typical trouble between the sexes, thought example

Posted: March 9th, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Sex | No Comments »

I don’t appreciate him not calling me when he says he is going to call me and every time he does it he has some reason and he says sorry and I say it’s ok don’t worry about it love but how many times can he do this and it will still be ok? How many times can he do this before he thinks he can just not call me back and say sorry and everything will just be ok? How many times can this happen before he takes me saying it is ok for granted? How many times can he do this before he thinks I should always just say it is ok? How many times do I have to think about this before I say fuck it? The time might be approaching. He fails me so much, can he possibly stop or change? I am not saying that there shouldn’t be allowances made and I am not saying that I want him to not feel free, like if for some reason I couldn’t call him back when I said I would I don’t want to have to worry about him being crazy upset about it, but if do it again and again and again, I might understand him being upset. I am the only one who can be at fault here. He can not call me back again and again and the only person who can be at fault is me if I get upset about it. What I want is to be done with this relationship. I don’t want to be done with him; I love him with my whole heart, but I want to be done with caring so much about it. I want to be done with wondering if he is the perfect man for me. I want to be done with wondering if he could possibly be all the things I want and need him to be. I want to be done with wondering if he could be strong enough to be with me. I want to be done wondering if he is mature enough to handle such a relationship as we have. I want to be done with wondering how serious he is about this relationship. I want to be done with wondering how long it will take before we at least get engaged. I want to be done wondering how long it will take before we get married. I want to be done wondering about all this. If it were meant to be wouldn’t it just be and I wouldn’t have to worry about it? There are countless other people who are able to make this happen but I can’t seem to get a guy to marry me. Is there some trouble with me or do I just keep picking the wrong guys who could see themselves with me in the long run but aren’t actually ready to make that step of commitment. And if they are not ready shouldn’t that be a sign that they might never be ready and I should leave them behind and learn from the relationship? He doesn’t think he has to do what he says and he thinks I should always be understanding about it then he thinks he can just put me and my feelings on hold and deal with them when he is available. This is in no way good for me. I lay there like a naked slab of meat for him to jerk off to and this is how he treats me? Fucking fabulous. It is likely that all men fail, almost all the time.


a class today

Posted: January 27th, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Women | No Comments »

Things seem to be going very interestingly for me. I have my new job which I like very much, to my boyfriend’s disadvantage, well not really; I am just supposed to go back in a short time and if I am too happy here maybe I won’t go back. This is the problem I suppose. But I don’t want to talk about that. My classes are so interesting sometimes; I get to talk about basically anything I want; there are rules about discussing politics but sometimes, a lot of the time, it is appropriate and I really enjoy hearing what they have to say, as long as I move on quick enough or don’t make it too obvious that I am ridiculously interested in what they’ve got to say, not any more than a normal teacher should be anyways. English corners sometimes are the best because you have a lot of different students in one classroom of all different ages, well, all adults, mostly, and from different backgrounds with different ideas about the world; they vary so much it is astounding but I suppose like any other country. It is like my students are my specimens in my great social experiment but I am both the active scientist and the passive observer. I love it. For example today I had an English corner on marriage, very interesting I tell you. Some of the women felt like there is no such thing as real love, that it only seems like it before marriage then after marriage it turns into something else; one woman even said her husband loves her son more than her. And I was like, pardon me if I am rude, but do you feel like a tool? Can you believe I said that to her? Well if you know me I am sure you can believe it. And she said yes, she feels like a tool. One man said if you believe in true love then you will have it and if you don’t then you won’t and that young men don’t believe in true love but old men do. One student wanted badly to be a football player for his province but he is too old now and he was not picked because his leg was hurt at that time and it crushed his dream. First of all, I think the way China does sports needs to change; people only get one chance here to play and it is completely unfair; and I think this guy is only 27 so he isn’t even too old but in China he is; it is so whack. He needs to have another dream and his new dream is that he will make a big influence on a group of people; I can’t remember exactly what he said now but it certainly left a big impression on me and made me a little dreamy on the inside, seeing as how I have the same ambition. So I guess he was right about something else; he said women are easy to make dizzy, easy to happiness and easy to love. I really don’t agree with him but he is right in a lot of ways, just not that all women are this way but certainly a lot of them are. A lot of the women were able to acknowledge the inequality between men and women in marriage, both in the past and still today with regard to a woman being limited to the domestic sphere after marriage. Oh so many things to think about with a class like this and this is why I love this job. I get a group of people, all willing to talk to me and answer any question I want and it is a different culture than the one I grew up in which makes it even more interesting to study; I would like to study every culture but here I am with this one and the window/door is open so big for teachers here to attempt to truly understand this way of life. I can study my culture and my country sure, but I must study others. I really like that one boy student though, I really do.


that guy

Posted: January 21st, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Global Economy | 1 Comment »

There was a man who once claimed to be able to ride a bike with no handle bars. Well, my friends, I just one uped his ass. I can ride a bike with no wheels. Yes, it does take a lot of imagination, but that is all I have left.

