Meaning from the Strangest Places

1. The orgy scene from the Sausage Party film represents their acceptance of their inevitable demise due to man’s undeniable craving for sustenance.

2. In the Looney Tunes cartoon, the roadrunner represents God and the coyote represents man, endlessly chasing the Divine but never quite reaching it.

3. Scrat’s misadventures in the Ice Age film franchise symbolizes that man’s lust is the destruction of mankind itself. (He tries to “get his nut,” but it always results in catastrophe)

Jane The Virgin S5E1 Monologue

I have binge-watched every episode of Jane the Virgin. I am up-to-date as of right now on season 5 episode 1 that aired yesterday. There was a 7 1/2 minute monologue that Jane did expressing how she’s trying to cope with Michael’s return. It destroyed me. I broke down seeing her like that. That’s how I get when I’m really upset. She exuded symptoms of mania, and Gina Rodriguez should get an Emmy just for this scene alone. It expressed exactly how she felt about Michael returning from the dead. If you’ve seen every episode like I have and then watched this scene, you’ll understand, with context, the importance and the raw emotion emanating from this monologue. I’m going to miss Jane the Virgin. This is the last season. And it’s starting off at a really great note.

(I have no rights to this footage)

Xrotica: Back in the Bear’s Den

I had allocated a plethora of saved photos I had received from Dee throughout the four years that I’ve known him. I labelled the customized album on Google Photos with his name. A picture of his full backside vacated the home screen wallpaper on my android phone. The wallpaper is switched out for another, every week or so.

Things with Dee were complicated. Maybe it was just me, but regardless, my feelings were valid. It was around four years ago that I indulged myself in promiscuity with Grindr and those other apps like it. I was still unsure of the implications that a friend-with-benefits relationship consisted of at the time. When Dee and I first hooked up, I knew he would be the best fuck I ever had. It was lust at first sight. He was the first fuck buddy I had that stood out from the rest. It was Dee who introduced me to poppers and jockstraps, threesomes and narcotics, long-lasting foreplay and swallowed ejaculation.

Since the first time I hosted for him, I was hooked. I began to create a whole routine whenever he was on his way. A quick rinse and douche session followed by laying out a punch bowl of condoms and lube next to the porn playing in the background. I always made sure to wear a shirt or a pair of jockstraps he gave me during prior visits so that he knew I missed him. I lost count of how many sexual endeavors we’ve embarked on together.

I had developed mixed feelings for him ever since he confessed to being married the entire time. I fought with myself and had decided time and time again to excommunicate with Dee. I thought that would be the healthiest thing for me. However, thoughts of him would resonate on lonely nights. The way he would eat my ass out or suck my cock like it was the only thing keeping him alive. The way he can be so gentle and kind, but also rough and spontaneous at the same time. So despite the feelings I may have caught along the way, I decided to answer when he messaged me even though I told him months ago not to talk to me ever again.

I had replied back and admitted that I had missed him. We went from there. We caught up briefly on each other’s lives. How I’m continuing to juggle work, school, and a social life. How he works at a music store and enjoys what he does for a living. He has a profound proclivity for music. Last I heard, he had his own band. He had his own music studio and had assured me that eventually I’ll be able to visit and we could explore the musical world outside my bedroom. I marveled at how much life experience he had. I admired his sense of adventure and the need to deviate from one’s own comfort zone. He had traveled around the world and was a DJ for so many different clubs and events. I want those things. That’s probably why I’m so attracted to him as well.

The world is huge and there are cultures and different people and events that I could experience in my own life. I have been in the same state for the majority of my life. The farthest I can recall that I traveled was New York City. I’ve only been to one concert. I always felt like I needed a mentor or a father figure of sorts to show me the ropes. But Dee always told me that I can do whatever I want in this life. I can move to Missouri or Nevada or something. He’s one reason I’ve became much more aware of the concept of free choice. I am considering moving away after I obtain my bachelor’s degree. Go to a college in another state live in a dorm or perhaps in my own apartment and get a new job. Anyway I’m getting sidetracked…

Eventually, he came by at around 12:30 in the morning shortly after some other guy came by just to swallow my load. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to be penetrated and dominated, not just sucked off. Although I did ejaculate, I still felt horned up enough to have Dee visit. So we got the initial make out session out of the way to ease the tension.

