I will never get married because marriages don't last.
Being a product of divorce blows big chunks all the time.
You tell your parents how you feel and they say
"we will discuss it dear" but they never do it.
My mom was always on her cell phone talking her
tmi friend who tells all and how she and strangers
she meets placing personals have fun in her boudoir.
Don't reach for a thesaurus means her bedroom.
It's gross trying to get ready for classes and hearing
your mom talk about sex and big boob plastic surgery
she wants to get to keep her girly figure right and tight.
I got body image issues due to her can't stop looking
for flaws and wrinkles dumb ass mental complexes.
Need therapy much dumb and vain mother?
Could be why dad found a younger version of you
in evil bitch clone he lives with who loves his fat wallet.
No way can that someone with a hot bod want his
gray hair with more than one bald spot and flabby abs.
He works out but he's got a bod that quit even when
he spends hours exercising at the gym and dancing
trying to be my age saying old shit getting jiggy with it.
I think Kill me now when he says that and I hate my life.
I feel messed up in the head because my parents hate
who they are and I hate myself most days because that's
what I learned from them. Should I go out and have
sex with as many men as mom and her friends? Should
I meet guys off the internet like mom now does? Should I
meet a man who will take care of me like the woman
dad is with who loves his fat wallet and great job
and be the kind of woman my dad likes? Would dad
be proud if I wanted surgery to get huge boobs like vain mom?
Would mom care if I had sex with a guy in the back of
his pick up like she bragged to her friend about? Would
my teachers care if I sat in the back and cheated like the
girl who gets answers from tests in exchange for quickies
in cars during lunch. She is tardy for the party and class
a lot. Teachers don't notice what's happening in schools
and they don't freaking care if I study my ass off
to get the same grades and I don't sleep with all the jocks.
Maybe I should because I'm messed up in the head at 18 and
nobody cares about me but me and that's a short list.
Have friends but they have some of the same body
issues and mental ones like me. I'm messed up in the
head because I get accused of having sex and I'm still
a virgin but thinking about giving up the goods to
the one I met through personals. He wanted to cmid and
I proved I'm legal. On the fence about giving away my
virginity. Too damned bad my mother and dad are
busy and have mental issues and have no time for the
girl they dressed up when she was a tyke but forgot about
when she needed a training bra.
"Between the Judicial, Legislative and Executive branches
as well as the DMV , DOD, and our failing Public Schools,
it's a fucking wonder I abide by the Government at all."
They’ve been asking. Asking me to change. What is that? What’s the definition of it? I don’t know what change is. Is it a feeling? An action? Or is it how you want me to become something that is very unlike myself? I know I am dark, mysterious, and what some people call a bitch. But because I’m a little open-minded, a little more extroverted, it’s wrong? Why? Is it because I’m on the lower tier of high school society? “Not popular.”?
This is not right. Just because I’m not popular, opinions aren’t allowed anymore? Voices cannot be heard and views cannot be expressed? I don’t know how to continue living. It’s not just in one place. It’s everywhere! Like a plague, corroding the minds of many and causing them to cast other opinions aside if they’re coming from someone insignificant.
I don’t see why I should change. If I’m the bitch here, why don’t I hate on other people just because their voices are of the lesser? //This is something like a rant, about the ills of high school life//. What I’m really saying is that they should reflect before judging and making assumptions about others. Everything has become centered on looks, monetary wealth and social status. I thought such superficiality only existed on TV. Turns out I was wrong. This superficiality is unfortunately very real, and completely existent in high schools and even middle schools. People can’t seem to appreciate other people for their actual talent. They only look at their materials.
I’m not going to change. Call me a bitch all you want, my decision stands firm because there are people worse than me out there. People who push other people against lockers and who vandalize.
I am not the only bad one here.
Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)
This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message. But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.
This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"
Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."
Fact about me: You design me.
thinking it's about time for a road trip.
create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.
to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.
travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
Gomer, Gomer, & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,
I rise with it,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
retuned to be whole.
learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.
missed the original
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
it is writ in the good book,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?
in Nevada City,
which is of course in
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
works in progress,
from which I
so damn deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...
while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
further on to
in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
I am on way too.
to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.
even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.
in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
they want their
double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.
on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
and learn from him,
to stand down.
man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.
this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
with an old dented pail
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).
souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
in each other words.
You, who live in
your very own
I think we met there,
tho not found
on any map.
maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
no longer will she be
but then again, some
very special things,
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.
while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.
all the university students
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.
but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?
to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.
Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
we are all naked
twice a day?
In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?
though I despise the
not my America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but damn sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.
Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.
in a beautiful city,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.
off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.
maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.
you, who live in just
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
or huge plains,
to hide your
moody dust trail
somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
on the shoulder!
will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...
my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!
ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
chuck, in *PA., friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.
can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,
of course not!
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;
The BBB's -
British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
the goodness of *Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,
did you think I would forget ya?
those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.
even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.
I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.
yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.
2. Can anyone explain to me why the site labels this poem explicit?
Cats probably aren’t even lost
Dogs are trying to find the way back to you
And then there’s butterflies and wild geese that can fly
thousands of miles and back every year and just know
The way home
[Photographs of Abandoned Places]
Empty rooms filled with flotsam and jetsam
once colorful but now faded and dusty
what draws us here?
The emptiness, the mystery of why we would leave
our dwellings and go elsewhere
[“Don't Lost" Sign]
Our faces were cold and it was windy
we smiled and laughed anyway
warm from the dim lights and food we’d left behind
Don’t lost what? Don’t get lost? Don’t lose yourself?
Cryptic commands posed by an unknown painter with bad grammar
Isn’t it strange that we make a game out of getting lost?
Ariadne Gave Theseus golden thread to solve the Labyrinth and defeat the Minotaur
Cathedrals have them too, so we can meditate and walk through them
But what minotaur lies at the center of our labyrinth?
More importantly, can we defeat it?
A clinical term for the simple act
of erasure, of losing.
A people, a nation a culture, a shared memory
who are we without these things?
Such power in taking them away and reducing the people to shadows.
[Photographs of Chernobyl]
An eerie empty city of ghosts
The pictures show that nature will take us all back one day
there are trees in living rooms and schools
The photos of howling, pain, mutation are a warning that we shouldn’t seek to have
So much power.
Stoics say that when someone has died you have ‘returned’ them
This sounds better than losing I suppose
because they aren’t lost
they are gone. And they’re never coming back
No matter where or how long we look we won’t find them
The palest of light that seeps into our atmosphere
we are under the same stars as everyone else wherever we are on this lonely planet
that ought to give some comfort, when I look up at night that I see the same stars
as you. I want to brush them into the palm of my hand and offer their light
to you so you could maybe see your words are what is painted on the inside of my soul.
[Feeling at a Loss]
My tongue is tied and I can’t even think of words because I can’t breathe
around this knot in my chest that forms when I think of you and how I lied and why I let
myself lose you and so for a long while my heart cried oceans and I begged it to stop
So I wouldn’t have to think about the words that I didn’t say and the light I lost,
the brightest that came from your heart.
[At a Loss for Words]
When someone says something you’re not even sure you heard right, you’re stunned
because you can’t even think of a response while the blood rushes to your face and
pounds in your ears like waves on the beach will you sit silent, stoic
not wanting to give away heat you feel just under the skin.
[Losing My Religion]
How can you lose your beliefs? Unless someone stole them
Or the disgust with hypocrisy built on good intentions breaks in you until you lose sight
of what you believe to be real and all you can do is renounce it.
What happens if you never knew what to believe in the first place?
A crisis of faith is averted? But at what price?
The left sock, left glove, that ugly winter jacket you had as a kid.
Where do they go? Why do they just disappear? You just never find them. What do you
Do with the extras? What happens to the lost ones? Is there a land for lost socks? Are
they lonely, trying to find their other half?
[Missing Person Posters]
Can you lose a person? No, surely not. How can let someone fade from you so far away
that they go missing? Maybe they let themselves fade. Pulled away.
Of course, they could be stolen, or forget who they are, but that is almost less disturbing
than thinking of than people running away or being lost by people
who are supposed to care.
Maybe not so much a cause going nowhere as one that people tired of
too much work with no end in sight. So they left and let the tenacious ones
the true believers take over, to finish the dirty work and clean up the mess
is that how this grace thing works? Holding your tongue while someone else chases
glory only to abandon it when it is too difficult and they leave you to see it through?
[Lost My Mind]
My mind is currently wandering through some forested path on a mountain almost
on the way to touching the sky or lying on the bottom of a the clearest blue ocean
looking up through the kelp leaves and shimmering fish. Or between words of a book.
So forgive me, I missed what you were saying. I’m sure it was important. I was just
trying to follow my mind to those places. And be somewhere else.
The kind of thing you say talking about a girl with empty sad eyes raccooned by liner.
