I end things with you often.
Eventually the disconnect between my physical and my intellectual erodes, and I find myself lying next to you late into the night though I'm exhausted to the bone from our lovemaking. I'm awake, and hyper-conscious of your every movement and change of breath - not in the way that it used to once, the way that made me grin at the patterns of your dreams while they led me into the warm depths of my own; no, this is the consciousness of run-on sentences and wondering how you could so quickly fall asleep. I listen to you snore lightly and to the staccato leaps you take from midair, and with my back turned to you I force myself still because when you shift, I don't want to wake you with my restlessness.
Intellect and reason is seeping back in. I wish I lived closer, so that I could sneak into my own bed in times like this. But no, I must walk through corners crowded with leering men wearing low-slung caps and analyzing eyes, or past dark doorways with lone huddled figures whose heads follow my walk like a goddamned scent. And I am a 2 hour train ride or a 50 dollar cab ride away. By the time we are finished it is always three in the morning and I wish I wasn't poor, or a girl by herself rendered scared of the dark by footsteps that slow down when I slow down.
So I lie in your bed, which has never been comfortable, and listen to your presence until I exhale into your hallway the next morning. It feels like closing the door on a bad day. There is also an odd sense of detachment... Clean breaks are so abrupt, that it almost feels like loneliness.
I "break up" with you this weekend (how can we break up? When we never broke down/ and committed to each other, we was fuckin around) and my intellect gathers into a sigh of relief. You tell me that you don't understand, you thought we were friends, and I tell you that my definition of friendship has changed. The realization that I would never stand for this sad excuse for a lovership if we were new, if we had not been stuck in this sexual, bipolar rut for damn near a decade, allowed me to finally make it clear and wish you the best. I guess I'll see you next lifetime, I think and I put down my phone for good.
Except I wake up Monday morning and the memory of you presses against me like a thick, juicy tongue. I travel to the city with my legs crossed, blood pulsing like thunder between my thighs as my mind starts to cum from the tension of its thoughts. I daydream all day: About threesomes, about onesomes, about other people, about strangers. I daydream about men, about new friends I've made, about what their hipbones would look like when they strain against themselves before letting go. I daydream about getting pounded into on balconies during all sorts of weather or getting head while listening to roommates cumming. I daydream about women, about shy women I sit next to every week that have never done this before, about women who have glanced away curiously when we spoke, about women whose lives I could ruin with one hungry hello of my tongue. I daydream about you, about the way you completely empty me of all thought with that first, shocking push into my wet; I daydream about the sounds we make with our throats and our bodies and the dull frantic rhythms when you start to lose control. My thoughts always return to you.
I fantasize about you often. And I don't know how else to explain it. It is the same muscle of thought that sends me to burger houses the day before I plan to start a health diet. It's the thought of what I can no longer have that suddenly makes me hungry, painfully hungry to indulge before I must firmly abandon. This baffling emptiness that calls out to you, the emptiness in my ...vagina (LOL -- there is no other, more romantic word right now) -- is a physical pocket of loneliness that is nothing short of hunger. I crave you. I crave you so hard. There is nothing my tongue, my pussy, and the bottom of my esophagus that deep moans rip out of want more than to have you crush my arms while you steady, steady dig into my core.
I wonder how long my intellect will hold reign, before my physical becomes crippled and dripping with need. In the past, it was never too long before I found myself sitting on a 2 hour train ride, or gazing out the window of a 50 dollar cab ride, to walk past dark doorways and crowded corners into an uncomfortable bed to lie still without sleeping. I have really had enough, and my soul is too tired to desire you any more.
But my pussy, well she is absolutely furious.
5.12.2010
5.08.2010
Relationship Theories: Why Jumpoffs &/ Friends With Benefits...
always want to change shit, decide to end shit -- or most famously, end up 'falling in love':
_____________________________________
"...Equity, also known as distributive justice. The key idea is that a person's profits should be proportional to his or her contributions.
Equity theory has four basic assumptions:
1. In a relationship or group, individuals try to maximize their outcomes.
...
3. When individuals perceive that a relationship is inequitable, they feel distressed. The greater the inequity, the greater the distress experienced.
4. Individuals who perceive inequity will take steps to restore equity."
_____________________________________
It's all about restoring equity. The reason why this is harder to generalize past that basic point, is that what an individual considers unequal will vary based on his or her personal history. Sometimes it's as simple as power, sometimes it's a tangible reciprocation; sometimes they don't know, and they just feel growing seeds of distress.
