Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
“To try and set an example is to lead with confidence and assertiveness at any moment. Therefore, when a woman is taken out of her skin and is still herself, she becomes powerful.” Through out history we have had our share of seduction. A generation consumed of women that have paved the way from your local street corners into the white house. A combination of looks and wit with a fragrance of deception, is what escorted women to their survival. So who’s to be named the next Marilyn Monroe? Who’s sex will invade into a position of power without exploiting it all? Is it the Maxmin top 100 that will direct our attention towards choosing the next hot babe, or is it a concoction of strategic planning and blonde hair and blue eyes? Neither, it’s the moment when women separate themselves from girls to reclaim what they want. Women are figuring out ways in how to sustain their postures and be less eager to fall victim to vulnerability. And thus, that power comes from fucking virginity and entering into a world of pleasure. Marilyn Monroe didn’t have an attraction for powerful men because she was into politics. Monroe like many other women had understood to give was to get, and then use that gift in return for anything they wanted. It isn’t the thought of being called a slut, the fear of talk around the neighborhood, or the bragging rights of what guy enjoyed their company. It is escaping the embarrassment of the small bullshit and self-confidence issues. It’s growing up and putting on some red lipstick and your favorite prom dress and grabbing what you want by the balls, without worrying about what others at the funeral are saying. Women have graduated, and in about ten minutes graduation is about to start. They have passed the innocence and sassy attitudes into brave thin stockings and five-inch heels. They have covered themselves with glamor and make-up only to overcome sex education 101. Thus, the opportunity of fulltime jobs goes to the sluts, the stuck-ups, the bitches and divas, who spent 4 years getting what they deserved. And to those women that have figured out how to use themselves as an advantage without rendering on emotions and regrets before sophomore year, set your watch back 16,000,000,000 years and welcome yourselves to the moon; Marilyn Monroe will be your host. To become like Marilyn Monroe is to forge her signature and use her feminism as a means of buoyancy and influence. There is a Marilyn Monroe in every woman. The question is how far will you go to enjoy a lifetime full of luxury on the house.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I have writers block. Consistent thoughts merged with ideas and formulas within inches of a solution. I have writers block. A cancer with no antidote, searching for false hope, but at least my breath is inhaling and exhaling. The ingredients to a well prepared dish without patient’s, leads to chaos. It all leads to jotting down useless sentences about corporate entities, basketball players, rappers, and this A.D.H.D. My thoughts are all over the universe at the moment. I have writers block. This is so fucking annoying. I can imagine if Leo Tolstoy entered his nine hundredth page in War and Peace and just froze. What a waste of time. This effort is minor to the detailed explanation of a topic I could have written about. But where is it? I have writers block and I have to let everyone know about it. This tedious mind of mine breaks and loosens up its blood flow just to encounter this worthless typing. I’m centimeters away from you, my topic, my discussion, my conclusion and thesis. No luck. No signs of recovering this time. These words seem to just slip away into unresponsive ears as the sun starts to burn. It’s quite late but dreaming is something of a treat right about now. And I will not allow my mind to feel its comfort until something spills out. Relaxing down stream into an ice cream filled pond with a spoon in my hand can only be a hallucination I’m having. So let me escape this dreadful thought and enter into a topic. Fuck! I have writers block. What am I talking about, ice cream filled ponds? I’m better, more constructive, and expensively intricate with syllables in intervals when I enter into an empty word document. Let alone the fact that I enjoy the satisfaction of my writing without regretting the tones in my voice. I’m entering into a writer’s mind, a labyrinth I cannot overcome, that I cannot fully fixate. With a little bit bold typing, spontaneous sentences, word play, verbs and adverbs, structure, grammar, and a mixture of scattered thoughts, I have to say this is quite interesting. However, isn’t that what writer’s do? We type away into novels and fiction, nonfiction and short stories, poems and biographies, to comics and law, and literature, into what makes sense to what doesn’t make sense. We enter into the minds of our readers to capture an emotion, a feeling, and some sort of a reaction. So to the readers, the critics, and myself, I suppose I have but one more tittle to add. “I have writers block”.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A viva attitude towards a breakup always leads to endless encounters of provocation. There is always an enmity between the two break ups. The antagonizing truth is we have to move on not trifle about our feelings. To her idiotic slurs to her friends of why it didn’t work out to his enthusiastic denial that things still may work out. Scalding one another like a guarantor with false hope is not quite lucrative. Therefore, enamor your space and allow the other to breath. Then the heavenly aroma of freedom will waft into the air. Or you can quintessence back to the origin of when you first met, and neglect the possibility of sharing the first kiss. To perturb one another, would be to furiously engage in war and allow the amphora to fly across the room into the cracks of your sheet rock. Appalled by this decision can only enrage both characters. So light up a potpourri and talk it out, and forget the anarchist demon inside of you. Time heals all scars. Embezzle the communication you once shared without syndicalism, children! No one is to pontificate into a secrete society and dogmatically share one another’s secrets. Both parties will look cretinous. To escape mediocre embarrassment recalcitrant from friends that you encountered during your relationship. To forget your past is to forget who was in it. Also to equivocally answer questions about the relationship to acquaintances will place a picturesque image that may stain the other person. Keep quiet and hold your tongue from evil. The hubbub surrounding the borough you live in will be quite difficult to escape. Torpedo into a new lifestyle or face being a reclusive gaoler in your own environment. It’s obligatory to remove telephone numbers and any social networks still with an active account. You have to become eccentric rather then kind, this always allows for space and freedom. The melancholy feeling will eventually confide past a scoundrel mind state to being open to new challenges. Escape the ilk boring wailing because of a break up and break up like a prosector; well you know what I mean. Your reprisal falls on deaf ears and your furtive confidence is unheard when you don’t ostentatiously sublet yourself to someone new. The exhibit of your new character should be a hodgepodge of good behavior, confident behavior, and smart behavior or suffer the gallimaufry of the same shit, the old shit, and the worst shit. To sashay into a new relationship is to create a pseudonym smooth criminal and slowly moonwalk your way into new lust without facing a labyrinth situation. Call up some friends and have some fun, it’s a Wednesday.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
What if a mans thoughts, written by a woman’s hand shattered onto a piece of paper, created a self-portrait of his own secrets? It would mean that a man could only gossip throw up of his past experiences and crushes until those memories could one-day surface. Would man be faithful and express his imagination, where colors are evasive enough to stick and capture the truth, or, will he swipe his credit card and forge his signature, just to get by? It’s captivating, when activating that piece of mind. It’s like stamping information onto an envelope with your full address and government name. It’s likely, but I feel it’s too personal. But when ones hobbies and stories are baked to the highest temperature, one can only put on his mittens and take it out the oven. I would say let it simmer down on a piece of paper and let yourself brainstorm your words dry, as if you were squeezing out a wet rag. A mans stature reflects his vulnerability, right? Because men are suppose to be tough, strong, powerful! Aren’t they? Why not tough it out, without exposing your mortgage APR (average percentage rate), your hard days at work or your long explosive weekends. Why not expand to the night you forgot to put on a condom, or the days where you juggled three women at once, or the time you got embarrassed because your friend wouldn’t let you borrow his porn collection. Why not men, what do you guys think? It’s not more of what you think it’s how you can express your emotional rollercoaster without intentions of bleeding your tears onto a page you so forcefully filled up with “the truth.” Take a deep breath, and allow your waves to form currents, until a tsunami strikes the reader that ever stumbles upon those pages. I ask you of one thing, have patients when the ink is pacing and accept the fact that you’re a man. And what you are about to write may fall into the eyes of your potential wife. Welcome to your Diary.