Some fools are born, conditioned by fate,
And they, like all, still procreate.
All useful knowledge flees their minds,
As selfish life fulfills these swines.
And while they swing and cheat for joys,
The watchful eyes of their little boys
Do take a look at what they see,
And what they see is “A bigger me.”
Their little girls, in company of dolls,
On occasion, foresee what befalls
Upon them, too, as they soon explore,
An impending battle of love and war.
But then, there exists that little kid,
Whose sex and gender shall remain amid
A cloud of irrelevance and mystery:
Their wisdom calls most urgently.
As this kid sees a life unravel
Along Lacanian stages of travel,
Concerned are they with the fuss and mess,
Which most adults do not confess
To what they cause and what they bring,
Most taken in by their offspring;
And as one parent lacks all the care,
The other lives a life unfair.
In times of chaos and audacious cuss,
Dear vengeful killer, Oedipus,
Consumes all facets of the mind
Of the little kid who must confine
All pain, and hatred, and all rage,
Enough to place one in a cage,
And leave one there to squirm and rot,
Like a lobster boiling in a pot,
And free the bird whose wings to fly
Have been broken off, now left to die,
In part, by diabolical norms
That invade a home in all shapes and forms.
But, the kid looks up at the two,
Then whispers quietly, “I’m neither of you;
Not the blinded one, who feels must reign;
Nor the obliged one, too tied to pain."
Nor does the kid ever dare to be
A product passed politically:
Ingrained in mind, in heart, and soul
A subordinate being in a bowl,
That turns, and turns, and turns, and turns
While greedy capitalists more they yearn.
Within this cycle is little choice,
Hetero-normatively sans a screaming voice,
For a true language for some not made;
Virile chest-pounds place a shade
Upon the stronger ones deprived
Appraisal for their stronger minds.
The kid, all this, can’t take to be,
As what they see they wish not to see.
In this unbalanced Yin and Yang,
The kid’s perception hits a bang:
“The power lies within the one
Who mostly governs with a gun;
And how can a human hurt their double,
When love and passion are lesser trouble?"
A fitting sex the kid can't choose,
As in every win, each sex does lose.
But slowly, as they come to be,
The kid, society directs to see,
That to just one sex they must belong,
As 'genitalia proves feelings wrong.'
This funny theory most credits Freud.
By collective viewpoints the kid’s annoyed:
'No good is said, no good is done',
For those who are all, but yet are none.
Great gender points makes Butler de Judith,
While her female likes are out to proveth
That she is wrong within her stance
‘Only female unity will give rise to chance'
To an inclusion of the female word,
And one that’s First, not Second or Third.
The opposite, still out to bend
The rules and laws, all to pretend
That the other sex does not exist
Because swollen egos must persist
In rule, in art, in build, and biz:
'Fields where opposites lack all wiz.'
The kid, in this silly world of theirs,
Looks at all the foolish heirs
Who bounce and shoot this gendered ball,
While the kid stands back and laughs at all.
To love a person is to learn the song
That is in their heart,
And to sing it to them
When they have forgotten.
~ by Anonymous ~
Lesson 34) Tell you lover your life's dreams from the beginning so they can remind you when your getting off track.
This is the Prime Directive, the Categorical Imperative, the Hamburger Helper of all love relationships. Tell them when they're fucking up and losing sight of their piñata. Slap them, nag them, coerce them back on their dreamquest. If you don't and they don't realize their dreams, they'll blame it on you. If they do realize it, they will give you credit and you've come that much closer to realizing your own. Then tear open the piñata and stuff your faces.
Right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale.
~ by Anonymous
Lesson 35) Do not seek the fairy tale ending -- be a mensch in all you do and it will surely find you.
Happiness is more elusive than the Irian Jaya Bird of Paradise, which is rarely spotted in the mist-shrouded highlands. We hear the eerie call of Paradise, which haunts the forest as long as the sun is up, but there's no fucking fairy tail to be found -- not even a feather from its glorious plumage. Read a few Psalms, give charity anonymously and be kind to strangers. The Bird of Paradise will answer your silent call and eat the red and yellow M&M's right out of your hand. The lunatic laughter that goes on compulsively at dusk in lowland jungles is the laughing falcon and your Ex's attorney. There are no happy endings, just moments of respite. Peanut and plain.
