Fresh Noons Blooming

All right, I've rolled up my sleeves and I'm cleaning house. Mentally, of course, and socially. I take out the spiderwebs, the spider veins that spread below, the pests. I weed the unnecessary creatures out, the pesky ghosts. My mind is a repository of bad sediment sometimes, the words and deeds of others stay with me - angry ghosts.
It takes a lot of courage to let go of a ghost, even an angry one. We are used to his voice, we think we need it. All along it was my own mind that fathomed you that fashioned you into significance. In the end, perception is almost everything it seems, at least when it comes to the power of reality and dreams.
The truth is, there's nothing wrong with anything that has happened. My only issue is moving on, moving forward and into the fresh light of a new day. I was held back a bit this summer by obligations and spoiled love like spoiled coconut milk in the Bahian sun. Sometimes are own obligations tether us to the wrong coconut. But that's ok....
I keep meeting little princes along the way and they are not the polite one fashioned by Exupery but the real whinging ones that are forever glued to the nipple. Oh Puer Aeternus, go find another temporary mommy to suckle. Ok? Ok.
In the meantime I'll go enjoy this Latin city properly with its European houses and mysterious ports.
"Follow your own star!" - Dante Alighieri

fisticuffs and hallucinations

If the sinews of your hand tighten and the skin is tautly spread over your beautiful knuckles and if your beautiful knuckles travel at 22 miles per hour towards the face of a deserving bully and if the deserving bully doesn't move his head but lets those sweet little weapons of yours sink in will I have my retribution?
Says the voice of the little maiden as she waits to be avenged by the man with the knuckles and the fists and the sinew.

At half past three, a strange picture, a kind of circus of silhouettes begins to play on the moon, the shadows seem to become ever more frantic to the bewildered earthling eye. Little did you know, there is a puppeteer who has taken residence on the moon.

The 7-11 near the Starbucks at the corner of Smith and Harrison is the most exotic place a girl can go after a night of fine wining and gourmet boredom. The all night snacks beckon her horny little head. The cashier has been waiting for her.

At the left bottom corner of his sock drawer is a picture of it. It is slick and thick and perfectly black as the night during which he will finally own it. His fist will bulge with the brilliance of it, just before it slackens.

lets talk about sex, american style

Hypothesis: White (straight) american men are more insecure (on average) when it comes to the bedroom, the bra, and the boob. Than whom? Probably than almost everyone else. I wonder if educational achievement correlates with sexual dysfunction? Maybe for some men.... The "smarter" and better in one achievement area, the dumber in the other. The more seemingly secure in intellect, the less secure in lack there of. What if intellect is just totally over-rated when it comes to pure physicality, what if we just disconnect with our bodies and become scared of them? How absolutely awful. Although it depends on the kind of intellectual practices one is socialized into, as well. This could go the other way too, education could open sexually, the right kind of education. So I'm talking Puritan-descended American mentality. If this generalization holds any truth, it all comes down to specifics. The body should be hidden, the body reeks of sin and skin.

This goes for women too. This is a societal problem. More specifically though, it could just be a WASP problem too, the common occurrence of identity diffusion in Wasps is something I'm pretty certain of. So we're talking Christian and mainly European descended, super-mixed descent to the point of almost impossibility to identify with one original cultural group, 1/124th this, 1/18 that...a fraction problem.

(I'm thinking anomie, and the wonderful Greenfeld again.) Anomie, namelessness, the inability to know who and what you are, the inability to locate yourself culturally, spatially, physically, mentally, socially. You have 37.8 careers every minute, you flip your brain like a tv set with 100+ channels, you flip your thoughts at the speed of google - which is why you need to be constantly hooked up to google, your fingers are always picking at your I-phone, you can't make constant eye contact, you can't focus on one lover, one job, one thought, one thought, one thought. You have given yourself ADD when it comes to knowing what you want and when you look in the mirror which face do you see? I am talking about a typical WASP problem.

On a grander world scale, I think Europeans, Aussies & Kiwis, South Americans, etc. are better off than Americans...I think the less regulated dating interactions and the more comfortable the society at large is with bodies and physicality (enter dreaded puritanical history) the better. I think the more socially-regulated and metricalized and fearful of offense and morally and legally inhibited people are in sexually-related interactions, the worse the likely outcomes. If you throw all this grammar between us, between every touch, and interpret in a myriad ways the most seemingly animalistic of connections, you're well...screwed. I mean the more we overthink the more bodily warmth and flow gets sectioned off into over-regulated little boxes. Soon, we could draw a flow chart of the date, and that would seem more sexy than the date itself. Or here's a better idea for regulation: write me sonnets, dream your Petrarch dreams, the metricality of romance is artistic-encouraging of creativity, and with that we have passion and a striving instead of constriction and fear.

Favorite defense mechanism in this life: Intellectualization

Super weapon of choice: charm, intelligence, and fairy tales

And then, the smart little lady lived happily ever after, pursuing thoughts,

those balloons that flow ever upward and offer their stringy little hands

up, up.

movement and stoppage

Hyde Park is stifling and liberating. Colorado is sunny. I will use simple, or somewhat simple adjectives to index my life here and now. Let's talk about deixis. Mine is free-flowing and ever marked by airplanes, tickets, airports, houses, apartments, locales, hermit holes, mountains, beaches. Languages, people, thoughts, moi.
I am cloudy, expanding, imploding, revolting.
Spaces are my hands, these walls, that doorway, the face with which I am speaking, the thoughts that I am segmenting into community-defined confinements a.k.a. words which you understand at least somewhat.
I pour my imperfect self into books, thoughts, attempts at metacognition, metalevel analysis of this ephemeral biological chance.
Happy holidays citizens of Abraham land. May you sleep well, eat well, think well. May your biology compliment your evolution as a self-aware entity. L'chaim.