Side note. Global Economy. People are worried that we are going to be taken over by the Chinese. I’m not. But I also drink, smoke and eat unhealthy. I suppose I should worry about dying at 35. But, I’m not. We should all just work together. But we dont. We have crazy people all around us. Every country. News likes to just make them seem bigger than they are. There not. Money, that seems like it is important. Chinese might think so, we own them quite a bit. Lets see if they will shake ups upside down to take our lunch money. We are the country that shoots the bullies. Then becomes the bully. Then is like, everything back to normal, right mates. Just sweep that under the rug we will. Sorry. But it could also be because corporations have a major say in our country. What I am trying to say is, I have got a friend in Jesus. Seriously. Best prices on dro.

So that was my first post ever. I understand that it is mostly incoherent, and a jumble of thoughts, that may or may not be lacking emotion. What I say to you good sir or madam, time for tea?


waiter

Posted: December 23rd, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Poetry | No Comments »

I can’t care
I don’t want to
I wouldn’t dare
If I didn’t love you
But what am I to do
If I can’t have you
Because you are such a big fucking prick
But you aren’t
Am I?
Maybe
But who am I to decide that

You are you I am me
But you fucked around
You made a fool of me
But I don’t care so much
About being a fool
Just that you thought
You could love another
Girl

Shouldn’t I just break
Away
Surge through
Find something anew?

I can’t get fast enough away from you
You rot my brain till nothing remains
But an empty skull
Aching in misery
You scooped it all out of me
Everything that held you there
You fawned on another
Thought you not mine
Fuck that I say
I cannot heal
Rather I just ban you to the side
Away
Out of sight
Where you will become just a
Hopefully fond memory

You are sweet
But you make me sick
I love you
But I can’t imagine how
Love must be so great
I must be good at it
Many have tried and failed
Will that be your fate?

All over what?
A wondering EYE
A healthy lust
Ego
Not calling me

I refuse to care
Because it makes me crazy
And despite what some think
I don’t like to be too crazy
Just a little
Bit
Is nice

But YOU
What have you done to me?
Made me a horrible evil mockery
I don’t know my place
I don’t know my mind
All I do is search you out
To find your hidden love
That you only give me
Sometimes

So what do I do?
Wait
Wait

For potentially nothing to come?

No, that is not my fate.


leaver

Posted: December 23rd, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Poetry | No Comments »

You swirl in your color
Bright lights and shinny music
With your hair down
Like boys can do
Not just you
And you make your happiness
Not set out for two

You have it all alone
And unto yourself
Where am I
Alone in my house?
Absolutely not
But it feels like it

Who could you be?
Cept’ not the person I see
Always
Confused and in
Proximity
To the unearthed truth
That you are not mine

When will I realize?
Will time keep marching on
Without that burst of
Clarity?
Will you keep using me
For what I am not
And only to you seem?

Everyone else knows
I am me
But you think
I am yours for
Destruction
You will destroy me
Alone forever into fire
The fire that springs up
At your death

And where are you now?
Not with me
Somewhere else
Somewhere in infinity
Making juice with others
I am out in the cold
I have found no other home
Where are you?
Not in my bed
Not in your home
Just in my head
And out fucking alone
With tons of people

How can I not mourn you?
How can I find the place
In my head where
It is ok to live without
You?
I don’t know if that place
Exists
But it must
Because I was me
Before you

So what
Should I stray
Forget
Roam?
But I can’t kill you
I don’t even want to try
You will always be
In my mind’s eye
I cannot unclench my hands
Though they are turning red and white
With effort and failing strength

I am spinning spinning
About to vomit
Regurgitate the slim
Of my

American relationship.


shizer

Posted: December 23rd, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Poetry | No Comments »

Forget this
I have no time
Not for you
Not even for me

I will go far
Very very far
And all will be
Well
Without the need
For forgiveness’ deed

You will stand
Alone on a hill
And wonder oh
Wonder
What I will do
Now

You say
I have no light
In my heart
I am dead matter
Without a soul
Some mere energy
That has fallen away
From you

