My Life has become a research project.
Archive for the ‘Poetry & Prose’ Category
My Life has become a research project.
Who is this girl
and how did she come into my life?
I don’t know, but when I’m in my lowest low I can feel her skin against me. In the lowest of my valleys, in the darkest of my times it’s like She’s God to me… holding me close and letting me know I’m loved. In the darkest shadows with nothing else there, she’s there. Who is she? And how did she make it here? I don’t know, but I don’t know where I’d be without her.
How did I come to love her? Who is this girl, and how did I come to love her?
I don’t know, and sometimes I feel bad for chasing after her, but I was struck and pulled… somehow she got a hook in me and she was beautiful, and I didn’t know who she was but I wanted to know… I wanted to look into her and know her.
God, who is she?
But I look into her now and I know her. We’re both scared now and sometimes, but sometimes… aside from the pain and our foolish careless bumbling youth, I see her… I see her… I told her she was beautiful in the dark and she said, “but it’s dark!” and I hushed her and said, “shhh… I see you. And you are beautiful…”
God, who is she?
I love her so much and sometimes I wonder if I keep on asking myself these questions because I’ll never really have the answers, I’ll never really have the words to describe her, the words to explain who she is, deep down. I’m learning to write volumes on it now, in my head, but it’s because I know her, and I want to know her, and for some god-unknown mysterious reason she is the direction of the universe I want to know everything about.
Wow…
Why?
Butterflies are not so much about love as about surprise. Will she? What if? Does she? Really? What if?
I got butterflies today when she gave me a sneaky unexpected I love you! I was taken off guard and I almost forgot to speak for a moment.
I hadn’t goten butterflies in a while. It’s more like a full-body wag, like my soul and my insides and my tail and my ears wag with joy and excitement and anticipation when I get something from her. She does that to me a lot. A lot. more than she knows, I think.
Butterflies are that “Oh no! Does she like me? really? REALLY REALLY?” Butterflies are that “Oh! Be still my fleeting heart! I think I’m in love!” moments. It’s not that serious but it’s the unknown and the promise of love like you hadn’t felt before.
I got butterflies a lot before, and not as much now. It’s more comfortable now, more known now — but I like the butterflies. I like changing things up where she has me fawning over her with a fluttering heart. I like being her dumb-struck loverboy.
Making my hand to do my mind’s bidding is something I’ve had much practice at;
still though, my mistakes fall through my wishes.
The challenge, I find, is not in not making mistakes,
but in crafting joy and beauty out of them.
Making love is tender, intimate. Even with quick motions, it is an experience of being deeply tied to the other person, tethered to their desires and tethered to their self.
Making Love is something only people who are deeply connected can do. it is a love passing deeply through the parts of us that go on forever, and when you make love, you connect and tie and become one with the forever of another person, their soul, the beautiful part of them that simply is, which hides not a thing at all… which is shining clear, and bright, and unique.
“Making love” is called making love because when you see a person that clearly, that crystal, when you see that part of them, you can’t help but love them.
This is so special, because it is so incredibly rare.
None, not even ourselves, regularly see the purist, most perfect of ourselves. We hide behind our mistakes and lies, we hide behind the faces we put on at work and home and around friends and in our hobbies. GBut when you make love, those faces are not there, the othe rperson sees deeply through you, they see the precisely pure, beautiful, thriving glowing pulsing vibrant soul that you are… and sometimes, you see it too. Sometimes you see in their eyes the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen and you’re floored and struck and moved and your heart calls out to them and you wrap your innermost heart around them in the black forever that is making love, and you see and feel it come back to you. Sometimes you feel it come reeling back at you and all the glory of their light wraps around you and spins you and makes you dizzy, and sometimes you come to and you see yourself glowing with the same beautiful light that consumed your senses about them and you realize…
…you realize that they are looking at you with the same beauty you feel for them in that moment and that you… you are as beautiful as you feel their light. Sometimes you realize that you are as beautiful as they.
Making lvoe is so intimate that few can experience it. Few of us are able to expose our most honest, naked souls to anyone other than the one whom we most deeply trust.
This is why it is so special, and so beautiful.
Making love is the kiss, the touch, the lips on your skin, the motions of the body that, against you, cry out with every inch that they love you more than their heart could ever express in the deepest, most powerful of human expressions.
Making Love is God-like.
Making love takes you to a place that created the universe.
Making love is in the same moment the force that is life and the force thatcreates life. Making love is everything that we could ever be in one moment, it is a glimpse into the everything, and we can only reach that view of the universe from the arms of another, from combining with another, from looking through and caring absolutely for another soul in forever; through becoming one.
Through making love.
Fucking is rough, and sensual. It involves being deep inside someone and tasteing their sweat and hearing their groans like the primal forces of animal reproduction.
Fucking is a searing, non-thinking state of mind and heavy breathing and the use of muscles and voice and teeth and hands, it is the desire to cum, and cum hard. It is the desire to get yours and to bring them tearing along with you.
It is the desire to ride cock and fuck deep, fucking is the desire to feel nothing but the moving of your bodies and the tension, the delectable, wild, coursing, searing tension that drives you to move against them, to pull them into you and to press into them as deep and as hard as you can.
Fucking is the state of mind where motions and spaces that would ordinarily be painful drive you to a fiery, eyes-narrowed place that knows no pain, only tension and pleasure. Fucking is the tumbling dark intensity of our bodies that makes us feel like ancient shamans or magicians calling on the seminal forces of this universe to create. Fucking is the combination of destruction and creation; fucking breeds and spills power; fucking is the sort of magic that makes us feel alive.
Fucking is the feeling that we have power over our lives and our pain and our ecstasy. Fucking is an expression of the power we have been endowed in every cell in our bodies.
Fucking is not for the weak or heart or meek of mind.
Fucking, at it’s best, is an exaltation of being human.
It’s a cool night.
I can feel the dark breeze on my hair, on my neck.
The trees are dark shadows against the night-blue sky;
…….their leaves whisper music with the breeze.
The trees talk.
They move their words with the wind.
The grass beneath my feet speaks through the cool blades and it says,
……...“I am alive.”
I am alive.
I am alive, it says. I breathe, I rest, I strain for the sun and I want to survive. Like you, I want to survive.
“I am like you.” it says.
The grass speaks through my feet and the wind touches my hair;
the words come softly, and they kiss my ears (just barely)…
They evade my mind but they touch into my soul
like feathers,
like the tips of feathers whispering into my soul
in the rhythm, in the language of the trees…
“I am like you,” it says.
There is a pool of glass on the ocean
and I touch it like a needle on the ground;
There is… a time of clouds, of falling diamonds –
A time of ice without cold and storms without rain.And there has fallen a blanket of cloudy gray,
a scent of lighting – and a reflection on the water.
The sky of broken mirrors,
and a clock with no battery…Today is so much more than just a rainy day.