Revitalized

It’s important to take the time
to walk away from the pen, the paper, the rhyme,
to coax yourself out of your literary lament,
and just live in the moment.

There’s a world of people waiting for you,
beneath the lumens lazuli blue,
each with stories as complex
as those growing in your text.

And if you care to stay a while,
they’ll take you in with a charming smile
which will leave you feeling oh-so blest
that you’ll depart with brimming zest.

And now the writing you once despaired
runs with a passion which you’ve shared
with those who’ve become kith and kin,
who stand apart – yet dwell within.

Starved for affection

Today, I’m going to give a detailed talk, which will touch upon a topic I rarely address here: sex.

Specifically, the concept of edging, which Urban Dictionary defines as:

Coming nearly close to climax or ejaculation, then purposefully stopping sexual stimulation in order to delay the same, so that the ultimate climax will be more intense.

Now, I know what you’re thinking…

“Oh God!
What is wrong with you?!
Why do you know about that?!
Why are you telling me this?!
La-la-la-la-la-la-la~”

I’ll respond to those in order.

“Oh God!”
Yes my child.

“What is wrong with you?!”
Probably a lot.

“Why do you know about that?!”
I am widely traveled, and broadly studied.

“Why are you telling me this?!”
I’m glad you asked! *cracks knuckles*

Edging is a technique I’ve heard of people using to not only intensify the sexual experience, but also as a means of permanently increasing sexual arousal.  The principal behind it is that by extending your time in that moment before climax, and stopping before you do climax, your body gets acclimated to being in that state – all the time.  And while that could be fun recreationally, excessive and addictive use of this pretty much ends like all excessive and addictive use does.

So again, why bring this up?

Because the concept is one of unfulfillment:  you almost get what you want, but then stop just before you achieve it.  As a result, you begin to crave those feelings and sensations with increasing intensity.

I have a hard time connecting with people – personally, socially, and romantically.  I make attempts, but I’m often insecure.  And that contributes to some very serious issues in my relationships with others.  I give too much, and when unnecessary.  I take things personally.  I get clingy.  These personality traits and actions have eventually destroyed some of my relationships.  And afterwards, I get back up and try again, more desperate than before.  Sound familiar, hm?

They used to say, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” but also remember the phrase, “All things in moderation.”  It’s OK to want people to like you.  It’s OK to want to be loved.  But eventually, the attempts to connect and the unfulfillment of those wants and desires start to become obsessive.  And the more desperate you become for those affections, they less you are able to nurture them in a healthy manner.

So what should you do?

Believe in yourself.  Be confident.  Stop trying to use other people to fill the holes within yourself.  The only thing that can replace the missing pieces of you is more you.  Other people will not suffice.  So nurture yourself into the kind of person you want to be.  It’s OK to focus on yourself and the things you want in and for your life.

Don’t give to the point of self-destruction.  Take care of yourself when you’re having bad days.  Find positive ways to talk to others openly about issues in your relationship with them.  Respect others, and respect yourself.

Cultivate the best in yourself, and others are sure to notice.

And finally, ” La-la-la-la~”
That’s silly. You’re silly. I like you ;-)

The story of the sun

When I was younger, I found a sun for myself.

I don’t remember exactly when or where. Perhaps it was at a local faire, or passing by on the street somewhere that I found my sun.

I’d like to think it was amber and gold, but it probably wasn’t. It could have been copper, brass, or gilded. It could have been amber, or just colored glass. But it was my sun, and my sun was amber and gold.

There was a drop of amber in the center, with six or eight teardrop-shaped ambers surrounding it, and the whole piece was set in gold. I’m not sure though. I don’t remember anymore, because I no longer have my sun.

I gave my sun to the first woman who was ever my lover – five years after we broke up.  I thought she needed strength, and I wanted to give her my best and brightest. I knew she’d have some long, hard years ahead of her, and she did. She does. But these days she seems happier, pursuing a new career path and telling me about her current relationship with such cheer that I can see the smile on her face even though we’re speaking over the telephone.

But there are those days when I need strength as well, and my world is dark in the absence of my sun. I miss its weight against my chest. I miss the strength I drew from it.

I remember the time in high school when I had an internship, and they had me clean out their basement for a month. I remember how dark it was down there, how lonesome. And how I realized that if I wanted light down there, I had to bring it with me.

So I sung, for hours every day, to bring the light with me. I stopped feeling lonesome. I let go of my fear. The light in my heart chased them away, and I shone like a beacon in the dark.

But some time after that, I lost my light. I don’t remember when or where. Now, I feel lonesome. I am afraid. My heart diminished from all the pieces I gave away to others. Most did not treat them kindly; few returned them when they were done. A few years ago I gave one of the best and brightest pieces of it to a friend who needed strength.

I hope I still have enough to get by. I hope I still have enough left to share with the people I meet who matter to me.

Because when I was younger, I found a sun. I don’t remember when or where. It was a drop of amber surrounded by six or eight teardrops set in gold. I don’t remember anymore, because it’s been years since I’ve seen my sun.

But I still remember the way it feels.

An analysis: Rokka -Braves of the Six Flowers-

A long time ago, I used to do reviews for movies and shows on another website.  I haven’t done one in a long time, but lately I’ve been watching a show that I’m really enjoying and I wanted to talk about it.  So I’m taking today’s blog post to discuss the Japanese animated show “Rokka -Braves of the Six Flowers-“.

Now, because of the nature of this show, it will be impossible to discuss it in a spoiler-free manner.  So, I am warning you now:  if you do not want this show spoiled for you up through episode 7 (the most recent at the time of this writing), do not read any further.

Again, this is your warning.  If you don’t want spoilers, please do not continue reading, and skip this post instead.

Continue reading

Rust

With a grumble and groan,
the trembling tower
clung to its “fifteen minutes,”
for well over an hour.

Eventually the strain
of holding itself high
brought the tower to its knees,
revealing the sky.

Now the steel Samson lies exposed,
and the vultures pick it clean
until a skeleton of rust
is all that remains to be seen.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were metal, weaken, and decay.*

On compromise

When people talk about compromise, I get the impression that they mean splitting things down the middle, 50/50. But I’ve been giving the idea some thought lately, and I’ve come up with my own interpretation.

I was speaking with a friend on the topic recently, and told her that I don’t like the idea of compromise meaning splitting everything 50/50.  Doesn’t that kind of thinking create a system that’s open to abuse?  Couldn’t someone take a situation and say, “I’ve given you five things today and you’ve only given me four – so you have to give me what I want now.”?  Alternatively, what if we have a bad day and need more than 50%?  This model doesn’t account for that at all.

Instead, I told her that, to me, compromise means accepting that sometimes you have to split things 70/30, or 30/70.  Some days you need to give someone your 10 out of 10, and those days you don’t get anything.  Other days, you’ll need the 10 out of 10 yourself.

I told her that I think compromise is being graceful about accepting the ebb and flow of a relationship.  Compromise is acknowledging that the word has nothing to do with fair, and everything to do with respect.  Compromise means caring for someone else, but it also means caring for yourself.

If someone only takes but never gives, that is not compromise.  Those we love sometimes have periods in their lives when they need us to give more, and that’s OK.  But make sure they reciprocate.  Do not feed someone who is always hungry for more.  Do not share with someone who never shares.

Instead, seek out those who give joyfully, and respectfully request.  Offer your best, and be mindful of what others offer you.  Don’t be too proud to ask for help, and do not destroy yourself in the process of giving aid.

That is what compromise means to me.