I cannot come
I cannot go
There is nothing
To do
But see and play
Which we will do

But when shall I kick
From beneath
The tear filled bag
I am holding back
Waiting
It will drown
Everything
Out

Then there will be no worry
Between you and me
All will be free


a dream I just had

Posted: October 6th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Creative Non-Fiction | No Comments »

I was in another realm or dimension. It was a very strange place and extremely perplexing. It was a dark and dirty place where people were scared all the time, I think. There may have been devils about or some kind of similar threat. There was a friend I had staying over and I think I tried to feed her something, or I think she was tired, no no, there was coffee ground and she smeared it on her body or something and said that she was sure to be tired tonight because she would have a caffeine crash and I was disappointed by that. There were deep dark caves where I am sure it was not safe to be, and there were monsters there, lurking. I was alone a lot. There was a lot of the color brown. You could be in your bed and suddenly slip down a hole attached to your pillow and go down down a tunnel and plop out somewhere dark on the other end where you were truly in danger. I remember I was in a trance in bed and I thought I could move but I could only move a phantom hand or arm, and the rest of my ‘real’ arm would stay where it was. One time I thought I could move, with great difficulty and I moved and picked up my cell phone, which looked like my cell phone in ‘real’ life, but it was cracked and I was like fuck. Then I realized I hadn’t moved at all and it was all an illusion. So I tried again and this is when I saw my transparent, almost ghost-like hand and arm move away while my ‘real’ hand and arm stayed right where it was. At one point, my fake see-through arm picked up my ‘real’ arm and held it in between the two fakes; it was absolutely bizarre. There were so many layers.


time march

Posted: September 10th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Poetry | No Comments »

The sprinkling fire coming from my pores
Speaks of unrequited majesty
Bleeding green ooze followed by
Bone deterioration and weakening ores
Cells struggling under tar pulling
Dying arms and fists up into the air
Emaciated little bundles of flesh
Too dull to snap falling back
The earth confiscated what was once
Flying around mazed and incomplete
Oily rainbow pool at the center
Rippling out reverberating endlessly
Never reaching another entity

Under the opaque surface she finds nothing she could have expected. Massive whales pushing against each other fighting for breath, wiggling like giant worms rubbing their ridges together, spurting slightly. Loud cries you can feel inside.

Where is the gold loopy music, the sound of people waltzing and laughing merrily? They all have homes and sometimes it takes a carriage to get to them. Wicked table cloths with silverware and people playing piano and string instruments, shuffling feet and speaking beneath their words, in and out, growing hair and nails until the insufferable moment where they pass away, and now they are in only movies, like in that jungle where the natives live, dancing around fire with the fireflies all around, the sounds of crickets and something roasting over the in ground grill. Screams of women being raped.

Moonshine brewer off at a distant alcove on his acreage, filled with trees hundreds of years old, next to a small body of water where the air is damp and the ground is moist, sweat beads up on your face and you can taste the green around you, mixed with fresh dirt. Walking out of the wood into a night air where beauty is all around you, diamonds in the sky, quiet wood structures and even a fragrant flower here and there, amongst the fleets of wild flowers on the outskirts, connecting one future road to another. The innocent scent of cow manure must be coming from the west skirted with barbed wired future fences.


husband and wife

Posted: September 10th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Fiction | No Comments »