Fractals were playing on YouTube on my PS3. Dee pulled out the poppers from his backpack with one hand and his bag of weed in the other. My pipe and grinder were located near the condoms. He found them almost instantly. We chatted a little bit just to ease the tension of all the time spanned out between us. Then he reached over and I thought he was going to make out with me some more but he just hugged me. And we stood like that for a while.

Suddenly, I broke the silence and submitted to my knees. With several hits of the poppers and a few drags of my pipe, I vastly indulged in the taste and texture of his cock. I felt the magic inflating him with only seconds to spare. He warned me that he was about to cum so I stopped. And he tapped my shoulder and signaled me to get on the bed. And he twirled his index finger around so I knew to go on all fours.

His dick was average size but he sure knew how to use it. And because it wasn’t an overwhelming girth, he felt it was okay to just shove it in there without easing it in first. I yelped like a little bitch as I succumbed to the impalement that I yearned for for so long. I closed my eyes and envisioned the head of his cock poking my prostrate gland. He was curved a certain way that he was able to find it so efficiently. Occasionally, he would slap my ass and make me call him daddy. And then he grabbed his underwear that was laid askew to my left and shoved it in my mouth. He knew I loved the way his natural scent invigorated my libido.

Then, he pulled out just as quickly and it was his turn to go on his knees. I didn’t move an inch. He didn’t tell me to move. Dee grabbed either side of my ass and I knew it was his tongue’s turn to shine. He spit on my hole before diving headfirst into the abyss. His slimy, pink serpent journeyed thoroughly inside me. I moaned as I took yet another hit of the poppers one nostril at a time. I used my left hand to reach behind me and hold his head in place. And then my right hand was busy trying to achieve orgasm. I think I was going to finish when he stood up from his assigned seat and laid on his back next to me. He was panting. One should never go deep sea diving without an oxygen tank.

I sat on top of him and inserted him into me. Both my legs were outstretched on either side of him, and he sat up so that I can grab his shoulders and continue the ride. With the poppers and the weed in my system, I released a Joker-esque laugh once I increased my speed. He moaned under me a whole octave higher than his normal voice entailed. Dee’s eyes rolled back and he exclaimed that he didn’t have protection wrapped around him. I didn’t give a fuck. I wanted this sexy fucker’s kids up my fat ass. So I refused to stop and told him “why should I get off? This is the best seat in the house!”

Dee shattered into a million pieces inside me. They searched for an egg they’ll never fertilize. He was pulsating underneath me. It looked like he was having a seizure and for some reason, it made me giggle even more. and I jerked myself off while continuing to ride him because I knew he was sensitive now. He wanted me to get off him, but I shoved his hands away. He inhaled some more poppers and accepted that I was not going to stop until I finished too. I erupted onto his face and he almost dropped the vial.

Slowly, I climbed off of him and he shoved me against the wall and resorted back to kneeling. He worshipped my cream-filled cake. Dee slurped and swallowed himself until he was nearly full. Then, he crawled under me and started drinking the milk from my baby bottle. His mouth was a vacuum cleaner. My knees wobbled. I almost lost my balance as he made me cum again. That sexy bastard should have worn a fucking bib because I landed all over his shirt. I wonder how he was going to explain that to his bitch ass husband on laundry day. Oh wells! Dee tried his best to drink every last drop but his shirt was already affected.

There was a brief interlude during the performance. I remained there leaning against the wall and he caressed my ass as he sat there cross-legged. Eventually, he managed to call forth enough strength to get his hairy bear ass back up again. He made sure he grabbed all his shit and threw it back into his backpack. Dee had left me his bag of weed claiming that there wasn’t that much left anyway. But I’m sure he would have left it there if there was more regardless. He’d done it before. He walked towards the door, but turned around and planted one last kiss on my lips before he left my life forever.

Since then, he has moved all the way across the country. We still text every now and then. Empty promises of a reunion does come up from time to time. But since I met him, I learned not to get attached, and it was him who encouraged me to feel confident about my imperfect body. I have a lot of different guys on my contacts list to hit up whenever I need it. Dee was the standing foundation that allowed me to accept my sexuality as an adventure without bias or scrutiny. I will never forget those four years. I would never forget how he made me feel so sexy and so alive. He motivated me to explore the world because it’s not going to explore itself. And perhaps someday, I’ll have enough courage to go on a road trip and surprise him. Anything can happen in this beautiful, vast world.