We need to give each other the space to grow, to be ourselves, to exercise our diversity. We need to give each other space so that we may both give and receive such beautiful things as ideas, openness, dignity, joy, healing, and inclusion.
~ Max de Pree
Lesson 36) Each lover must provide a vessel for his partner to grow in.
We're not talking about a Petri dish with a shmear of agar & lox. I use the more sacred term 'vessel', as opposed to more popular buzzword 'space', for a vessel is more structured, utilitarian and allows for a degree of customization. Space is too rarefied an atmosphere to nurture growth and is better suited for the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone or Romulan Neutral Zone in Star Trec. Growth requires multiple levels of input of ideas, through culture and friends. You must permit your lover separate interests and a different circle of friends than your own. Use the vessel not as a control freak but to help filter out distractions and keep your partner focused on the very dreams they've shared with you -- especially if your partner is by nature a lazy-assed slacker and fuck-up and needs a little nudge now and then. Don't forget to give your partner plenty of solitary chill time to kick back in their crib with a phat blunt and pick their toenails with the tine of a fork. But if that's all they do while you're busting your chops bringing home the knishes -- be forewarned that their lack of ambition may stunt your own growth and the guardian vessel they will create for you may more resemble a Trojan condom than a Grecian urn. Remember, terra cotta returns to the earth but there's no escape from latex.
It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.
~ Mother Teresa
Lesson 37) Give your lover surprising gifts spontaneously -- accompanied with a love note.
A marketing survey showed the top five love gifts to be:
a) a single red rose
b) tropical getaway
c) something from the heart that required extra special thought
d) something handmade
e) anything as long as it is a surprise
Look, a) through d) are all footnotes to e). What makes it a gift special is not its cost but precisely the element of surprise. Breakfast in bed is sweet; your first candlelit dinner is bed, a gift. A cute teddy bear is sweet, a custom teddy bear that looks just like you, a gift. An unemployment check is sweet, a new job sweeter. Every gift should be accompanied by a personally written love note, poem or vulnerable sentiment -- none of that massed produced Hallmark crap.
There are many paths to Mount Fuji, but there is only one summit - love.
~ Morihei Ueshiba, 20th century philosopher-martial artist
Lesson 38) Always reach for the summit; if your lovers dead weight, cut them lose.
Let's follow this metaphor on a different path than Morihei Ueshiba intended. Reaching the precipitous summit of love is our climb. You need to be equipped with special gear to reach these euphoric altitudes. Here’s a short list of the equipment you'll need:
1 Nine inch piton (for playing 'Hide the Piton' at 10,000 feet and 'Milk the Piton' at 15,000 feet)
1 belay device (in case we have to stall a swarm of killer ass bees that can't be reasoned with)
1 dozen crampons (no strings attached/Velcro clasps for EZ crampon/crampoff action)
1 mountain axe (u don't axe; I don't tell)
1 pair of approach skis (you sneaky bastard!)
1 tube of KY jelly (to grease the skis, pervert)
6 non-locking carabineers (for the well slung man)
2 pulleys (you're going to have to haul some real ass for me)
2 ascenders with loops (preferably fruit loops with a sex toy at the bottom of the box)
1 chest harness sling (Peter Pan is just soooo hot!)
9 avalanche probe poles (can't get enough of those; you probe while I froth the latte)
8 kilograms of blue ribbon zucchini (can't get enough of those either!)
200 meters of rope (for some Ali-Foreman 'rope-a-dope' B&D role play)
1 multi-tiered wedding cake (for a bit of sloshing on the slopes)
3 quarts of trail mix (I like to mix it up a bit)
1 live chicken (self-explanatory)
1 can of spam (for sustenance at high altitudes -- preferably disposable Nigerian spam)
1 tank of oxygen (Oops! make that nitrous oxide)
3 rolls of duct tape (I'm taking my kitty with me)
1 face mask (for role-playing the terrorist/hostage)
1 pair of snow-wind goggles (for role-playing frog/princess)
1 pair boot gaiters (in case we get dehydrated and need gaiter-ade)
1 pr. überboots (for Nazi dominatrix role-play)
1 pr. goose-down trousers (preferably with a snap crotch for a quick goose release)
4 pints of Haagen Dazs, vanilla with chocolate almonds (no refrigeration necessary)
1 urine bottle (to decorate our tent with golden icicles)
1 head torch (for peek-a-boo in the sleeping bag)
1 shovel (to bury the axe --- why can't we all just fucking get along?)