Theory - Branched:
'Falling in love' with the one that gives you less, or wanting to change the terms of the situation initially agreed upon, is a psychological (and rarely intentional or recognized) attempt to restore equity. The less the partner gives, the more determined one may become to reclaim.
[could this explain much of the Kryptonites in this world?]
**
Many relationship.vs.situation theories sprouting, but at the moment - will place my bookmark here.
Be conscious of what your partner considers fair. Learn them.
Then, you either work to provide that balance, or, you simply don't.
That alone can decide the success of your relationship.
"Situations"... are physical couplings where that kind of consideration is rendered unnecessary. "Nice and Easy," we once believe.
Hence, why it is inevitable that one party will eventually feel like there is an inequity, that they are giving more than they receive, and eventually attempt to ease that perception of inequity.
Or, they can't quite place what they aren't receiving, so instead they decide to fall in love. And change the game.
Silly humans.
_____________________________________
"...Equity, also known as distributive justice. The key idea is that a person's profits should be proportional to his or her contributions.
Equity theory has four basic assumptions:
1. In a relationship or group, individuals try to maximize their outcomes.
...
3. When individuals perceive that a relationship is inequitable, they feel distressed. The greater the inequity, the greater the distress experienced.
4. Individuals who perceive inequity will take steps to restore equity."
_____________________________________
It's all about restoring equity. The reason why this is harder to generalize past that basic point, is that what an individual considers unequal will vary based on his or her personal history. Sometimes it's as simple as power, sometimes it's a tangible reciprocation; sometimes they don't know, and they just feel growing seeds of distress.
Theory - Branched:
'Falling in love' with the one that gives you less, or wanting to change the terms of the situation initially agreed upon, is a psychological (and rarely intentional or recognized) attempt to restore equity. The less the partner gives, the more determined one may become to reclaim.
[could this explain much of the Kryptonites in this world?]
**
Many relationship.vs.situation theories sprouting, but at the moment - will place my bookmark here.
Be conscious of what your partner considers fair. Learn them.
Then, you either work to provide that balance, or, you simply don't.
That alone can decide the success of your relationship.
"Situations"... are physical couplings where that kind of consideration is rendered unnecessary. "Nice and Easy," we once believe.
Hence, why it is inevitable that one party will eventually feel like there is an inequity, that they are giving more than they receive, and eventually attempt to ease that perception of inequity.
Or, they can't quite place what they aren't receiving, so instead they decide to fall in love. And change the game.
Silly humans.
4.25.2010
Exhale
Looked up this afternoon, deep into the gray, and realized I wanted to end a friendship. I call it that tentatively, as it was something more than a friendship, and something much less - much less than everything else. I rolled this newfound detachment around my tongue, and acknowledged it as a confirmation of something that's been growing inside me the past few weeks.
It's not so conflicting to just look the other way now -- An odd, quiet, unsurprising liberation. I accepted it and returned to my reading.
It's as if I've visited a favorite place too often, ordered a favorite dish too many times, and with each return I craved it less. My thoughts are always somewhere else when you are around. I'm ready to try out a new space, to sit in a new window, to feel the sunshine on my face instead of seeing it from a distance.
Let's break up. ;)
It's not so conflicting to just look the other way now -- An odd, quiet, unsurprising liberation. I accepted it and returned to my reading.
It's as if I've visited a favorite place too often, ordered a favorite dish too many times, and with each return I craved it less. My thoughts are always somewhere else when you are around. I'm ready to try out a new space, to sit in a new window, to feel the sunshine on my face instead of seeing it from a distance.
Let's break up. ;)
Pulled from the Archives: Kryptonite
YOUR KRYPTONITE
Face it.
Everyone has a kryptonite. It's not just you.
Everybody has someone who makes them crumble when they get close.
Everybody has someone who turns their sturdy morals dust.
Their strongest assets useless
Their confidence confused
Everybody has that
one motherfucker
Who makes them look foolish and weak
Insecure and needy
And worst of all,
dependent.
Who turns you into the person you swore you'd never be
Who turns you into a person you can't recognize, but can't change
Crying to your enemies
Cringing on your knees
It's not just you.
And it's not just him.
It's not just her. I swear it.
Everybody has that one who...
FRUSTRATES them beyond no end,
who breaks their heart a million times over
just by doing nothing at all
Everybody has that one someone they're
forever running away from
forever running away from
but always
bumping into
Because that someone
is still (and will always be)
Home...
Heh.
