind. It was night time and all those who had decided earlier in the evening to get out were now bunched up in their steamed up cars, stuck in the ever-still traffic trying to get home or somewhere like that.

It must’ve been the thousandth time that he had warned his father not to take the main street and the point that his father, for the billionth time had done otherwise made the vessels in his forehead triple their regular size and his blood cold. Of course, none of this changed anything when it came to the ever-growing traffic and the dream-like stillness of the vehicles along with their dead-like passengers.

All around there were lights; of many colors, but the warm colors mostly visible: orange, red and yellow. He put in his ear buds while listening to songs at random. This seemed like the best thing to do given the otherwise unbearable circumstances at hand. After getting all cooped up and settled in the back seat his attention was drawn by something on the other side of the broad street; on the sidewalk.

A paper pinwheel turning ever so swiftly and rapidly on top of a plastic straw held very tightly by the hands of a little boy-one would think eight or so-who was running very joyfully and with such passion while holding this bright smile in that bitter cold air.

He could not tell where the little boy’s parents were or whether he was alone or. Because the little boy was just doing one single thing: running! At the highest speed possible for his tiny feet and short legs. He was running because if he were to do otherwise, if he were to reduce speed even a little bit, his paper pinwheel would lose speed or even worse, it would stop turning altogether. Yes; the little boy didn’t want that to happen anytime soon. So he just kept moving and so did his paper pinwheel.

The cars had barely moved ten inches and he was feeling restless. The random tracks on his music player were random indeed. He decided to choose a certain playlist. Nauseous and dizzy at this point, he took a deep breath but right after doing so realized all the windows were tightly shut and all he took in was the stale, smoky air inside the car. He rolled down the back window by an inch or so and kept looking afar; perhaps to observe another slice of life. But then all of a sudden, the stillness present was too much, he experienced a sudden rush of suffocation and felt a restlessness of some kind.

No sooner had his father put the car in gear that he pushed the back door open and almost jumped out. Slamming the brakes, his father turned back, looking alarmed and asked in an angry hissing voice:

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing” He mumbled. “I’m just gonna walk the rest of the way.”

So he took off, walked among the many pretty-much-parked cars and looked into all the foggy glasses at all those still silhouettes. A very happy song was playing on his player; one with a very beautiful poem which he loved. He wanted to go by each car and draw a smiley face on the fogged up glasses or perhaps even write something heartfelt; But then decided to just do it in his head; you see, he thought of this as the more proper thing to do. He walked towards the sidewalk and started walking the miles. He gained speed, his steps becoming quicker by the second. Within just a few seconds he was almost running. And then he really was running.

There were other things in his imagination as well. For instance, at that very moment, he had a paper pin wheel in his hands and then a very beautiful smile emerged where his lips were. He kept smiling and running in that cold bitter night; perhaps to get a little bit warmth and joy; some passion.

August 2011