The gear is also a metaphor for the excellence of character that's been hopefully evolving during your relationship. You are linked to each other with a slender rope. There may come a time in the life of the serious mountain climber that his fellow climber falls -- perhaps he's abused the sacred trust between you by sticking his piton where it doesn't belong or she's lubricating probe poles when she's supposed at Sam's Club. The climber hangs on to you by the thread of your past life together. Sometimes -- with forgiveness -- you can drag them in and resume your climb, strengthened in your resolve to conquer the summit. But there may come this morally agonizing time that you can't pull your climber in. They fucked up too badly. Either you cut them loose --or you perish with them -- living a life without dignity. If you cut them loose may have the opportunity to climb other mountains in this lifetime.
Love is always bestowed as a gift - freely, willingly and without expectation. We don't love to be loved; we love to love.
~ Leo Buscaglia
Lesson 39) Love is a gift not an obligation.
Nobody owes you shit. Love is a present bestowed upon us by our lover for which you should be grateful. Love should not be given or received from a sense of obligation, reciprocation or desperation. When someone unrequitedly loves your undeserving ass, the proper etiquette here is not to say 'I love you' back, rather 'thank you'. Only say 'I love you' when you want to freely bestow the gift with no strings in either direction. There's no tit for tat in the harrowing affairs of the heart. If your lover is expecting an 'I love you' back, and the spirit doesn't move you, give them a kiss. The ambiguity should stall them long enough to move on to safer ground. If your lover persists in his litany of 'I love you's' and you persist in your peck and duck dance, call the Audubon Society. It may be time for this fledgling to fly the nest. It's not enough to be adored, you must adore back to live a happy and fulfilling life. You may rightfully ask, 'Isn't it better to be the recipient of unrequited love than to be home alone watching reruns of Sex in the City?' Listen, you already have that fucking relationship with your adoring parents. Don't make it into a lifestyle.
Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.
~ Margaret Mead
Lesson 40) Lovingly celebrate your partner's peculiarities.
You were brought up by two totally different dysfunctional families. No two sets of alcoholic parents are alike. You each come with your own tics, tacs and oddities. Lovingly accept these differences as aspects of your lover's uniqueness. An aspect is just the other side of the coin of some quality you already love about them. For instance is he barks whenever he urinates, this is simply an aspect of his need to guard over you and protect you from own worst enemy * yourself. If she yells out the name of a previous lover during an orgasm, this is just another aspect ofah, fuck it! * put the down pillow on her sorry face and suffocate the bitch.
The essence of pleasure is spontaneity.
~ Germaine Greer
Lesson 41) Play it mostly by ear mostly, but when time is at a premium, plan a bit.
Life is not a busy appointment page on your smartphone, you anal retentive fucktard. Life is all about improvisation. The fickle mood for a sour pickle and a box of Entenmanns's mixed donuts, the sudden urge to watch the entire 5 seasons of Breaking Bad together on a lazy Sunday afternoon, or the instant decision to stay home and prepare a four cheese lasagna instead of going out to a nice Italian restaurant. These are the priceless events than even MasterCard cannot challenge. But if you only have a four day weekend, you two have to be grounded in reality. Don't just climb in the car and drive. Pick a fucking direction. Thank God for GPS.
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part I, Lessons 1-19)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part II, Lessons 20-33)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part IV, Lessons 42-50)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part V, Lessons 51-59)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part VI, Lessons 60-69)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part VII, Lessons 70-79)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part VIII, Lessons 80-89)
why am i
in the midst of
satisfied by it?
Mother and I viewed a mall,
Valuable lesson proceed.
Diamonds are women's fall,
Their hearts recede.
Remember the four Cs,
Understand diamond keys.
Clarity mark inclusion.
Color clear to yellow evolution.
Cut reflect light illumination.
Carat weight valuation.
Remember them well,
Lady's heart to quell.
You are in a trial,
There are no denial.
Get it right with a smile,
And do it with a style.
Mother pulled me to face me,
Near silence with a plea.
As she held her chest,
She provoke thoughts.
Told me she never got a wedding gift,
Grandmother who gave it to the aunts but her.
Told me how much it hurt,
Not to receive a fairing lift.
