smooth criminal

i self-pampered tonight, shearing off my winter wool and massaging oil on the naked parts. the storms here are sharp and stinging, and i couldn't resist feeling it on my newborn self. i stood on the porch, in my favorite blue and green striped long shirt -- the one that falls off my shoulder -- and nothing else. the wind pushed me back and my feet fell apart, and i opened up -- i felt it all. it bit me like ice, but i laughed all the while.


then i wrote this silly fantasy poem (i like to rhyme):


i am determined to find
my spring clean
your sunday-dream
what did you mean?

let's start at the bottom
where my toes are
often forgotten
in your haste to believe


using the sharpest of five 
blades, you say
you will change me over
whisk them away


it tickles when you move
higher and lighter
your smile gets softer
my muscles get tighter


are we there yet?
i haven't felt in years
it's kind of a fear, what
you'll see inside here


ah, but it's lovely!
burnt sienna and crimson
and a secret shy pink
just for your eyes, or so you think.

anything more would be obscene.

sleeping with the enemy

i had deja vu in a dream last night. is that even possible? and i could feel it coming, too. random scenes:

holding a handgun, trying to decide if the safety was on or not
a friend of my boyfriend (jay? jason?) asking, "is this the weirdest girl you could find?" as an insult, of course.
luna eating cheerios
a woman running with her dogs on a beach, and us (?) telling her she is supposed to be in south america.
celebrating my birthday in a restaurant with my 3 best friends from middle school (but who was the 3rd?)

 then i woke up to very loud hip-hop; a stream that had disconnected a few days ago, but i had not closed the window. 

i have trouble sleeping.

read out loud

i am not only distant and graphic in my search for sex-substitutes; i enjoy intimacy, i am sensitive. after some time of watching internet porn (always wanting to see him cum), i grow bored and need better stimulation. erotic literature is a secret treasure i reserve for these times. anais nin's writings are especially evocative; she is able to make us see love without and within love. and it makes me want, want, want.

excerpt of "marianne" in delta of venus by anais nin:

once, when she was expecting him, she tried leaving the door ajar while she was dressing, but he looked away and took up a book.

he was impossible to arouse except by gazing on him. and marianne by now was in a frenzy of desire for him. the drawing was coming to an end. she knew every part of his body, the color of his skin, so golden and light, every shape of his muscles and, above all, the constantly erect sex, smooth, polished, firm, tempting.

she would approach him to arrange a piece of white cardboard near him that would cast a whiter reflection or more shadows on his body. then finally she lost control of herself and fell on her knees before the erect sex. she did not touch it, but merely looked and murmured, "how beautiful it is!"

at this he was visibly affected. his whole sex became more rigid with pleasure. she kneeled very near it -- it was almost within reach of her mouth -- but again only said, "how beautiful it is!"

since he did not move, she came closer, her lips parted slightly, and delicately, very delicately, she touched the tip of his sex with her tongue. he did not move away. he was still watching her face and the way her tongue flicked out caressingly to touch the tip of his sex.

she licked it gently, with the delicacy of a cat, then she inserted a small portion of it in her mouth and closed her lips around it. it was quivering. 

she restrained herself from doing more, for fear of encountering resistance. and when she stopped, he did not encourage her to continue. he seemed content. marianne felt that that was all she should ask of him. she sprang to her feet and returned to her work. inwardly she was in a turmoil. violent images passed before her eyes. she was remembering penny movies she had seen once in paris, of figures rolling on the grass, hands fumbling, white pants being opened by eager hands, caresses, caresses, and pleasure making the bodies curl and undulate, pleasure running over their skins like water, causing them to undulate as the wave of pleasure caught their bellies or hips, or as it ran up their spine or down their legs. 

but she controlled herself with the intuitive knowledge a woman has about the tastes of a man she desires. he remained entranced, his sex erect, his body at times shivering slightly, as if pleasure coursed through it at the memory of her mouth parting to touch the smooth penis.

the day after this episode, marianne repeated her worshipful pose, her ecstasy at the beauty of his sex. again she kneeled and prayed to this strange phallus which demanded admiration. again she licked it so neatly and vibrantly, sending shivers of pleasure up from the sex to his body, again she kissed it, enclosing it in her lips like some marvelous fruit, and again he trembled. then, to her amazement, a tiny drop of milky-white, salty substance dissolved in her mouth, the precursor of desire, and she increased the pressure and movements of her tongue. 

when she saw that he was dissolved with pleasure, she stopped, divining that perhaps if she deprived him now he might make a gesture towards fulfillment. at first he made no motion. his sex was quivering, and he was tormented with desire, then suddenly she was amazed to see his hand moving toward his sex as if he were going to satisfy himself. 

marianne grew desperate. she pushed his hand away, took his sex into her mouth again, and with her two hands she encircled his sexual parts, caressed and absorbed him until he came. 

he leaned over with gratitude, tenderness, and murmured, "you are the first woman, the first woman, the first woman..."

anais nin and henry miller

sax me up

leisurely thoughts

the weekend was full of nothing, as promised. 

i collaborated on a music project, but didn't give a proper effort. my contribution was sketchy and random, as i was slightly intoxicated from hanging out with my downstairs neighbor and his buddy. 

i ate plenty of junk food, but none of it tasted good. 

and sex. i thought about sex all weekend. i watched sex all weekend. i gave myself sex all weekend. i spent a significant amount of time watching clips of a specific genre, which did nothing but make me jealous. 


maybe it's not love i want -- just the act of. eh, i'm too old. random hookups aren't even possible because my panicking hormones will try to permanently attach me to any male chemicals i come in contact with.


mmm. cum. this is a sure sign my uterus is trying to catch an embryo. i am more turned on by seeing men cum than anything else. my entire body pulses at the thought of it. it sounds so whorish, i know. it's not sickly psychological, it's not a desire to be submissive, it is purely biological. 


the funny thing is, i've decided (for now) to not pursue my plan of being a single mother. i still want a baby, but i want a baby daddy, too. 


we'll see. until then, there's always mother's little helper. 

sweet-smelling jujube fruit

judge tenderly of me

emily dickinson "i died for beauty"

i died for beauty, but was scarce

adjusted in the tomb

when one who died for truth was lain

in an adjoining room.

he questioned softly why i failed,

"for beauty" i replied.

