Complaining is about Me, me, me
It’s not about caring
Other than myself.
Complaining is about Me, me, me
It’s not about caring
Other than myself.
Seduction is a dance, an ancient dance, a timeless dance, a dancing in the moment. That’s what it is.
Men and women dancing together as they always have, entangled for all time in joy and heartbreak and ecstasy and hope.
It is a dance of clarity, of honest communication and the intricacies of sub–communication.
It transcends age, race, everything.
It is intuition as an art form.
It is ease and delight.
It is curiosity.
It is gratitude.
It is a welcomed hint of danger.
It is unrepentant, direct, overt, audacious.
It is subtle and elegant.
It is joyous, charged, electric, rushing, magnetic, subdued, restrained, intimate, respectful.
It is the love of man for woman, the love of woman for man, the love of ourselves, and a love of life.
It is the culmination of all things good: the masculine, feminine, the divine, everything coalesced, abundant, and in perfect form.
Yes, seduction is a dance, a luscious, effusive, sensual, sexual, never ceasing, sacred dance.
Excerpt from: The Alabaster Girl
“Those jeans are fantastic on you,” I said.
Why didn’t she walk away? There was plenty of room in the rest of the bar. I wondered what she was thinking. Did she trust me? Did she know that I was being genuine? Did she know if she returned my love, that I would not abuse her?
You gotta show up.
“I like that,” the words come out of my mouth before I know what happened.
The uncomfortable conversations must be had, just as the ones that show your love. How else do you improve? How else do you allow others to improve when they don’t know they’ve done wrong?
Differences between groups of different races or groups of different genders aren’t necessarily caused by race or gender.
That assumption is just that…an assumption. Whether those differences are about pay rate, or violent crime, or family structure.
Let’s get comprehensive and look beyond these superficial variables.
We live in a multivariate world, and race or gender is only one component.
You can’t argue facts with someone who is going off their feelings.
Whatever your desired outcome, whatever reality you envision, depends on your plan. And your plan depends on reasons.
Not because, “I think it will do good.”
But “How does my plan help? What does my plan cost? How does it hurt?”
I smiled at them, “I was over there and I saw you over here…and I thought to come over and say hi.”
but on my stuff.
For instance, I looked down at the end of the bar, and there was a guy drinking. And honestly I don’t know whether it was his intent or not, but he looked like he was drinking himself to liberation.
He looked like many, who use alcohol to self-medicate from a disatisfaction with reality. Not the intent of alcohol, which is entertainment. Hopefully, he didn’t hurt anyone that night…a spouse, a friend, or a stranger… becauseof this abuse.
Females are abused on the regular by guys who get drunk. My ex was one of those victims, abused by her boyfriend. Not common, but more common than we’d like. So shouldn’t we protect them?
We do have laws to address the consequences of such actions. There’s a price for assault. And laws to try to prevent alcohol purchases before a certain mature age.
But perhaps the restrictions needed to be stronger. To protect him from himself, and others. A big sin tax? …or limiting supply of alcohol? …or making it illegal, like other drugs?
But we should be careful. Because when we make laws assuming the intent of individuals, we hurt the others who have no such intentions, because how do wed determine what someone intends to do?
Making laws restricting individuals from purchasing or using certain things must be done very carefully.
There was something about her. We were connecting. She smiled, I smiled. It was there, and it sparked.
We enjoyed each other’s company, but we weren’t together. There was a barrier and it was slippery and intangible and it separated our souls.
She shared things, but not herself. She withdrew herself from intimacy. There was penetration and kisses and orgasms. But they felt like acts, things we did to each other, eliciting chemical reactions…while a huge emptiness sat beneath it.
Even when she was looking into my eyes, she wasn’t with me. She was off a short distance away, observing.
Or simply buried too deep in her head. Walled off, vulnerabilities hidden. But I’d seen them on occasion, when she’d lash out at something trivial I did, transferring whatever internal problem onto her environment.
I had showed up with my vulnerabilities, caring too much, getting too close, so maybe she chained her own demons away for my own protection, because she knew how powerful they were.
My initial frustrations faded, replaced by sympathy, and now pity. Because how can there be empathy when I can’t relate to that fear, of someone too anxious to let go, and let the future be?
Things don’t come naturally without our allowing it.
How much of what I do is dependent on what others are doing?
How much of my day is in reaction?
Immigrants aren’t taking your jobs. The idea that they are YOUR jobs is a funny thing to think, anyway. And kind of entitled.
And white people, or the corporation, isn’t making you a slave. They’re not taking away your abilities. You are.
As soon as I saw her walk into the place, I was aroused. Embedded in my mind: Tall, with angled cheek bones, her eyes drew you in. There was energy smoldering there.
I came to find out later, she consumed your energy, like a black hole, sucking you in, a high gravity pool at infinite depth. I found this out later, but now, as I sat with her on my sofa, I was curious.
‘What made you come out with me?’ I asked.
‘It was easy to talk to you,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t weird. I remember my friends looking over at me, like what’s up? Why are you still over there talking to him? We were just flowing.’
‘You knew I liked you, right?’ I said.
‘I figured,’ she smiled.
‘How?’ I asked.
‘Because you complimented me,’ she said.
I smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘But guys can be creepy,’ she said. ‘Creeps hit on me.’ She made a disgusted face and shook her head.
I was surprised. Not at her getting compliments, but that guys were unable to pay a compliment without being creepy. Maybe those guys were just creeps. Or unable to express themselves properly.
Anyway, we enjoyed our time together. She drew me in, with those eyes, and heart, and carelessness. She lived without thought to her well-being, which triggered my “fix-it” sensibility. But the abuses from childhood were too much, and suddenly it was over. We were over, and I wondered how I had ended up on such a trip with her. Where had my mind gone?
But I learned from her, as I do from all the women who enter my world. I listen at the knee of females. I gather their feelings, amd experiences, and ideas… little pieces to fit together. Pieces of the puzzle that I will never complete. The puzzle of the female spirit.
A person who doesn’t know what the universe is, doesn’t know where they are.
A person who doesn’t know their purpose in life doesn’t know who they are or what the universe is.
A person who doesn’t know any one of these things doesn’t know why they are here.
So what to make of people who seek or avoid the praise of those who have no knowledge of where or who they are?
What’s your purpose?
What are you here for?
Photo and quote: Marcus Aurelius