Near in tears mother stood,
I told mom I will remember,
When I find my perfect equal,
I'll shower her with diamonds.
The four Cs,
Mother's one of many decrees,
Diamonds are heart to the ladies,
Within it held infinite wisdom reflection!
America I protest against sucking the nipples of your discontent served on the soiled platter of racism your womb cradled me from birth and taught the lyrics MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE SWEET LAND OF LIBERTYover you I've cried place where in the CIVIL WAR and what war or fight is ever civil? my black forefathers all rejected men of color died on the soil of this country fighting what they thought at the time was a gallant war at ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S behest and for the STARS AND STRIPES of THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA O MY COUNTRY your dark slave sons fought and died with honor and yet even now 150 years later we are still in bondage to the new plantation in the ghetto called the bank mortgage company hidden interest rates and there are city areas that for certain you dare not go while Black or the police stop and ask if your lost and show your ID and what is your business in the area the stand your ground law applies mainly to people of color and openly gives whites permission to gun down blacks and walk away free of any punishment are we free in this great land not yet and if you don't believe me think about how the cities and even the WHIE HOUSE say that we have a transparent government and yet laws and public concerns are discussed behind closed chambers or doors and passed with secret vote or voice vote without public inclusion and yet we pay taxes to be shut out or fed political lies by those whom we've elected to office to serve us and not their own pet projects and desires are we free yet,not yet.
I am afraid. I know I’m supposed to pretend I’m not
but I’m terrified.
I want to rush out in desperation, reeking and determined;
shove you behind me while I tear the world apart
until some poor schmuck in a wrinkled lab coat who
doesn’t understand the gravity of this
clutches at my sleeve,
to tell me they’ve found it and it’s all going to be okay.
I make myself forget.
Then sometimes I hear a phrase or see a word
and I remember,
and I’m angry. I am filled with it. I want to destroy someone good,
rip children from mothers, sabotage, and crumble
and claw up the things in this world
that are right,
because this is not right and
I have no remorse that my rage could fill someone else’s
life with dread and pain.
(that should scare me, but it doesn’t)
I am bloodthirsty and selfish and you deserve better
than a lottery that says your light could get smothered
under a thickness of receding grey matter and nuclear inclusion.
Our hierarchys have evolved to weed out
like social eugenics purging the weakest
in a life of abundance for those with
shelter, wealth, water, status
sex still drives to test us
On a basic level our tribal heritage
bleeds into everything we do
every construct every experience
bitter jealousy nipping at our heals
every person flush in the face
with smug wrath never ending
This is an arrow we will have to catch
and Break In Half
This is a source of suffering
we must strive for more inclusion
Or let an idea destroy us
Why are there so many beautiful ones.
There is the one who speaks in stripes. - J
The one who works with strides. - L
The one who knows with stares. - A
The one who reads with care. - R
The one with flaring red hair. - F
The one who smiles with confusion. - H
The one who desires inclusion. - E
The one who usually makes the wrong choice. - K
The one with the extremely beautiful voice. - G
younger times, I’d lose some of my hair when bathing the sick. now older, I am not a private person. I foresee helping father with his winter gloves and him thinking I’ve returned his hands. if sick, one shouldn’t be grateful for the inclusion. there’s a shit son in all of us.
He touched our hands
But unconcernedly this famous man
And would not look us in the eye
For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection
And we could hardly blame him, for after all
He had each day been singled out for close inspection
By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity
Circled in the shade of his perfection
Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity
Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan
He wore blue jeans
And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof
Of his coolness and unconcern
While we his audience with concealed attention
Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously
Imitating in each phrase that low convention
Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties
And nodded several times in bright pretension
Made small amendments to our smiles and lies
Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine
He gave a speech
A flippant interview, this famous creature
A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche
Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial
Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs
A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual
Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone
At interlocutor women with the pens and pads
Delivered in a low and purring monotone
For all the world as lovers, each to each
He stretched a smile
A modulated shift of teeth and beard
"Genius? Not I" with deprecation
"My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral"
Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion
While we assumed an elegance, unintentional
A nonchalance that shields the wide charades
Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional
Genuflection to the the notion that pervades
Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.
He kissed their cheeks
And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence
But absently, as if he cared so little
In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir'
And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds
Creative and creator, irredeemably a star
With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring
At his retreating back in stark excitement
In the middle of the circling and squaring, at
The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.