What if I fall?

Cristian Mihai

fly

“What if I fall?” 
“Oh my darling, what if you fly?”

Do you ever ask yourself if you like the person you are? If you are who you’ve always wanted to be? Do you know who you want to be?

To be honest, it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I realized who I really wanted to be. I want to be that guy who tells people they can fly. I want to see the magic they have stored up in their hearts for so long. And I want to make them see it, I want to make them use it. Because, truth be told, falling is just another way to fly.

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Fragmentory 1

 

She once kissed the sun. It was tailored under window glass. Sliced into spots. For her pleasure. Then it was gone. As easily it had risen. Storm wafted in gray smoothness and polished the gold. No, she was not disappointed. Hungering for both storms and sun is like going against the Manicheanistic prospects of life. Life as a social production; life as capital of capitalism and the bickering of socialism. It was as if she was pining for both lover and husband in the person that she craved. They say both cannot coexist; then she remembered the sunspots and trusted even more they could. God shown with nature that it could exist and she questioned why was it feared? The existence of two together. Why was labeling in the apex of discrete and discretion rather than a more luminous and dark pitched Night. Was not night and moon the biggest paradox one could imagine? The softness of a crescent itself defies how a full becomes a curve and a curve becomes a circle. Both complete. Both alarmingly present. And yet this night was called by Hellenistic successors as women’s quarters; relegated and suffocated and brought out no more  than a manifestation of infestation and damnation; what contradiction and stupidity is raised. As storm raged and raged and sang and sang in its gusto to swoon clouds and water she felt the fusions of thoughts and emotions. As Night settled in its tones of deep blue, gray and black with highlights of lightnings here and there and petrichor perambulations made its way into the food, hearts and blood of people around with her adjoined she felt a corporeal bliss with an incorporeal promise.

romeo and romance

 

..is like really unpardonably boring; riffed and overused like a salami on toast
and a tea party on steroids — Shakespearean is not real as in illusory Romeo
is but a pawn in the wrath of apples and the apples of wrath; he is a hyphen
not a destination, not a fragment, but a whole, sliced as a dot in the punctuation
of parody — he is the whimsical Hamlet when lovingly not rejecting Ophelia and
the Othello who does not care who pines for Desdemona; he only cares that his
appetite to live life as though cauterized by a swelling pus of romance is dialogic
to the appetites of Juliet for Juliet does not need to hate her other suitors it is more
perilous to love a fastidious “saint” or “sinner” than a normal hybrid; for extremities
are a ruse a Witches’ confidant that they will cure boredom; fair Verona has nothing
to climb, Romeo, if not met with Juliet, may easily go after Rosalind, to see a nun, to make
her love him, ah, but then he is corrupted; rather corrupt the corruptible right? Or so the
Witches and Ariel bicker? Or rather he thought lets see if Rosalind would be envious to know
Juliet, un-nunned, is in his arms and he in her arms and would frolic out of the nunnery and
scram towards him? Did not Hamlet in his indigestion tell Ophelia that a convent is a better
place? Did he not tell her that as a geographic chastity belt? Hmmmph if you ask me he should
have said — here, don’t fuck yet I am gonna make out with this madness bitch and then come
and we can suffer my incestuous or non-incest overtones together on some place else — no need
to defile her body with chastity and you go around fucking madness like some cheap worn night-lady
hmmmp yeah you hyphenated prick you stuck up and suck on Romeo’s window breaks; everyone
is bored in Shakespeare’s world; from Lear to Portia to Shylock to Juliet to Ophelia to Bassanio (the prick)
everyone wants out. Hmm, kinda think of it. Maybe it was Shakespeare saying — I am bored, Oh God, get me out
of this fucking theatre business too…▬

The Other “F” Word

The problem is that people refuse to see older women as viable mates. Men, due to some biological cliche, have it good even in their sixties. It’s like if men were a geek in their 20s or 30s they can still make “dad” or “husband” at 60 with a much younger lady. Women, despite evidences against the contrary, are only attractive when they can get pregnant; though a women’s sexuality can be vigorous, voracious and tactile even in her 60s. But this factor is not taken into consideration. There are women who conceive after 40, 50 at times 60 but they are not recorded. Men’s biological accomplishments are recorded. Women’s are discarded. I feel that men take pride in thinking they are not the eruptive vessels forgetting that they are eruptive vessels each time they come or ejaculate or just plain orgasm. The problem is that we put biological warranties on people especially women. That’s very sad.

Stories From the Belly

Three years ago I turned forty. I flipped out when it happened, even though I knew that the negative ideas about women hitting middle age are misogynistic and wrong.

