Today’s generation breathes on superficiality. Always looking for someone who will make them feel good and look better, like a trophy they carry around. People are going crazy over a buff physique and luscious curves never knowing the real person behind the costume. Mind you, I am into looking good and am a love handle-hating man with a highly elusive six-pack abs but being superficial is just not what I was taught growing up. I was taught to look for substance and not just the stance. Know what I mean? What will you do after you got bored with her? After you’re through with her? You have nothing in common. What will you talk about? You just went after her to make you’re friends jealous, to make your status as a ladies man more credible, to make you look like a demigod and makes you more popular than before. All of these are false judgments about being with someone. There’s less love around my love handles now but character still matters to me. There are bad apples that we, Adams, shouldn’t be tempted, like the girls our mother warned us about. Like the woman who has more degree than a thermometer, not only bilingual but travelled the globe more than a stewardess. I’m not saying that they’re a no-no but they’re on the major league while you are on the little league. They will step on your ego like an elephants stampede and breathe life out your senses. My point is, be realistic. Get to know the person. Know what she wants. Know that women aren’t born with titanium-based sense of confidence and that insecurity will creep in her system. You know the classic: Am I getting fat? Is she hotter than me? Do I look old? You know how it goes. Insecurity has moved with time and even the modern woman remains vulnerable. Easy on the emotions ‘coz when it comes to sensitivity they’re the warden in this joint. So do your homework. She may be the world’s most desired model, capable of reaching a Ferrari’s top speed but she still needs assurance. Sometimes. Occasionally. Periodically. Always. Know that and you’ll be rewarded. Appreciate her. In any size or shape, spell it in front of her. Make literal or mental notes of the big and small deals in her life. And love the princess. Naturally. Stir, simmer and serve it steaming hot. Be patient. Watch her play. Laugh. Cry. See her at her worse. Take time to see her with her friends and family. These are the people she is most comfortable with and will make her act naturally. Don’t jump hastily into a relationship even if it’s the most logical thing to do. Prefer to be comfortable with each other idiosyncrasies included. Heed my word as your guide to a better you and a more blissful relationship, just in case. This will save you from heartaches and depression. And you will not end up seeing someone pull out the yellow card in the relationship and you won’t be making that 2 AM text messages and more importantly the 3AM breakdown.

Rushing in is like passing a busy intersection. You might escape some speeding junkies but you can’t dodge the midnight meat train when it marks you. You’ll end up on the pavement licking your wounds and wishing God will give you a second chance. When we let our emotions decide for us we might as well be a puppet. When we affiliate our need to be with someone with lust, which is insatiable, we will become uncontented. The process leading to forging an actual relationship with someone you were initially attracted to has changed dramatically. The days of long and winding courtship where we woe our object of adoration is gone. Today being intimate don’t apply to couples anymore. The pleasures of carnality are taking the world over and our concept of love is being shaped by ******* bunnies. The line separating love and lust is getting distorted and thinner. No wonder labels such as FuBu, FWB, PP (Pleasure Pal) and Rebound have gained pop culture concurrence. They simply mean consenting bedfellows who contend themselves that there is no ocean of difference between couplehood and ****** friendship besides the scope of emotions involved. Friends can. Especially when, lately, people have become savvy to the idea that *** does not ruin the relationship, which is now rendered all but platonic in an entirely emotional sense. There will be those who disagree and will protest but its making things more audible, making the idea spread like virus. The concept of a FuBu, FWB, PP or whatever you call it is inevitable for a variety of reasons. For starters lets say old school values have been exposed to be total fronting, hypocritical billboard signs of secretly debauched Puritans. Some just start on a harmless get together, a few chitchats, ***** and more *****. And when the night is over and it’s time to go home, some take detours and most of it leads to bed. An exception is on the rebound - dumper-dumpee. Rebound is trying to get back at your dumper, making them jealous or guilty. This involves an innocent victim who’ll fall in the trap of being played on. Believe me, you don’t want to be at the end of the rope. The emotion that comes with the need to be with someone is totally deceiving. Even if you and your date have gone out a few times (even slept every time you see each other) but neither one has confirmed that you are indeed dating, then don’t assume or you’ll suffer the embarrassment of your dating status being denied.

Relationships have drastically changed and this wave of change will press on, as the players get more adept at playing the cards dealt them. And even if the rules of the game have changed dramatically to allow certain breaches on morality, people have to be more cautious in making decisions pertaining to relationships. Never bite off more than you can chew. Or you can kiss your **** goodbye.

Deaths Of 2013

My third year doing this.