Cried With You

I kicked off my work shoes and securely closed the door behind me. You glanced in my direction, your eyes moist and red with grief. I dropped everything and kneeled idly by your side. You looked away and buried your face, a feeble attempt to hide the pain. I held you in my embrace and realized that you had let me in. You sobbed while your tears were accompanied by somber tunes. I ignored the uncomfortable feeling of my knees on marble tiles. You were my top priority and nothing else mattered that night. I whispered positive affirmations in your ear and that was when you turned your whole body towards me and said that you loved me. I felt butterflies fluttering while you were sitting there in turmoil. So I stayed there beside you and cried with you. You were too good to be true. I found it easiest to love you when you had no one else to turn to.

True Love

Hello to my truly, lovely angels! I enjoyed the storytelling and simple symbolism. This made me realize that I don’t necessarily need to use big words or long stanzas to make a great poem. I love how it’s merely describing an everyday occurrence and how it pertains to how women interact with gay men. At least that’s what I got out of it. Well, enjoy! And please check out Duncan’s blog while you’re here!

TOpoet

samprules2

Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

True Love

she  shows me

the new backpack

that her boyfriend had bought her

for her sixtieth birthday

he was so pleased with the colour

her favourite green

she hates it

but she didn’t tell him that

it’s not the right fit

on her shoulders

like the wonderful red parka

he bought her for Christmas

she loves the colour

but the zipper doesn’t work easily

she has to zip a little 

before putting it on

I guess he’s from India

as she imitates his accent

I like so much to give you things

she’s grateful to receive his gifts

but will insist

that in future she go with him

when he’s going to buy 

a surprise for her

she asks me

if that sounds reasonable

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The End of an Era

I emptied the remnants of my locker into my backpack. I tried my best to shove my deceased grandfather’s coat inside along with my used Tupperware and binder full of training notes from my first few months on the job. I disposed of the trash from the pockets of my work apron, and folded it neatly before gently placing it on my, now, former employer’s desk. For some reason, I decided to keep my magnetic name tag, sealing its fate upon my refrigerator door once I arrive home within the next hour. I finally managed to securely fasten the zipper before I released a soft sigh, staring into space. I waited for tears to stream down my face at my realization of the end of an era, but it never came.

I walked towards the sales floor to punch out of the computer system for the last time. My co-worker stood beside me as she did her usual shutdown of the secondary register fifteen minutes prior to locking the doors for the night. She noticed my presence but didn’t glance in my direction until I told her that this may be the last time I ever saw her again. Her usual, stoic face morphed into one of solemnity. We shared a chaste hug before I left. The short trek up the hill towards the bus stop seemed so distinguished, yet other people strolled around me in either direction, as if it was any other day. They had no clue how important today was for me. I wondered if anyone I had past by also considered today as the beginning of a new opportunity.

Bear Minimum

I prod the wound until it weeps. The pain seems so familiar, yet I know for a fact that I never experienced this before.

A car engine roars to life in the driveway just a few feet from my bedroom window. Wheels grind on the asphalt until the engine’s noise diminishes little by little until there is nothing left.

Screams echo throughout the alcove. It took God knows how long before I realize I am the source of such grotesque sounds.

I quickly learn how to walk again before I reach the bathroom. Both my hands hold on to the edge of the sink so tight that my knuckles feel like they are going to burst out of my skin. Courage aids me in the daunting task of gazing into the mirror before me. Black and blue tints circumvents both my eyes like a sad clown at a pity party. My lower lip is split open. My body aches because it took on more than it could handle.

Blood and semen soaked my white briefs. I should have rinsed off before putting them back on. I’m drenched in sweat and tears.

I could have tried to fight him back, but I didn’t. I let him use me as a means to relinquish his sexual frustrations. He had to compensate for my mother’s gradual act of abstinence. Besides, I’ve always been prettier than my mother. I am honored that he chose me over her, even if it was just for a little while. It felt right knowing that I hurt her when he was hurting me. He needed release and I was the easy target to endure his relentless onslaught of rage.

I could barely feel anything. My mind is numb. That’s its way of dealing with all the complex emotions excreting from the black and blue. Those are my two favorite colors.

I smirk at my reflection in realization of this opaque satisfaction.

Freedom and its Predecessor

My name is Freddy and I would like to share my story so you can better understand how I envision recovery. Maybe someone out there can relate to me. Who knows?