Here are excerpts from my journal that I wrote in 2011 about this milestone age (Apparently I was watching a lot of Oprah back then):

  • Oprah says that hiding your age is like denying your existence. Yet I can’t help myself. At parties any time the topic of age comes up I find myself leaving the room and running to get a drink. If I come back and people are still talking about age, I get up again, this time to go look for ice. I don’t want to admit that I’m 40—especially in Hollywood where it seems like everyone I know is 25.
  • I’d lower my age on Match.com if I wasn’t so opposed to lying. My ex-boyfriend says that a lot of…

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Fuck “Sexy”

I don’t care what people think about women’s clothing. I don’t like revealing clothes either much. But to use clothing as “advertisement” as a female centric thing is obviously sexist and patriarchal. Men hardly are encouraged to exercise modesty in clothes, speech or acts. A gentlemen is a confabulated creature who is supposed to exist in suits and not and that’s fine. A gentlemen definition can change but a “slut” is a constant. A “slut” is a woman who is “easy going”, “loud” or even “confident”. Hell, no matter what a woman wears sexist moods define how she will be treated. For example if Kim Kardashian wore nothing there is still a chance guys are all gonna call her a lady (except maybe a few) but if for example the girl in your coffee shop did that she would hailed a “slut” and then sexually abused. Many men walk around naked, streak, urinate in public with their penises out like some brainaddled asses and they are still to be respected but if a women wears a short skirt she is slut how come? I am not encouraging any revealing clothing but neither am I debasing a person wearing it. Why should I? Men find it hard to fathom women who dress “slutty” because many a times their perceptions about these “sluts” are wrong. Either they get rejected to sleep with. Or worst the woman turns out to be a better human being than them. But they have made a hegemony and a dichotomy on bodies especially women’s bodies and that hurts that their knowledge turns out to be wastebasket theories.

The Belle Jar

Sometimes I feel like I want to ban the word sexy. Like, take that shit out of the dictionary and impose a fine whenever someone uses it.

Which is pretty funny because I’m super sex-positive and I definitely want people to feel good about their bodies and secure in their sexuality, however it manifests itself.

But man am I ever fucking tired of how we use that word to shame girls and sell them on a bunch of gross patriarchal ideas about how they should be.

Take this picture, which was tweeted/posted by Floyd Mayweather and has been making the rounds over the past few days:

10402551_10152318424273113_4249204407973090687_n

Like, first of all, this is a dude who has been charged with two counts of domestic violence. Why would anybody think that what he has to say about women is even a little bit valid? I am not really down with anyone…

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Bluffing

when you have the ability to translate and write your poems in 3 different languages. So, that’s amazing 😀 and shows talent

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

The toxic syllables, precarious signs, irresolute,
which snatch from the vapors of the hidden ideas, shadows of the possible betrayals…
You afraid and, the smile, painfully stretched, is just a mask
try to dodge you, with formal pleasantries and sneak you between the grimaces of
important and serious concerns…
Nobody forces you to lie or to tell the truth, shut up implosive
Your thoughts are playing cards never hard of to bluff

a3

Bleffando
Sillabe tossiche, segni precari, indecisi
che strappano dai vapori delle idee nascoste le ombre dei possibili tradimenti
Hai paura e, il sorriso, dolorosamente allungato, è solo una maschera
Tenti di schivare, con convenevoli formali e stai sgattaiolando tra le smorfie di
importante e serie preoccupazioni
Nessuno ti costringe a mentire o dire la verità, puoi tacere implosivo
I tuoi pensieri sono carte da gioco mai difficile di bleffare

a1
Cacialmaua
silabe…

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Microsoft Paying Bloggers To Write About Internet Explorer

Despo marketing hahaha

Uncrunched

Why in the world is Microsoft (through an agency) trying pay bloggers to write about Internet Explorer? Do people still do this? And given my position on paid posts, why would they think I’d be willing to participate?

This is just layers of stupid.

Here’s the link in the request below. Here’s the hashtag (#IEbloggers) that they’re requesting people use, so I’m guessing anyone using that is getting paid.

paidpostpaidpost2

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emotional hijincks

you tell me I stink with a beautiful tongue
your caramel saliva drips like a wasted candy
on some pavement of social disorder;

and you tell me I am picturesque shame;
colour coded in your coordinated flux of things that you’ll never do
like writing on a script on how you felt and how you feel
and to tell me to join the decipherable madness
of learning mute by viper, rattle -snake tongue
that shakes and shudders in an orgasmic fathom
taped to castration; sensor shun and censorship
are sometimes dining on the same plates

and you say I am a beetle and a mouse meant to be eaten
by an enormous snake known as public decency
I do not espouse freedom that entails minimization
nor do I understand how censoring my moods
erects a value system and says that publicity
is the hidden brood of licentiousness;
am I a fabulist wrought iron clad in bikinis and microtinis
and boxers and briefs and shame to me!
For what reason may I profess can you confess to shame me?