If you're lucky, your one is
the perfect balance to your extremes,
the opposite of all that you are,
the one who will ground you when you get too close to the sun,
too close to godliness
Kryptonite will Humble you
to remind you that you're human.
If you're lucky,
your kryptonite loves you
And that tension can taste like static
And that pain can sound like passion
But real life is:
the kryptonite is your downfall.
Real life is,
you see him crossing the street
just eight feet
in front of you
you see her kiss him on the train
with a finger on his chin
or his number on your screen
with a semicolon grin
your logic keens
and you heart revolts
And the walls you build
melt like lead
if you're lucky,
your kryptonite loves you too
But if you're smart,
you'll keep them far, far away.
Face it.
Everyone has a kryptonite. It's not just you.
Everybody has someone who makes them crumble when they get close.
Everybody has someone who turns their sturdy morals dust.
Their strongest assets useless
Their confidence confused
Everybody has that
one motherfucker
Who makes them look foolish and weak
Insecure and needy
And worst of all,
dependent.
Who turns you into the person you swore you'd never be
Who turns you into a person you can't recognize, but can't change
Crying to your enemies
Cringing on your knees
It's not just you.
And it's not just him.
It's not just her. I swear it.
Everybody has that one who...
FRUSTRATES them beyond no end,
who breaks their heart a million times over
just by doing nothing at all
Everybody has that one someone they're
forever running away from
forever running away from
but always
bumping into
Because that someone
is still (and will always be)
Home...
Heh.
If you're lucky, your one is
the perfect balance to your extremes,
the opposite of all that you are,
the one who will ground you when you get too close to the sun,
too close to godliness
Kryptonite will Humble you
to remind you that you're human.
If you're lucky,
your kryptonite loves you
And that tension can taste like static
And that pain can sound like passion
But real life is:
the kryptonite is your downfall.
Real life is,
you see him crossing the street
just eight feet
in front of you
you see her kiss him on the train
with a finger on his chin
or his number on your screen
with a semicolon grin
your logic keens
and you heart revolts
And the walls you build
melt like lead
if you're lucky,
your kryptonite loves you too
But if you're smart,
you'll keep them far, far away.
4.15.2010
Mr. Broken Hollywood
I can't make the distinction yet, between whether he is bragging calmly, or just telling me his story. He's part of a chapter that's been long since forgotten, barely relevant but somehow braided into my history.
We had a heated fling the summer I befriended some street musicians. He was someone who sat next to us one day and fit easily into our ridiculous conversations. He used to answer the phone while his mouth was full of me and barely pause in either conversation, this impressed me. His bedroom was not cozy, but functional; he might have had a lava lamp, which I can never respect. There was almost a threesome once; she had a clit piercing. I did not play a full part in what went down, and do not regret it at all.
Smooth skin, tattoos, a brief sexual affair - and then at some point, I just simply looked away. I had a daydream, and I liked it, and when I glanced back I was surprised to find him still tucked into my shoulder. Who are you, and why are you here?
I met his mother. He cooked me breakfast. He might have told me he had fallen in love. I can't remember. I was already looking somewhere else when he said goodbye, and left the city for good.
And here he is now. After almost a decade on the other side, successes and pussy and money under his belt, he came back when things there got stagnant for him. His stories are impressive, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm happy for him, because I have no reason not to be.
He found me without the help of knowing my last name, or facebook - a rarity in this day and age. I didn't like how he kept kissing my neck.
Something about this all still feels so superficial...
More on this as it develops.
[Image credit: Modus Optimus]
4.10.2010
Rambling Thought: The Binge..
I was brought to tears today.
3 years ago I had broken up with the right side of my brain. We fought all the time because I felt I’d been betrayed..
Before that we were a passionate couple. I was deeply in love, and every second of my thoughts were rearranged and dedicated to accommodate that space between words. I saw art everywhere and breathed internal rhyme schemes, and punctuation marks were the gasps between orgasms. Music drove me to distraction and I used to end all my evenings on the terrace, Brooklyn so beautiful under the wide expanse of sky, dirty rooftops kneeling between the thighs of my building complex as I exhaled deeply from the 18th floor. Speakers purred with the thick bass of hip hop from my windows, and I daydreamed, constantly. Oh, I was so addicted.
We broke up because I’d become incredibly unhappy - with my life, with myself - and I was so self-absorbed and immersed in my addictions that I blamed words for my inability to speak. I blamed words because they forced me to confront the parts of myself I did not want to see, and our conversations were overheard by too many of my enemies. We lived together under this tension for a while, floor littered with Dutch guts and disdain, condom wrappers and laundry. We went through the motions but all our actions came up empty.