Paul Walker, Texas ranger,
driving fast leads to danger.
Matt Osbourne was Doink The Clown,
Paul Bearer always wore a frown.
Dennis Farina and James Gandolfini,
always played a mobster meany.
Peter O'Toole, famous actor,
Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher.
President Nelson Mandela,
Dennis Burkley, was a famous fat actor fella.
Lou Reed, is now on the wild side,
took all the colored girls for a ride.
Conrad Bain and Bonnie Franklin,
tv actors who had white skin.
Paul Blair and Stan The Man,
playing baseball, when they can.
Marcia Wallace and Lisa Robin Kelly,
both had ***** that bounced like jelly.
Tom Clancy wrote famous books,
not much on having good looks.
Cory Montieth and Patti Page,
one died young, other of old age.
Jean Stapleton, was Edith Bunker,
Archie always put her in the dumper.
Pat Summerall and Deacon Jones,
played football and broke some bones.
Dr. Joyce Brothers and Pauline Phillips,
they both gave good and bad tips.
Ray Manzarek, from The Doors,
Jeff Hanneman knew all Slayers chords.
Chrissy Amphlett, liked to touch herself,
Caleb Moore's trophies are on his shelf.
Mindy McCready and George Jones,
both hit those country tones.
Chris Kelly from Kris Kross,
Ed Koch is a New York loss.
David Frost and Roger Ebert,
always had words to insert.
Anneitte Funicello from Mickey Mouse Club,
Eydie Gorme almost got a snub.
Jonathan Winters, was very funny,
to come from Mork's egg, made him money.
If you don't know who these people are,
look them up, internet not very far.
For the ones that I missed,
please don't get to ******.

My hands have had it, I look at them now,
Holding a pencil, is like strangling a cow.
My thumb and forefinger, seize like a vice,
The other digits join in, they don't need to ask twice.

The scar on my palm was from Ninety-Four,
Club Hammer versus Chisel, lets call it a draw.
The **** on my thigh, shaped like an "M" for Mother,
From when I stepped through, a rusty manhole cover
Thirty stitches later, "Och, keep still Hen . . . . "
I never drank Whiskey on that Site again.

The pain in the elbows, from pushing a wheelbarrow,
Up Bostal Hill, Steyning, that was three foot too narrow,
To get a Dumper through, so we shifted it by hand,
Eight cubic metres of concrete, to the promised land.

The copper complexion, the grey in the hair,
Every crease, every wrinkle, shows the way that we wear.

George came by bus everyday
From Alvinston;
A No-Daddy community.
I've heard that town
Should be fenced
And re-named a Zoo.

During a power outage
George was suspected
Of being the dumper
In the middle of the gym floor,
During class. He was present.
The evidence was piled against George,
But inconclusive.

When George brought
A bag of **** to school
I called his mother,
A worn-out, retired pole-dancer.
When she arrived I showed her
The bag. She was pleased
I didn't turn George over to the cops,
But roundly upset with George
For swiping her good stuff,
And not the skunk ****.
Some kids' parents.

ordene maser sig ud og krøller sig sammen og dumper ud af munden; triller ned af kinderne og bliver efterladt på den kolde, hårde asfalt. alene

verden er stille og jeg er alene, endelig

forladt,
    alene,
         fredeligt



                                          koldt men klart

     efterlad mig på asfalten,        vil gerne være alene

breaking up is the death of a family member.

i don't know why it isn't treated more seriously, with automatic psychiatric enrollment.

you are suddenly without your other half. they left your life and it will never be the same. it used to be a shared experience but now you're left dangling off the cliff alone.

and it's all the more painful because this is something that was consciously decided. someone decided they could no longer live, like this, with the other.

and it's worse to be the dumper than
the dumpee--because it's your fault it's over. your decision. you have no one to blame but yourself.

i need to find something to fill that hole where you used to be

You think you can just
dump me, huh? Think
I am just going to let
you get away with that,

eh? Who do you think
you are? Well let me tell
you, mister, you ain't
nobody; you're just a

woman dumper,
a woman chaser, and
woman beater, who ain't
got no brain, just that

weedy thing between
your legs, that is all you
are. She puts down the
photograph on the white

mantelpiece, glares at it,
sticks her tongue out at it.
Besides you're losing
your hair, except up your

nose and in your ears, yes,
there you have plenty;
like sleeping with a ****
ape; you know that, huh?

She lights a cigarette and
puffs smoke at the photograph.
You know what your mother
said when I got in with you?

Huh? She said you're very
welcome to him; you can
have him; hope you can make
something of him, she said,

well I couldn't do it; I let her
down. She inhales deeply and
exhales over the frame. I hope
the dame you're with now,

gets to know what you are like
early; hope she ain't no push
over; hope she bangs you one;
hopes she gives you the pox.

She stares at the guy in the
frame; the celluloid image
black and white. I don't miss
you mister, she says, not in

the day, and certainly not in
bed or any time of  night.

Was it a sorcery?
In broad daylight,
you ****** away the echoes.

Now I am shodowless.
Walking on toes.
I reach the pit.

Bluebells. From a
precipice, I bend down
to hear the divine music.

A dumper picks up
the foreign traveler, hot
iron. I become a refugee.

Talking of non-violence,
you become violent
against the poppies.

The drugged apostate
wants to live in
lesser space than a mouse.

Rainbow becomes
dark. Colors singe the eyes
ignite the psyche.