Or a boy who is always angry or in an altered state of consciousness,
so he can face his everyday. It is reminiscent of ghosts, who wander, not sure where to
go, or who to trust so they hold their despair and fear tightly against their chests.
A euphemism for fainting. Or maybe used by historians for a time with no records.
It sounds more mysterious, Where can time go, except forwards? How can there be a
lost part of time? it sounds as though time has a private life, that it won’t share.
Unless asked politely. Which is what we do when we investigate the past isn’t it,
Looking for the lives of others.
[The Lost Generation]
“Don’t wanna be an American Idiot” said Scott, and Ernest, and Gertrude.
So they sent each other invitations to their chic Parisian salons on creamy white paper
and said ‘darling let’s make it a holiday!’ and had a divine time with the French
so they wrote novels of despair and disdain and the pain of being human.
and drowned the pain in champagne and beautiful women and men.
[Lost in Translation]
Some words that cannot be translated in English especially
ones that are raw and tender and romantic
ones that are universal feelings with no name that everyone understands
but the meaning is changed to make it something no one understands in English
So something universal becomes something ungraspable to all.
[Lost and Found]
The one who crawled out the cave
out of the dark into the pure light so they were blind
Gave so much to come back for the others out of love?
Or a sense of duty? Or maybe they were just returning, as we all do
as we all will do someday.
Endless caresses suspend reality
As I, all encompassed, relax
Drifting leaf flowing along the quiet stream of life
Part of the All
Scratching, seeking, sweating, shrieking
Suddenly frozen with the memory of others
Desperation grabs hold as I frantically flounder
Flipping my opinions, flopping on my morals
Fishing for an answer
Frequently I find multiple facets in faces
And I finish
Fast track back to black and cut scene
I sit staring into the abyss of humanities insanity
Still floating but now with hostility and petulance
Enraged determination on a motivation combination plate
Fate’s grates’ are too tight for me to fit through
Only my blue suede shoe and the tale of a shaky hip and malformed lip
Tripping further down, the wave’s crash - and much like the tiny ship, my leaf is tossed
Salad days end as I begin to realize the size of my lies
And my thighs
Turpentine wine fills my mind and blindness follows
Swallowing hope, joy, love, peace ….and I cease
to be creased
Freshly pressed for success I sit anew….blessed
Stressed by unwelcome guests and the eternal quest to be the best
My pants a mess
Face of distress
I see smiles no more
Fear mask’s bask in the grow of ignorance and shame
As freedom dies behind the dumpster
Alone and penniless
Without a friend in the world and mounting bills
Without idealism and greatness
Without the memory of itself and an old tattered cape
In the shape of a flag
Fags smoke in the ashtray and pray for equality with the roaches
But the roaches cure cancer
And provide an answer
Lancing boils of Monsanto soil with pigmented skin toils for oil
And oh boy will the powers that be leave you to die if you try to change the status
Glad it’s just us now, we can get back to the first square
Without care or prayer in schools
Only the drooling fools on the Hill will still be waiting for the dawn of the same old day
Caught by the gill, they wish for cash while starving voters clamor for crumbles
Day ole bread and shreds of dead flesh
And all that cheese
Pleased by this visual I rise above my station
And placed in Space my grace knows no limitation
With only one destination I hesitate
Not ungrateful, but reminiscent of the life I leave
Thoughtful of those left behind
I finally unwind and sit atop my shrine
And I pine
For the quiet of a slow moving stream
when I can bare to look back
smoke will cloud my memories
drunken vision will blur the faces
of the people that left traces
of the love that we all lacked
and they would of all moved on
families fortunes, private schools
for their children in their footsteps
following the regulations, except,
not knowing the things their parents did wrong
cause we wouldn't want a repeat
of depressed teens giving aimlessly
their bodies to each other
singing odes to missing fathers
who had nothing but hate and grudges to keep
Love flees from Avarice like a noxious plague.
~ Anonymous, 12th Century
Lesson 20) do not preoccupy yourself with the love of possessions or status, just with love itself.
In matters of avarice
Love's not vague
And flees its grasp
As it does a plague.
The hunger for coin
Can be quite noxious
And it's glutton
Hunger only for
Each other's eyes,
Thirst only for
Each others lips.
For true love is
A bounteous reprise
In the subtle
Symphony of hips.
The easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized.
~ Andreas Capellanus, The Art of Courtly Love (1174)
Lesson 21) The greatest love can only be acquired by overcoming the greatest challenge.
Love attained without battle
finds its trophy
in docile chattel.