I turned my back to Prose so many times in my sleep that I was not surprised to wake up one morning alone, with half my closets stripped. It had even taken the curtains.
Good riddance, I thought. All this new space gave me time to reconstruct, gave me time to move up in my career and really get it in. I became a straight-A student, I learned how to be more efficient and goal-oriented. I learned to pick up after myself and maintain a clean home. I suppressed almost every impulsive tendency I had and severed every addiction I could: I quit smoking cigarettes, I quit smoking weed, I embarked on a year of celibacy and learned how to really, really enjoy being alone. I quit facebook. I damn near quit the internet. I spent some time getting to understand the art of censorship, the language of the upper classes, and learned how to socialize in more demure settings. I forgot how to make jokes. I recovered. I fought with insecurities. I recovered. But when poetry left, it took with it all the beautiful things that made everyday life luxurious. Life is so much harder without those reminders of beauty.
*
10:41 on a Saturday night, and I’ve been sitting in front of my computer screen for the past 6 hours. It started with a link to a music blog that threw me back into the arms of hip hop… I kept touching and tasting, familiar and brand new, track after track and all these parts of me unlocked… my heart changed octaves and my blood pressure dropped, my eyes scrambled and my words became baffled as these doors crumbled down and like an addict, couldn’t stop-
I began to watch poetry slams. My palms itching and my shoulder blades twitching and of course, I stumbled onto Def’s Poetry Jams; and here my world paused… All thoughts lost, as my mouth parted dumbly, and my hemispheres crossed -
Every word that hit me, only made me weaker. It’s like this careful reconstruction unraveled to destruction and I’m rocking in the corner stuttering like I was tweaking…
the noises came first.
the mm. shit
after a dope fucking verse,
the hand on my chin and the big dopey grin and the
“wooh!” at the end from
holding it in…
youtube was the prelude. I saved to my favorites and played and replayed and chased related links; I had 16 tabs open while all of it soaked in and took in the faces of purpose and pain, and laughter and losses and after the gain not a single wall left inside me remained..
I felt parts of my brain lubricating. Re-virginized paths ambitiously widened, mind was getting hot and, without thinking twice my body began to rock and, I arched
at the shock of delicious being opened by something that I’d so SO long ago forgotten.
Every incredible metaphor brought me closer to my knees.
I kept getting hit -
over, and
over, and
over again
with the power of words - the power of vulnerability. And inexplicably,
I started crying.
All of a sudden I understood the psychology behind religion. I dropped my head to folded hands and I let the love, the purity, the huge power pour in. Today I injected myself with every drug I had left behind, I found music again, and the beauty, and words, WORDS, I kissed Prose open-mouthed and ran my hand through its hair and its tongue coated mine, and we stayed intertwined for a really long time… At that very moment my mind overflowed and I increased my soul’s vocabulary. I held my long-lost love close, and when I overdosed,
I cried.
And it felt so good.
Welcome back. It has been so, so cold without you.
3 years ago I had broken up with the right side of my brain. We fought all the time because I felt I’d been betrayed..
Before that we were a passionate couple. I was deeply in love, and every second of my thoughts were rearranged and dedicated to accommodate that space between words. I saw art everywhere and breathed internal rhyme schemes, and punctuation marks were the gasps between orgasms. Music drove me to distraction and I used to end all my evenings on the terrace, Brooklyn so beautiful under the wide expanse of sky, dirty rooftops kneeling between the thighs of my building complex as I exhaled deeply from the 18th floor. Speakers purred with the thick bass of hip hop from my windows, and I daydreamed, constantly. Oh, I was so addicted.
We broke up because I’d become incredibly unhappy - with my life, with myself - and I was so self-absorbed and immersed in my addictions that I blamed words for my inability to speak. I blamed words because they forced me to confront the parts of myself I did not want to see, and our conversations were overheard by too many of my enemies. We lived together under this tension for a while, floor littered with Dutch guts and disdain, condom wrappers and laundry. We went through the motions but all our actions came up empty.
I turned my back to Prose so many times in my sleep that I was not surprised to wake up one morning alone, with half my closets stripped. It had even taken the curtains.