I was pain. That’s all I was. Everything else, every chance given to me, every promise I’d made, all of it was pain. What use is pain? What use is being just pain? It’s not dignified. It’s not kind. And if it’s not dignified and it’s not kind, then maybe it’s not worth anything. Maybe it’s better off as nothing. Gone. Dead. Ashes. Rising. Breath. Rebirth. Freedom.

I try everyday to find my own, valid definition of the word “Freedom.” This is my journey, and just because it had a rough start and then got worse before it got somewhat better, it doesn’t mean the negativity has to be a be-and-end-all. I don’t have to define my life with “heartbreak” or “trauma.” The DSM-V suggests that I have Major Depressive Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Bipolar II (“the sequel”). The DSM-II would have mentioned “Depathologizing Homosexuality” in my case study if I was born prior to 1973. There’s no need for me to label it and generalize it based on a few instances in my life that were quite less than pleasant.

I’m not going to apologize to my mother because I failed to reach her perfect, cookie-cutter expectations. I’m not going to apologize to my ex-fiance because I was the only one out of the two of us that was even capable of love! I’m not a failure! I’m not a coward! Society tends to chastise men for expressing emotions because, supposedly, it’s perceived as weakness. But I am not weak! It takes a lot of strength and resilience to talk about memories I’ve repressed for so long. To face these memories that yearn to break the ice of every conversation I shared with anyone, just to receive any kind of sympathy. I am so much stronger now than ever before! I once was the scared, little boy cowering in the corner, fearing for my life. No more! I gaze into the filthy mirror in my bathroom, and I embrace the man I have become!

I lived in a halfway house at one point in my life. Sleeping in the next room over were registered sex offenders, gangsters, and drug addicts. The whole ambience of that place made me feel anxious and hopeless. One day, I sat on the window sill of my assigned room on the second floor. I looked down and after some consideration, I jumped and I broke two bones in my lower vertebrae, an act I pay for with chronic pain every day of my life. I recalled, afterwards, thinking “shit! I should have jumped off from the third story or even from the rooftop. Why only the second floor?! What a fucking wimp!”

My injuries are a constant reminder that life may not be for the faint of heart, but it is worth it. The near-fatal injury led me to physical therapy which then inspired me to get into yoga. It’s been three years since I began doing yoga. It took some getting used to, but now, I can do splits, backbends, cartwheels, and I can press my whole palms on the ground from a standing position without bending my knees. The chronic pain is still there, but it’s not as severe.

The fact that my suicide attempt eventually lead to my aptitude in flexibility and an entryway into a whole subculture where I’ve met so many great people and accomplished so much – is quite extraordinary.

My mother kicked me out on my 18th birthday because my lifestyle went against her religious beliefs. Homelessness was the best present I ever received. For so long, I thought I was going to hell simply because that’s what she told me every night. She was afraid that some boys at school would bash me one day because of who I am. It’s ironic that she was the worst part of my childhood. She tried so hard to make sure my life was planned safely and accordingly. The Muslim faith insisted that my fate would be tied to a girl I grew up with. Her parents befriended my parents long before. My 18th year was meant to be the year I would marry her. But that arranged marriage never happened the second my mother found out I was gay. It’s sad how a friendship between two kids would end so catastrophically simply because of such high expectations being placed on it.

For a long time, I blamed myself for all the pain I caused. I thought hell was my only home. After several years, the pain has finally ceased. I choose to believe that the destination of my afterlife is still undecided. I can believe in anything I want.

When I was 21, I came so close to marrying a Narcissist. I avoided a lot of emotional and psychological abuse when I called off the engagement. For a time, I was in such a rush to give my heart away to someone who didn’t deserve it. He would say that everything that went wrong was my fault. His word was law. Apologizing was not in his repertoire. A sense of grandiosity would placate his identity until apathy took its pound of flesh. Empaths and Narcissists don’t mix well at all. The Empathic-Narcissistic relationship is a silver cord wrapped between two souls, the Empath rendered immobile and helpless as they try relentlessly to ease the Narcissist’s pain that is hidden so well. Energy is siphoned from the Empath into the Narcissist willingly, at first, until the Empath is used up completely, squeezed dry like a sponge, wanting nothing more than the sweet, gentle release of death by only the Narcissist’s hand. At least that’s what I desired, what I felt I deserved. I thought I knew everything. But the wisest people can admit that they know nothing. Now I relish in this uncertainty. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to leave him. I had to walk away from someone that I was still madly in love with.