Love attained by smoke and mirror
recedes in time
as the truth gets clearer.
Love attained for financial gain
wavers with markets
then goes down the drain.
Love attained by sharing wonder
cannot be torn asunder.
Love attained by play of words
finds its plunder
in just us geeks and nerds.
I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.
~ Groucho Marx
Lesson 22) Television kills romance.
Read my lips. No fucking broadcast or cable TV. Your 60" LED TV should only to be only used as a monitor to watch movies. Oh, you need the weather? Open the fucking window. The news? You shmuck, that's just a distraction to sell advertising. There are only five important news events per century. In this century, nothing significant has happened since Einstein, Hiroshima, the Human Genome Project, the smart phone and You Tube. All news is simply a variation on these same themes: science, war, health, technology and entertainment. If you're compelled to know the breaking bad news, watch it on your phone while you take a shit, not the bedroom!
Live as if you were living a second time, and as though you had acted wrongly the first time.
~ Viktor E. Frankl
Lesson 23) Live everyday as it were the last; love everyday as if it were your first.
Do not mistake this advice as an excuse for epicurism -- 'eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die'. That's a lame rationalization to justify materialistic selfish hedonism. If it truly were your last day, search for the meaning of your lives in your lovemaking. Repeat the process until the tsunami takes you away in the backwash. Insert something new every day in your lover's repertoire as you battle against the serial killer of romance -- familiarity. Pull a Dexter by using the element of surprise -- but don't wrap your lover in cling wrap unless it's part of your kinky ritual.
How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.
~ Wayne Dyer
Lesson 24) Love is a dynamic exchange of karma.
In love, more than any other encounter, you get what you give. You want independence? Give it to them. You want praise? Give in to them. You will get nothing back you haven't given it first. This requires endless leaps of faith. Leap! Leap! Leap!
At the prospect of your kiss my heart leaps,
serenading silent night like a princely frog
on his lily pad throne, yawning, yearning
and beneath the mist draped moon, croaking,
“When will she come? When will she come?”
“But she has come,” answers the cricket.
“Where is she? Where is she?” the frog pleads.
“You’re blind because you’re looking for a princess,”
the cricket answers. “She’s the frog on the lily pad
right beside you. She’s always been there, waiting
oh so patiently for you to open your heavy lidded eyes.”
The long lashed frog beside him winked and his eyes
opened wide. It was love at 2nd sight, or maybe 3rd or 4th.
But it was true love (not that chick flick bullfrogshit).
And they made love and made love and moved to a new pond,
where they shared a larger pad with a view and a monthly
mortgage and had tons of tadpoles and lived happily ever after.
Well, maybe not always happily. Sure, they had their ups and
downs, argued over money and what schools to send their
tadpoles to. But happy enough. Hey, they’re only human.
If there’s a moral to this leaping tale it is that for a tadpole
to turn into a fulfilled and happy frog, he must grow up,
lose his fairy tail ending -- and open his eyes – wide --
or he just may wind up croaking alone.
The End, or just maybe, The Beginning...
Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less.
~ C. S. Lewis
Lesson 25) The most important element for lasting love is having the humility to apologize and the divinity to forgive.
A lasting life together can be little more than a series of fuck ups connected by a filament of forgiveness. First learn like children to apologize even if you don't mean a word of it -- as a child you knew that instinctually when apologizing to your parents (and underscoring the phony apology with a fake cough at the end). This was your rite of passage, your training wheels into acquiring humanity. Forgiveness is that one uniquely paradoxical attribute which makes us at once human and divine in the casting of absolution. Use that Papal power with dignity -- you'll have them kissing your ring and other naughty bits in no time. Pope Francis may be infallible, but your penis makes you inphallible.
"He disrespected the Bing."
~ Tony Soprano, Episode 34
Lesson 26) Don't diss'em or let'em diss you.
We're back on Brooklyn's streets (or Newark) on this one. It's all about respect - show none and you get whacked. None of that 'alpha' shit flies here - you're equals and command equal respect. She watches the kids, you cart the garbage. The kids wear her down all day; the cops break your chops about a missing WalMart tractor trailer with 100,000 pair of Levi jeans 'somebody' jacked on the Jersey Turnpike. You twos gotta' to vent your daily shit to each other. Let it all out, but be careful not to anything you may regret or prepare to sleep with a Glock under your pillow for the rest of your live. Insist you be totally naked when having sex to make sure nobody's wearing a wire. Capisce!