"and i for truth. themself are one.

we brethren are" he said.

and so, as kinsmen met a night,

we talked between the rooms,

until the moss had reached our lips

and covered up our names.

searching for my love, my beauty

it's a long, long way to trek. i'm far away.

lost weekend

this will be a weekend of consolation and chemicals:  shopping, sleep, tv, cincinnati chili, vibrators, and porn. also, any other purely recreational activity i come across.

great friday

PPE (i have none)

it is not advisable to miss doses of Prozac just before one's Period.  it might make one Emotional.

hysterical grief is in my iranian blood.

party like it's 1994

lovefool

i'm getting older, and time passes more and more quickly (i may be the only person i know to not wish for friday; one more weekend coming is another week lost).

but, it is finally springtime -- awakenings, rebirth, and love.

i'm saying that there is no more time to waste, and more importantly, no more love to waste. i'm going to be selfish now; i'm keeping my love. they've all had their chances, every one of them since i was born. i keep putting off my turn because i'm afraid that if i blink, i'll miss something, someone. 

well, fuck that noise. i'm missing nothing, only myself.

so ... from here on out, i'm leaving my romantic loves alone. the new writings might be boring, full of news about my dog, or something equally mundane. in any case, they will belong to me, and only me. i hope to document the beginnings of a "big life."


to kick it off, i'm deleting all posts related to man-induced heartache that have no constructive/creative value. let it go, baby.

 

sexiest man alive

dan bejar (destroyer)

WWJD?

i might have had a threesome tonight if it weren't for Jesus Christ and a devastating lack of bean burritos.

 

all aboard

i should be packed, fed, clothed, and ready to go. i am not one of these things. jeans are still drying, hair is still dirty, pajamas unfound ... do pop-tarts count as food? ... probably not.

it's like this everytime i travel. at least i have money for the dogsitter.

maybe i am

i am a simple organism. i'm able to change shape to get where i need to go, and i don't hold onto any one form for long. i plan to reproduce alone. i have a singular focus: survival. i'm not complicated enough to manipulate or plan. i react to stimuli genuinely, without foresight. i love what i love and fear what i fear. i don't think about it much further than that.

i am perceptions, emotions, reactions, and affections. i am simple, not lowly. i am pure life.


so, fuck off.

 

 

i have borderline personality disorder. look it up.

or click on this: "You can't regulate your emotions despite your best efforts," says Marsha Linehan, a University of Washington psychologist and leading expert on the disorder.

going to the chapel

the huffington post has an entire section devoted to divorce. here's a gem:

"did you know, deep down, you'd get divorced someday?" 

shared space

the ultimate romantic gesture is to read aloud to your love. what if the distance between you is far? the next best thing may be to read what they are reading and hope the two of you are on the same page.

ma'am, step away from the carbs.

i don't write about real things. i express, complain, cry, and explain -- but i don't really reveal much.

well, here's one: i hate food. they say, "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," yeah? i guess that's the truth of binge eating. while i do despise food for intangible reasons like shame and fear, i also hate it quite literally. it's difficult to find a food that appeals to me. i guess i've reprogrammed my sense of taste to only respond to foods that set off fireworks in my brain. the ultimate dish to reflect this is cincinnati chili. 


i probably consumed 40-50 pounds of spaghetti (not counting the actual chili and cheese) in 2010, easily. 


i've always doubted it, but maybe people can change. i ate it tonight, being careful to cook only a moderate portion (still overeating, but hey -- baby steps). it was easy to limit how much i made to begin with, but it didn't take long for me to want to cook more. in fact, i had only taken 3 or 4 bites of my heaping bowl when i wanted to cook the rest of the pasta and remaining 1.5 cans of chili. 


that feeling is really strange. how can i want more before i've even eaten what i have? i guess it has something to do with those chemical explosions. i don't want it to end, though it's only just begun, and i'm so focused on that prolonged high that i don't even really enjoy what's at hand.


of course, this applies to other aspects of my life. relationships and sex are probably the most common victims.


like i said, maybe things are changing. i didn't cook or eat more. i did have to talk myself down, which is kind of embarrassing even though i was alone. 


maybe my true feelings are starting to emerge, or maybe i can just recognize them more easily. either way, i didn't have more because i simply didn't want it. is that what they call full? is that satiation? or is it just self-control?


don't get me wrong, i'm still miserable. 


it's important to document small victories, nonetheless.

the resurrection

i sang out last night, for the first time in a long time. i thought i'd lost my lust for it, but nope! i'm still here.

i recorded one of my songs tonight, and loaded it onto you tube for the world to enjoy. my phone is worse than shit, it's full-on feces, so the audio and video fall out of sync almost immediately. it makes it kind of creepy to watch, which i hope will be to my advantage.