What if I fall?

Cristian Mihai

fly

“What if I fall?” 
“Oh my darling, what if you fly?”

Do you ever ask yourself if you like the person you are? If you are who you’ve always wanted to be? Do you know who you want to be?

To be honest, it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I realized who I really wanted to be. I want to be that guy who tells people they can fly. I want to see the magic they have stored up in their hearts for so long. And I want to make them see it, I want to make them use it. Because, truth be told, falling is just another way to fly.

View original post 336 more words

Fragmentory 1

 

She once kissed the sun. It was tailored under window glass. Sliced into spots. For her pleasure. Then it was gone. As easily it had risen. Storm wafted in gray smoothness and polished the gold. No, she was not disappointed. Hungering for both storms and sun is like going against the Manicheanistic prospects of life. Life as a social production; life as capital of capitalism and the bickering of socialism. It was as if she was pining for both lover and husband in the person that she craved. They say both cannot coexist; then she remembered the sunspots and trusted even more they could. God shown with nature that it could exist and she questioned why was it feared? The existence of two together. Why was labeling in the apex of discrete and discretion rather than a more luminous and dark pitched Night. Was not night and moon the biggest paradox one could imagine? The softness of a crescent itself defies how a full becomes a curve and a curve becomes a circle. Both complete. Both alarmingly present. And yet this night was called by Hellenistic successors as women’s quarters; relegated and suffocated and brought out no more  than a manifestation of infestation and damnation; what contradiction and stupidity is raised. As storm raged and raged and sang and sang in its gusto to swoon clouds and water she felt the fusions of thoughts and emotions. As Night settled in its tones of deep blue, gray and black with highlights of lightnings here and there and petrichor perambulations made its way into the food, hearts and blood of people around with her adjoined she felt a corporeal bliss with an incorporeal promise.

romeo and romance

 

..is like really unpardonably boring; riffed and overused like a salami on toast
and a tea party on steroids — Shakespearean is not real as in illusory Romeo
is but a pawn in the wrath of apples and the apples of wrath; he is a hyphen
not a destination, not a fragment, but a whole, sliced as a dot in the punctuation
of parody — he is the whimsical Hamlet when lovingly not rejecting Ophelia and
the Othello who does not care who pines for Desdemona; he only cares that his
appetite to live life as though cauterized by a swelling pus of romance is dialogic
to the appetites of Juliet for Juliet does not need to hate her other suitors it is more
perilous to love a fastidious “saint” or “sinner” than a normal hybrid; for extremities
are a ruse a Witches’ confidant that they will cure boredom; fair Verona has nothing
to climb, Romeo, if not met with Juliet, may easily go after Rosalind, to see a nun, to make
her love him, ah, but then he is corrupted; rather corrupt the corruptible right? Or so the
Witches and Ariel bicker? Or rather he thought lets see if Rosalind would be envious to know
Juliet, un-nunned, is in his arms and he in her arms and would frolic out of the nunnery and
scram towards him? Did not Hamlet in his indigestion tell Ophelia that a convent is a better
place? Did he not tell her that as a geographic chastity belt? Hmmmph if you ask me he should
have said — here, don’t fuck yet I am gonna make out with this madness bitch and then come
and we can suffer my incestuous or non-incest overtones together on some place else — no need
to defile her body with chastity and you go around fucking madness like some cheap worn night-lady
hmmmp yeah you hyphenated prick you stuck up and suck on Romeo’s window breaks; everyone
is bored in Shakespeare’s world; from Lear to Portia to Shylock to Juliet to Ophelia to Bassanio (the prick)
everyone wants out. Hmm, kinda think of it. Maybe it was Shakespeare saying — I am bored, Oh God, get me out
of this fucking theatre business too…▬

The Other “F” Word

The problem is that people refuse to see older women as viable mates. Men, due to some biological cliche, have it good even in their sixties. It’s like if men were a geek in their 20s or 30s they can still make “dad” or “husband” at 60 with a much younger lady. Women, despite evidences against the contrary, are only attractive when they can get pregnant; though a women’s sexuality can be vigorous, voracious and tactile even in her 60s. But this factor is not taken into consideration. There are women who conceive after 40, 50 at times 60 but they are not recorded. Men’s biological accomplishments are recorded. Women’s are discarded. I feel that men take pride in thinking they are not the eruptive vessels forgetting that they are eruptive vessels each time they come or ejaculate or just plain orgasm. The problem is that we put biological warranties on people especially women. That’s very sad.