If you are complaining, you are not being grateful.
~ Rhonda Byrne
Lesson 27) If anyone complains about your lover, tell them your lover can do no wrong; if you complain about your lover to a friend and they're dumb enough to agree with you, get smarter friends.
You totally betray yourself when you tell or listen to shit about your lover. Together you are 'one' by your own choice. If you have a problem with that number, tell that to your lover and you'll be alone again in a New York minute. Most women's 'friends' are insincere, embittered, envious homewrecking bitches. Sisters, my ass! Mothers, mothers-in-laws: Fuck those complaining curmudgeons too! It's just you two. Don't mess with the formula or wield alliances with friends and family. They have their own agendas. You should always be on the top and at the center of each other's agendas. It's your shared love, happiness and future that counts. Fuck anyone who stands between you two. Hmm, that could be a little kinky.
Love is a partnership of two unique people who bring out the very best in each other and who know that even though they are wonderful as individuals, they even are better together.
~ Barbara Cage
Lesson 28) Lovers brings out the best in each other -- despite your conspicuous imperfections.
This is love's sweet paradox that you don't need to be perfect to bring out the best in your lover. Inspiration is drawn from the fantasy of pleasing. You've given it your best shot, hoping your lover will acknowledge you with praise, shower you with kisses and give you great head. In a Freudian sense, striving for perfection is therefore our unconscious desire to make headway through a blind tunnel. The lover's desire to please and be recognized, has produced the world's greatest art, music, architecture, literature and soup. Cordon Bleu cuisine would be little more than fish and chips wrapped in yesterday's newsprint were it not for those anticipated words spouted from your lover's mouth after his loudly sips your soup: 'Yo, bitch. That that's some fucking good soup! Ya' Got any nuts?"
~ Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
Lesson 29) Be fearless in your love and breathless in your gambles.
I'm not telling you to skydive with only an umbrella and a prayer. Your parents should have already told you that everything worth doing is worth doing well. I'm just telling you that everything ever done well involved a some sort of risk. Don't hack your way through life. You'll feel more alive holding your breath in a precarious throw of the dice than breathing deeply with FDIC-insured Treasury Bills anchoring your portfolio. Let's say, become a landlord of a Section 8 tenement slum buildings. When you can't collect rent then torch the building. When the two of you look up at your towering tenement slum and see a trapped mother and child screaming from the 6th floor window, fearlessly rush into the building with a crow bar. Rip open the floorboards where you've neatly stashed the cash in zip lock bags while your lover combos open the safe where you stored your double indemnity fire insurance policy. The mother and child tenants in 6C? Let'em burn. Those deadbeat welfare leeches haven't paid you rent in six months. Next time invest in upscale condos on the beachfront in a hurricane area.
If you’ve dated a man over the age of 30, you know that there are many men with emotional baggage. In fact some men should be hanging an “overload” sign on their bumper with as much extra emotional weight they’re carrying.
~ Shoshana Jackson
Lesson 30) Don't obsess about each other's romantic past.
Yes, despite your solipsistic protests to the contrary, there was life and lovers before you. If your partner's good in bed you are indebted to all those who preceded you that generously gave your once gawky soulmate the chance to make mistakes nibbling on the good bits in the perfection of their pleasuring craft. Be grateful that yours is not the first penis in her mouth. Bobbing your head up and down, shielding your teeth, suppressing the gag reflex, sucking, sliding, maintaining eye contact, moaning, flicking your tongue like a serpent and doing a load of laundry simultaneously cannot be mastered on produce. It's when she asks you to leave a C-note on the side table, that's when you should get a little concerned. Just leave her a fifty and a roll of quarters for the next load. Don't ask, don't tell. And girls, now's a good a time as any to learn the ten most important words you'll ever use in your marriage: "God, that is the biggest penis I have ever seen!" He may just leave you the C-Note as a tip.
The belief in ayin hara ('evil eye') is not a superstition but is well-founded on references from the earliest Jewish texts: Sarah "gives" Hagar an ayin hara, causing her to miscarry her first pregnancy. Yaakov warns his sons not to be seen together so as not to incur ayin hara.
- Ask the Rabbi, ohr.edu
Lesson 31) Don't tempt fate or invite the 'evil eye' by boasting to others how you wonderful your lives are together.