I just wanted to die. I was in shock. It felt like he died. I wanted to join him, wherever he went, even if it was hell. If I had suddenly developed cancer during that time, I would have felt relieved. I grieved over him, even though all he did was break my heart and leave to find something else to do… someone else to do… his next victim. There were so many questions left unanswered, but maybe it was better off that way. Sometimes, I try to force myself to believe that he was just a figment of my imagination. But once in awhile, a family member of mine asks me about him. A part of me dies inside when I hear his name. It took me a little over two years to finally force myself to go back into the world of dating.

Today, I pay my own bills working at a job I don’t necessarily like, but appreciate. I go to college to pursue a career in Psychology. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to live my life. I’m doing just fine. It’s okay to not be okay sometimes. Yes, my life is a lot better than ever before, but there are still days when panic attacks and anxiety ensue. I enjoy the independence. Just me and my cat. Yes, sometimes, it gets lonely. Yet I refuse to sell myself short for someone who doesn’t deserve me. I’m not ever going to alter my morals and my beliefs just to be accepted. I will never pretend to be someone I’m not simply because I’m deemed socially deviant. I will be the loneliest man in the world if it meant that I can just be myself.

I was pain. That’s all I was. But now, I accept that it all happened in the past. The past happened. It happened! Why feel any regret or guilt on things I can’t change? Why should I let myself suffer when the source of the pain subsided long ago? I am safe. I am wise. I am loved.

Good Stems From Evil

I had a friend who asked me one time, “Why does evil exist?”

And he caught me off-guard, but then again, he was very religious and he tends to question a lot of arbitrary things, to the point where he becomes a nuisance.

So I told him that “the existence of evil is necessary.”

He said, “What? Why? Why would you say such a horrible thing?”

And I said, “Yes, there’s a lot of horrible things that go on in the world but there’s so many beautiful things that go on too. And it’s the evil things like the natural disasters and hunger and homelessness and things like that that bring people together. For instance, like charity, nonprofit organizations, soup kitchens… like people are actually willing to volunteer some of their time without getting paid just to help someone else get fed. How great is that?! And there are state benefits for people who aren’t as fortunate in paying their bills or taking care of their children financially. And nonprofit organizations… People, who spend their whole lives creating something from nothing to aid others, and they don’t even expect any compensation either. I don’t think there’d be as much compassion for each other if we were all perfect… Okay, not perfect, but fortunate, if we were all… good. We wouldn’t need to be compassionate. It would be like, okay, so that person is okay, I’m okay, so we’re just gonna keep it moving.”

My friend nodded slowly at me. It looked as if he was going to interrupt me, but then, I guess he wanted to give his loquacious nature a rest.

“People wouldn’t be able to relate to each other on a deeper level, they wouldn’t be able to have opportunities to help each other because there would be no need for that. So yes, horrible things do occur in the world. Murder, rape, poverty, starvation, violence…”

His eyes widened at the mention of the word “rape,” as if it was an evil incantation of some kind, a form of dark magic. I’m surprised he didn’t utter a prayer or something.

“However, I wouldn’t suggest overlooking the good either. The good that already exists, and the good that stems from evil. I believe, with all my heart, that there’s more good in this world than there is evil because odds are that someone else went through something as horrible as you. Maybe not as severe, or perhaps more severe than you. I don’t always say ‘oh, woe is me’ because we are all in between two very opposite extremes.”

My buddy smiled as his eyes phased into a more crimson tint. I felt the sensation of flattery because I knew he was now resisting the urge to indulge in potato chips that were becoming stale in his cupboard.

“And that’s okay! We’re all in different walks of life. Just the fact that we can stick together like at AA meetings or at psych wards where we can meet new friends, we can meet other people who understand what we’re going through in one way or another. How wonderful is that? And the fact that the human experience doesn’t comprise entirely of the good and the bad, it’s not all black and white, there’s a gray area. And that gray area gives birth to so much life. And I’m just grateful that I’m a human being, that I’m a person, and that I can analyze and accept and acknowledge that good stems from evil. The existence of evil is necessary indeed. It seems like sacrifices must be made for the greater good. For society to evolve, for people’s perspectives to broaden, and open minds to cherish all the new innovations and new ideals that come from the darkness.”

My friend just stared intently at me. He probably thought I was some sort of prophet at this point. Or maybe I’m just overselling myself, and he’s just stoned off his ass. But I like to think, at least, I finally rendered him speechless.