Good riddance, I thought. All this new space gave me time to reconstruct, gave me time to move up in my career and really get it in. I became a straight-A student, I learned how to be more efficient and goal-oriented. I learned to pick up after myself and maintain a clean home. I suppressed almost every impulsive tendency I had and severed every addiction I could: I quit smoking cigarettes, I quit smoking weed, I embarked on a year of celibacy and learned how to really, really enjoy being alone. I quit facebook. I damn near quit the internet. I spent some time getting to understand the art of censorship, the language of the upper classes, and learned how to socialize in more demure settings. I forgot how to make jokes. I recovered. I fought with insecurities. I recovered. But when poetry left, it took with it all the beautiful things that made everyday life luxurious. Life is so much harder without those reminders of beauty.
*
10:41 on a Saturday night, and I’ve been sitting in front of my computer screen for the past 6 hours. It started with a link to a music blog that threw me back into the arms of hip hop… I kept touching and tasting, familiar and brand new, track after track and all these parts of me unlocked… my heart changed octaves and my blood pressure dropped, my eyes scrambled and my words became baffled as these doors crumbled down and like an addict, couldn’t stop-
I began to watch poetry slams. My palms itching and my shoulder blades twitching and of course, I stumbled onto Def’s Poetry Jams; and here my world paused… All thoughts lost, as my mouth parted dumbly, and my hemispheres crossed -
Every word that hit me, only made me weaker. It’s like this careful reconstruction unraveled to destruction and I’m rocking in the corner stuttering like I was tweaking…
the noises came first.
the mm. shit
after a dope fucking verse,
the hand on my chin and the big dopey grin and the
“wooh!” at the end from
holding it in…
youtube was the prelude. I saved to my favorites and played and replayed and chased related links; I had 16 tabs open while all of it soaked in and took in the faces of purpose and pain, and laughter and losses and after the gain not a single wall left inside me remained..
I felt parts of my brain lubricating. Re-virginized paths ambitiously widened, mind was getting hot and, without thinking twice my body began to rock and, I arched
at the shock of delicious being opened by something that I’d so SO long ago forgotten.
Every incredible metaphor brought me closer to my knees.
I kept getting hit -
over, and
over, and
over again
with the power of words - the power of vulnerability. And inexplicably,
I started crying.
All of a sudden I understood the psychology behind religion. I dropped my head to folded hands and I let the love, the purity, the huge power pour in. Today I injected myself with every drug I had left behind, I found music again, and the beauty, and words, WORDS, I kissed Prose open-mouthed and ran my hand through its hair and its tongue coated mine, and we stayed intertwined for a really long time… At that very moment my mind overflowed and I increased my soul’s vocabulary. I held my long-lost love close, and when I overdosed,
I cried.
And it felt so good.
Welcome back. It has been so, so cold without you.
3.28.2010
The Guy I'm Sleeping With
He is mid-Xbox when I show up late Friday night. (After having dated, loved, and lived with a gamer for nearly 5 years of my life, I'm bone-wired to respect "The Mid-Game" -- especially if it involves other people.) I pass him a sleepy greeting, and he apologizes for his rudeness. Little does he know I'm quite happy about this; I have emails to check, conversations to pick up, and links to respond to. I'm hungry for his free internet.
The browser on his laptop has 3487539475843 tabs open, as usual. I start new, log into my email, and soon I'm laughing hysterically. One of the links I stumbled across and must share: this great infograph on the statistics of online dating. (An interesting fact that I found none-too-surprising, that 1 out of 3 women who meet men online have sex on the first encounter. 4 out of 5 reported not using protection. Way to keep it classy, ladies.)
I finish surfing the web; one of his tabs catch my eye and I click it. I do not turn to him.
"..You have an OkCupid account?"
"Yeah," he says, laughing a little sheepishly. "R-- made one for me."
I make a bland comment and barely glance at the thoughts conferring in the corner of my mind. I've never broken the habit of not asking questions for things I don't really want to know the answers to.
I turn off the laptop, a drop more tired than I was before sitting down. This affair of ours should end really soon.
The browser on his laptop has 3487539475843 tabs open, as usual. I start new, log into my email, and soon I'm laughing hysterically. One of the links I stumbled across and must share: this great infograph on the statistics of online dating. (An interesting fact that I found none-too-surprising, that 1 out of 3 women who meet men online have sex on the first encounter. 4 out of 5 reported not using protection. Way to keep it classy, ladies.)
I finish surfing the web; one of his tabs catch my eye and I click it. I do not turn to him.
"..You have an OkCupid account?"
"Yeah," he says, laughing a little sheepishly. "R-- made one for me."
I make a bland comment and barely glance at the thoughts conferring in the corner of my mind. I've never broken the habit of not asking questions for things I don't really want to know the answers to.
I turn off the laptop, a drop more tired than I was before sitting down. This affair of ours should end really soon.
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