procrastination

so, what do you do when you don't know what to do? when the only feeling you feel is nothing. no motivation, no direction, just lost and drifting. I tell you what you do. you become someone else for a while, so you can then re locate yourself. I decided to be a 60's chick, Mia Wallace, take no BS.


when you procrastinate about procrastination do you become mainstream? or are you even further away from society? creating your own world.  when you don't even know what you are living for.


all this drifting is exhausting. when will it stop?


how will I know?
what will it take?


!!!!!

Urgency of love

Love? Lust? Desire? 

We all want to know what it is. We ask -  

"What is this?" 

"What are we?"

Is it love? Is it attraction?

How do we distinguish? 

We all want it. 

Why do we rush it?

What is so urgent about love?

What happens when it is gone?

How long is enough?

Will it eventually go?

Can we love forever?

If yes, then can we desire forever?

Passion. Passionless. 

     Equals = no love?

Can we love without desire and attraction? Yes. But it goes hand in hand. Without desire, passion and lust isn't it just unconditional? Isn't it just caring? Like you care for an aunt or brother?

What is love? The consistency ever so thick. 

lover of mind

Their minds and bodies will succumb to the ultimate pastime. She knows he will be a tender lover, true and carefree yet dominant and protecting. Their minds are already there even though their bodies still delay. He has a library of books in his house – a man with a library like his couldn’t possibly do her any harm. It has been just under a month now, less than 4 whole solid days together but she knows him. She wants to be in the proximity of his penis, an alien penis she has thought about so often yet not pictured once. She is excited at the thought of him being like a father to her during intimacy. She has been yearning for a parental figure. He has so often thought of her and her inexperience. So young but as if she has lived a previous life. She has the frivolity and innocence he so longs for. He wants to corrupt her mind and keep it for himself. She can’t stop her soul responding to his voice, thus he cannot resist a woman who‘s soul responds in this way. She plans every moment leading up to the liaison. She begins unbuttoning her shirt in front of the bare mirror, with her lover on her ever ready mind.

If i brushed my teeth that morning (exaggerated version)

Obscenities and trash talk by unfulfilled, egotistical men, who I am certain are unloved by their respected partners.. or themselves.  YES, I have a face and a body. I happen to walk and talk. My heart pumps, my vagina bleeds. You’d of thought I was walking stark raving naked across the street ,with their “intercourse” eyes prowling all over me.

I wouldn’t of disagreed with their views that I was “a hot piece of ass” if

1.      I gave a damn about their opinion

2.      I believed it and wasn’t a feminist

3.      Id brushed my teeth that morning

shot my baby with a bang

 

something that was less than a week ago feels like months, my mind has lapsed. i seem to have forgotten you, but somehow think of you everyday. i dont know how long this torture will persist. love knows no bounds and it certainly didnt with us, for i cant live with you nor without.

he is his own worst enemy

On stranger tides, the enemy moving closer than he thought; creeping up like a shadow. Cannons fully loaded, barrels overflowing, set up and aimed. Fog and mist making the deed harder than it ought to be. The captain won’t hold back, when in his short history has he ever made a wrong step? A cock sure captain. The smell of gunpowder locked in his nostrils, his heart galvanising, the twitch of his soiled fingertips stimulating the fuse alight in his veins. Sweat beads dripping off his long hooky nose, his eyes squaring through the eyeglass. The smoggy weather so unpredictable and alive, the cardiac muscle has contracted the gunpowder in his blood stream.

 FIRE!  …

The weather caused no hesitation. He smiled to himself for the destruction was clear; he’d only known a life of destruction. The haze made it more of a challenge, a life without games and challenges was no life for him. Viewing the sea to admire his destruction, a queer feeling arose in the pit of his stomach, his eyes as large as if he’d been on opium. the captains heart numb, as if stabbed by tiny icicles; the ruin closer to home than he could ever of imagined. For the captain recognised the dainty baby blue hanky dancing in the hot wind.

Greek myth

Looking at a face in the mirror, a face barely known. The blood rushes to the surface, antagonising the skin; no reaction. Sallow and sunken. Dead pupils, the moonlight doesn’t even venture that close now; there was a time when it hit every depth. Once a narcissist, now a dead flower overwhelmed by carbon dioxide.