Woman: I have been home all day taking care of our child. I haven’t spoken to a single adult all day. I miss being able to talk to people, seeing people, being responsible for only myself, I miss playing a different role in this society other than being the mother of mankind. I have been doing this for two years and though I love our child dearly and appreciate my time with her, I long for the company of others, people I can have intelligent conversations with, people who understand me, whom I can share my feelings with and who can share theirs with me. You get to be out in the world all day mixing and mingling with your peers, learning new things and taking in the condition of the world, surrounded by people like you, who have full lives. A family is important but surely it is not all that an individual person needs. I, and my adult mind, need more from the world and from myself than this.
Man: So our family, our child, and my love is not enough for you? We don’t make your life fulfilled? You have a roof over your head and people who love and support you. Why isn’t that enough? You get to stay home everyday and do as you please and you get to spend so much time with our daughter. Do you know how much I want that, how much I wish I didn’t have to wake up early everyday and slave away at my company, do you know how much it takes out of me? By the time I get home I am so tired I hardly have enough energy for you and Maggie. You are so lucky, you don’t have to work, you get everything you need and you don’t have to do anything at all. All you have to do is play with our child all day, how hard is that? And after all, I would think you would enjoy it and feel thankful that I work everyday to provide you with this life. Do you k now how many women would trade places with you in a heartbeat? I don’t mean to hurt your feelings but don’t you think you are being a bit ungrateful to me? You should thank me that you don’t have to give your time everyday just to live. Here you are sitting in this nice house complaining to your husband who works so hard just to make you happy. Unbelievable.
Woman: Why do you have to make me feel so bad that I want more out of my life than taking care of another person day in day out? You wouldn’t understand what that is like. You are hardly ever here, you haven’t spent two days alone with Maggie since she was born, not even three hours with her by yourself, you don’t know all she required, how much it wears on you to care for her. You think it’s all just happy days, playing, laughing, and having fun. I’m basically her private nanny. I hardly feel like myself anymore; I feel like a servant just here to take care of you two, there is more to being a person than caretaking. Yes I appreciate having so much time with Maggie but I need to do something else, why can’t you understand that? Instead it is you who are ungrateful for what I am doing for you and us. I am sacrificing my mind and body to take care of our child and keep you and her clothed, feed, and happy. You don’t ever have to lift a finger around here. I cook all your meals, wash all your clothes, and keep this place in order. Sure you are sacrificing your time but you get money, respect, and a dignified position in this society in exchange. What do I get, spit up on my dress, dirty dishes, on the off chance I do get to go out, someone asks me what I do and then I have to see that expression of superiority and dismissal on their face, oh, I am just a housewife, how archaic. Your job ends when you leave you office, my job is constant, twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. There is no off time or vacation or sick leave when it comes to being a mother and I don’t even get paid and if you bring up you financially supporting me again I swear to god I am going to scream, as if you are paying me to be your wife and mother your child, then I really am a servant, actually a slave, I am just here to rear your offspring. You have no idea what it is like to be dependent on another person for everything. If I need anything at all I have to come to you and ask for money. I don’t have my own money. It’s like you have two children living in your house, yes I said your house, I certainly don’t feel like it’s mine, you picked everything out, bought everything, and I am merely a guest, a slave, here to take care of your inheritor. I am just the means or the bridge between you and the ability to carry on your genes. I don’t even feel like my own person anymore and if you can’t find one ounce of compassion or sympathy I don’t know what I will do.
Man: Are you seriously saying you feel like a slave? That is absurd. I understand that taking care of a child and a home can be hard work but are you actually trying to say that what you do is more difficult than what I do? As if dealing with a two year old could compare to having a full time job? How hard is cooking and cleaning and how mentally draining could it be to play with a two year old? My job is way more mentally exhausting than yours and you know it. And what am I so ungrateful for? I am simply trying to say that you should appreciate what I do for you more. This is your life; this was your decision, no one said you had to be a stay at home mom. We both agreed it is what is best for Maggie, and shouldn’t that be the most important thing to you, being her mother and all? I am doing my job for this family and you should do yours without complaint. You take care of Maggie and this house and I provide you with the money to do so. If anything I am working for you, it is I who is a slave to this family and if this is anyone’s house it is yours, like you said I am hardly here. If you feel like a stranger in this house than that makes two of us. I never know where any of my stuff is because you are always moving it around everywhere. When I get off work I feel like I am going home the place I keep for my wife to take care of our child. I don’t feel like I have any other part here besides providing the money to make it run. You and Maggie have a private bond of which I am no part of, though she has my genes and my name she is ultimately your child and I am the one supporting this, you have never gone hungry and have everything you need to raise Maggie. I cannot understand you. I do know what it requires to take care of Maggie because I foot the bill for it everyday and I come home to this? Awesome, what am I working so hard for then if what I do is not even appreciated.
Woman: There is no point in trying to reason with you. You aren’t even trying to understand how I feel. You think just because you pay for everything here that I have to be silent and respect your pocket? When you take care of Maggie on your own for a week then you can talk to me about whether or not it is mentally exhausting. And I would appreciate what you do for this family more if you had the slightest appreciation for what I am giving up for you and Maggie. My whole life revolves around this family; you have a separate world that we are not a part of. I want that, I need that or I think I will die. And if is how you see this home, as a place you keep to raise your child, then I am right, I am a slave and I need to take my child and get the hell out of here. We can’t both be slaves so if you cannot even try to understand and work with me here then I cannot continue to live this way and that is all there is to it.


the life of birds

Posted: September 10th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Women | No Comments »