When you boast about yourself you invite the 'ayin hara' and envy of others. The German's have a single word in their language which means -- 'the malicious exquisite pleasure your best friends take in your destruction after you've yammered incessantly about how great things are' -- it's called Schaudenfreude. The first documented victims of this partcular brand of malice were Volkswagon customers who reported having had too much Fahrvergnügen (fun driving). Every Octoberfest there's a mountain of piled up Jettas that are towed off the Munich Autobahn along with their charcoaled drivers still holding a beer stein. Treat your big mouth as you would your car -- use some fucking restraints!
I think the best thing I can do is to be a distraction. A husband lives and breathes his work all day long. If he comes home to more table thumping, how can the poor man ever relax?
- Jackie Kennedy
Lesson 32) Learn to nip lover's quarrels in the bud by distraction and humor -- without raising your voice.
This does not include mastering that passive aggressive ploy called the silent treatment which is much louder and destructive than outright screaming. Nipping techniques include distraction, humor, rough sex and counting backwards from MCLV in Latin. Here's a example: "Boy, those Yankees look great in their Hello Kitty uniforms, take it up the ass, bitch, MCLIV, MCLIII, MCLII..." Once you've mastered this technique, you'll spend the night neatly tucked in each other's arms -- though her ass will be a little sore. No argument about that.
That's the greatest torture souls feel in hell,
In hell, that they must live, and cannot die.
- John Webster, TheDuchess of Malfi (1612)
Lesson 33) Your lover is your angel/demon that purifies/tortures you in this life, cleansing you of your character flaws, preparing you for acceptance into heaven or reincarnation.
Your ideal mate is your Lover-Inquisitor -- they will expose those areas in your lives that need to be worked on. To extract the confessions of your weakness and expose your lack of faith in love's divine power of redemption, your Lover-Inquisitor will first show you their instruments of torture -- sorta' like prizes on the Wheel of Fortune. The Rack: Your lover stretches you and crunches you into their image of their Ideal mate. You don't trust enough. Either go with the flow or snap like a twig in a beavers ass during a hurricane. The Head-Vise: Your lover plays with your head, tightening the screws for control. You have control issues and a splitting four Advil headache. Let them think they're in control -- that puts you in control. Then relinquish control. The Red-Hot-Pincers: Your lover tries to brand your ass with their personal UPC code 'keep off the chattel'. You cannot give up the illusion of freedom. Learn the paradox that true freedom can only exist within the confines of structure and freedom without walls is truly indenturehood to hedonism. Then freely shove the Red-Hot-Pincer up their ass for good measure.
It's actually an e-Book I wrote way back in 2005 after I got divorced and was searching for a new soulmate. Finding one was a long and arduous journey with many setbacks including an enjoyable but unfulfilling 'playboy sportfucking' stage, but I finally remarried in January of this year. I use many of the lessons in the Primer to sustain my love and continually reignite it. I thinks marriages primarily fail because couples take each other for granted and slowly the love dies. I pray you and your soulmate will integrate some of these lessons and love each other forever -- because, 'If it ain't forever it really ain't love'.
THE PRIMER OF LOVE (Part I, Lessons 1-19)
Beryl Dov Lew's Primer of Love: The Secrets of Making Love Last (Part III, Lessons 34-41)
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)
You will never understand me!
As hard as anyone has tried,
even I don't understand me!
Therapist after therapist.
"We're sorry ma'am. Your son is very complex. He needs further analysis to diagnose him."
They take out the fucking medical dictionary and read off every social disease and disorder!
PTSD, OCD, ADD, Depression, Anxiety, Social Anxiety.
And they know me!
You must be great!
What's your name? Dr. Phil?
I know you're just trying to pacify me until you figure me out.
Why don't you just tack on "stupid" with that list of bullshit that you already diagnosed me with?
Oh, I forgot, I just developed another disorder.
Impulsive aggressive personality disorder.
Let me tell you a little something.
People can be pissed off, sad, happy, nervous, excited.
That must be one fucked up person by your standard, huh?
Let me sit you down and tell you your diagnoses.
You're an asshole. You hold yourself higher than everyone else because you have a Ph.D.
You act like you know more about this world than everyone else, but what have you actually learned?
That money makes you smart.
Don't believe me?
Check your schools tuition.
But really, you're stupid.
You pass judgment on me as if you know me.
Want proof that you're stupid?
Check your debt.
You're in way over your head.
How about you analyze your situation before reading passages out of you mental dictionary shit.
I'm pretty sure you have bipolar disorder because your head is in your ass.
in my black and white world
you were my color,
an earth tone green
and i swear that everyone and everything has
changed since you've left.
Dakota's gotten mean
and so has mom,
schools become so much harder
and so has