Stories From the Belly

Three years ago I turned forty. I flipped out when it happened, even though I knew that the negative ideas about women hitting middle age are misogynistic and wrong.

Here are excerpts from my journal that I wrote in 2011 about this milestone age (Apparently I was watching a lot of Oprah back then):

  • Oprah says that hiding your age is like denying your existence. Yet I can’t help myself. At parties any time the topic of age comes up I find myself leaving the room and running to get a drink. If I come back and people are still talking about age, I get up again, this time to go look for ice. I don’t want to admit that I’m 40—especially in Hollywood where it seems like everyone I know is 25.
  • I’d lower my age on Match.com if I wasn’t so opposed to lying. My ex-boyfriend says that a lot of…

View original post 803 more words

Fuck “Sexy”

I don’t care what people think about women’s clothing. I don’t like revealing clothes either much. But to use clothing as “advertisement” as a female centric thing is obviously sexist and patriarchal. Men hardly are encouraged to exercise modesty in clothes, speech or acts. A gentlemen is a confabulated creature who is supposed to exist in suits and not and that’s fine. A gentlemen definition can change but a “slut” is a constant. A “slut” is a woman who is “easy going”, “loud” or even “confident”. Hell, no matter what a woman wears sexist moods define how she will be treated. For example if Kim Kardashian wore nothing there is still a chance guys are all gonna call her a lady (except maybe a few) but if for example the girl in your coffee shop did that she would hailed a “slut” and then sexually abused. Many men walk around naked, streak, urinate in public with their penises out like some brainaddled asses and they are still to be respected but if a women wears a short skirt she is slut how come? I am not encouraging any revealing clothing but neither am I debasing a person wearing it. Why should I? Men find it hard to fathom women who dress “slutty” because many a times their perceptions about these “sluts” are wrong. Either they get rejected to sleep with. Or worst the woman turns out to be a better human being than them. But they have made a hegemony and a dichotomy on bodies especially women’s bodies and that hurts that their knowledge turns out to be wastebasket theories.

The Belle Jar

Sometimes I feel like I want to ban the word sexy. Like, take that shit out of the dictionary and impose a fine whenever someone uses it.

Which is pretty funny because I’m super sex-positive and I definitely want people to feel good about their bodies and secure in their sexuality, however it manifests itself.

But man am I ever fucking tired of how we use that word to shame girls and sell them on a bunch of gross patriarchal ideas about how they should be.

Take this picture, which was tweeted/posted by Floyd Mayweather and has been making the rounds over the past few days:

10402551_10152318424273113_4249204407973090687_n

Like, first of all, this is a dude who has been charged with two counts of domestic violence. Why would anybody think that what he has to say about women is even a little bit valid? I am not really down with anyone…

View original post 1,033 more words

Bluffing

when you have the ability to translate and write your poems in 3 different languages. So, that’s amazing 😀 and shows talent

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

The toxic syllables, precarious signs, irresolute,
which snatch from the vapors of the hidden ideas, shadows of the possible betrayals…
You afraid and, the smile, painfully stretched, is just a mask
try to dodge you, with formal pleasantries and sneak you between the grimaces of
important and serious concerns…
Nobody forces you to lie or to tell the truth, shut up implosive
Your thoughts are playing cards never hard of to bluff

a3

Bleffando
Sillabe tossiche, segni precari, indecisi
che strappano dai vapori delle idee nascoste le ombre dei possibili tradimenti
Hai paura e, il sorriso, dolorosamente allungato, è solo una maschera
Tenti di schivare, con convenevoli formali e stai sgattaiolando tra le smorfie di
importante e serie preoccupazioni
Nessuno ti costringe a mentire o dire la verità, puoi tacere implosivo
I tuoi pensieri sono carte da gioco mai difficile di bleffare

a1
Cacialmaua
silabe…

View original post 57 more words

Microsoft Paying Bloggers To Write About Internet Explorer

Despo marketing hahaha

Uncrunched

Why in the world is Microsoft (through an agency) trying pay bloggers to write about Internet Explorer? Do people still do this? And given my position on paid posts, why would they think I’d be willing to participate?

This is just layers of stupid.

Here’s the link in the request below. Here’s the hashtag (#IEbloggers) that they’re requesting people use, so I’m guessing anyone using that is getting paid.

paidpostpaidpost2

View original post