It is a short life, as it always is, when one is young and does not know yet what will come. When there have been many paths traveled it is difficult at last to set one down, but one must yet be set down. In the journey of womanhood alas to the death one must be captured with utmost certainty as to not leave any shadow of doubt cast upon the nature or character of the intended. The search for love can lead you to many places, all equally charming or alarming at best, but all unutterably disarming and engaging one in certain beliefs about the world, which is filled with so many temperaments one can hardly stop spinning for lack of romantic stability. From one love in youth, to many more brought on and cast off, there does not indeed need to be a choice made. A woman can live without a man and not be completely alone and destitute. In the history of womanhood there is always the battle with the mother of man and the battle which takes place only in the woman’s mind. She follows and goes until she can hear none other than her own voice calling her away.
Bickering and great pain is always brought about in the transition from early youth to young adulthood but finally one leaves one’s home and goes out into the world to find or chisel out her own place. A girl first tastes her first inclination towards love in her most tender years. We all have ideals and sometimes they are met and sometimes they are so completely not met that we believe we are drowning in our own disappoint, and realization of disillusionment or clarity. Through mixing with others one must find themselves at once themselves without the stain or ruin or taint of the union of an imperfect match. A love with a master will not due and it is surely so trying to find an equal that one almost deems it so completely improbably that we may at once decide it wholly unnecessary to have romantic love at all. Sure one, from time to time and with her whole heart wishes for something that could never be rightly hers, because if she had it she could not yet be herself. In all the giving up of and buying and selling of women there surely must be some women who desire first and foremost to gain back themselves in a society which always has seemed to cast them away to another family in happy union or not. We women have never been our own so it seems right that there would come along women who seek to own themselves much as a slave wishes to claim his right as a man. It seems we must, or some must turn their back on the ideal of romantic love and fall on themselves and hope to find something deeper and more rewarding certainly at times than a husband.
I was almost married once to a man who could not have me and he must have known this because he cast me off with love and regret in his eyes, a solemn tear that was shed for something that would never be. He could not own or tame this prize; she could not be the gem to view or wear out, the one to fulfill his every dream of balance between servitude and woman’s independence. When she would try to assert herself it was too wholly unyielding and uncompassionate to his feelings and when she would try to serve and shut herself away he saw it as a disgusting lack of self respect; no one likes the prey to give in and give themselves over in a committed fashion. If one is determined to be owned by someone else it doesn’t seem much like a choice but rather the giving away to someone else’s determination and he could not have that. He wanted the chase but not to win her completely; she could not serve and still be respected but she could also not serve herself and remain grateful enough to keep herself in his good graces. A bird that doesn’t know it’s caged does not fight, one who knows it is caught with no hope of escape undoubtedly succumbs to it’s captive with pity and remorse but makes herself accustomed in her cage and one who has caged herself in man’s great cavern and still sees escape as something prized doesn’t actually lock herself away at all. She flutters until her captive can’t hold her any longer for his fear she will one day strike at him and he truly wants to see her fly and not be responsible for killing such a beautiful bird and possibly killing himself at her wing. Regardless I got away with bitter sweet agony at first. It was not so much I gave up.
You are subconsciously or consciously taught to find your best opportunity with a man. Find the man who can support you, love you, grow old by your side and make this life just so with color and shine or the bleak hope of having enough food and money to raise children, to pass the torch. Find someone who can take care of you because it is so utterly difficult to take care of yourself and after all you don’t want to die alone now do you? Who wants a childless life with burden and hardship? They say nothing can give you what love or stability can give you. So when you are taught to take a man because it is good for your future it kills something, because inside you question why you are doing it.
Surely she must have loved him once, but as he became uglier and uglier and her determination stuck it was then just a matter of winning; she did not want to lose. By god she picked her path and wanted none to deter her but alas the weak minded boy and his strong minded parents were the winners of this battle. There was something wrong with him; they thought how could she really love him, why did she come back to him after all this time, why doesn’t she strike out on her own? She must be seeking the easy path, preying on our young mentally inept boy, who is after all ours and ours alone. A baby in birth and a baby to the last but they did not know the devil can wear the face of a baby. His mask was so complete that even she was fooled. He said, let me take you away from your life and make you my bride where I swear we can do anything together for this must be your dream because it must be every little girl’s dream. I went in love; I stayed in love; I committed in love; I fought in love for what I thought was right. The only problem was I saw him for what he was, a lying conniving fool sucking his mommy’s silver spoon to the grave, wanting me to fit in just so, fake the smile just right; I would have been willing to smile sincerely if only it had been a happy home but his parent’s were against it and his determination and will was not strong enough to keep a steady mind against their own conniving nature. Anyways she was spat out. She was tried on for size and spat out because she could not forget herself, she held on all too dearly.