there is a fake piety that appears as much not needed piety
prosaic and dry tongued in its passionate speech
and poetic in its incineration that make Farenheit and Celsius go cheek to cheek
to get checked for the STDs that personal hatred triggers

then you want grass gutted lawns
and all lakeside traveling and the concrete world
has not taught you a definition of unfairness?
have your glass slipper not cracked while the stoning of you windows
your ball and your patience all came to a thunderous appaluse
how your defeat was given an orgy and your victories bedridden
and  you say beware the laughing and the laughs; has living away
from the wiry, weary edges of revelations made you any less comical?
your life a laugh they translated and your breadth a joke they thought
and you are worried about laughs; laughs are a pllague of death if
made to be as comical as ethics of war where a queen sizzles under
the brevity of drones. Don’t come with a kiss that enables a fist
make a fist and smash your Wall and build a ladder to meet me

I wanted to meet you. I badly did. At some points. As slivers of yellow
as the storm day proceeds but this sliver does not light you
I love the storm too but you decidedly needle-injected the vortex
the nullified eye of the storm. Happily pleasant as the deluge drowns you.

I was not meant to shame you, You have simply shamed yourself.▬

Osho, I Love You No More. | Gaysi

Osho, I Love You No More. | Gaysi.

I did not read Osho before. I know very less of the guy. But yeah he is not really a guy who likes homosexuality. But I understand his reasons. The guy does not hate homosexuals but neither is he really a proponent of it which I understand totally. Yet, of course a lot of people hate this fact about him. I wondered why exactly. It’s not really homophobic if you are not really a proponent of gay culture. Maybe, there is a reason? If he is gay bashing severely I would obviously dislike that.

To me personally, there are many propagandist stuff related to gay culture and even straight culture that I do not really support. I am not a proponent of those cultures. I find them glittery and really misleading so that is why I do not like traditional romances, romance literature much as in Mills and Boons and all those and also not a LGBTQ supporter.

So my comment to this article was this:

I am not a proponent for LGBTQ nor am I a homophobe nor am I a great fan or fan or anything of Osho’s. I recently bought his books to see what he is about. I will say in some ways he is right. When I first read gay literature, and even now I like yaoi genre in Japanese anime a lot, I think my ideas had been a bit different. Now, they have evolved a bit more and I say most notions of homosexuality and even heterosexuality are propagandist. A bisexual person I once talked to and even Nivedita Menon had very different ideas of being “queer” which is not at all persistent with traditional, liberal ways of looking at queer people, Firstly, queerness is not only a phenomenon related to a person’s attraction towards same-sex people pr love of same-sex people. It is a multitude of different feelings, ideas and experiences. Menon and that person actually agreed with this (that is why the person being bisexual or more gay if I am correct did not support LGBTQ).

Heterosexuality is not only about child rearing and giving birth and all those things and so when Osho says that homosexual relationships are more understanding between men but women will never truly love another as they know each other too much I was like “ok, that sounds a bit weird as in a bit incomplete”. I know that relationships between different genders and sexes is necessary and that only polarizing it as sexual and nonsexual is both a problem of homosexuality and heterosexuality. I think that is why I agree with him to that extent that there are manufactured ways of looking at sexualities and that if there is a heteronormative there is also a homo-normative. I see it in the easy uses of the word “feminine” and “masculine” and what not. A free thinker will not easily use words like that. Remember we are always living a dichotomous world and that for some people being gay may be a stage of attraction that comes and goes and not really what they want. But our binary system has forced people in sets. I think Osho also mistaken when he says that man and women are always in turmoil and can never be friends and that creates mystery and misunderstanding to a good — he is right about that but not fully. Sometimes the best understanding and love you get from who you call the opposite sex and it may not entail sexual intercourse and childbirth. So, yes, we must look at these with an open mind. I think at times that a “monastery”, “army” or even “hostel” is more about an enivironment that is akin to that. Like a clinic can even be a school. Clubs can be akin to brothels if they systematically encourage you to do things in a similar way. Like in some clubs how date rape is so exercised because the conditions are so simulated that you are in a brothel and these men and women are your brothelites and you may do with them as you please and unfortunately they you as well. Yes, Osho should have been more articulate in his ideas. I can’t fully talk about sexualities here also. It’s brevity destroys his witty soul.