Fragility

No one knows what i'm capable of for that passion that is me, instilled in everything that makes my path, everything that comes out of me, the words rolling on my tongue, melting like honey in my mouth, the electricity moving my arms, letting my fingertips glide sensually, and when i tilt my head to watch at my love on a new improbable angle, that passion, once blood dripping on a sheet of paper, transports me on hills and sing like a fool in ecstasy, it's trembling and begs to be freed, if no one knows it's because no shell can attain so much love without dying, not even mine, not even my gritty little heart, in search for the indestructible balance of a resonating love.

For better understanding between men and women

(I may be wrong here, don't lynch me, but i feel to write that, if you have things to add to the subject please say your opinion respectfully)

Here's up to me part of a secret about men.
To act sexually with a woman, a man has to see her as an object of desire, "object" is the key word, so he has to shift his focus onto the animal part in him, it's like changing tracks on a cd, he has to lay down the thinking part : the brain, and the emotional part : the heart, because if a man keeps too much sensitivity into intimacy he will make love with caresses (finally more like a woman will do), a lot of attention and kind words (the intensity depending on the personality of the man obviously), but no penetration, for the blunt and vulgar sexual act he has to switch and take the woman as an object to possess entirely, it can be traumatizing for a man, schizophrenic (it has something to do with the feminine and masculine parts that we all have inside us), and after the act it requires to switch again to the passionate mind or the "heart", something more gentle to stay beside his partner and continue to comfort her, and it can take a moment for a man to switch back, i guess that's why some men need to take few steps away after the act to recompose themselves or they need to stay silent, so please be lenient, but i want to add that if a man takes too much time, or sighs to come back, maybe that means he just considers the woman he slept with as a piece of meat and all he wanted was carnal pleasure and no other sharing, not from the heart.
I guess in women, emotions and sensations are closely tied up, they function mostly with the heart, while men has to shift often during intimacy, between the animal part and the sensitive part in them because they need focus and can focus only on one thing at a time (unlike women who are more "multi-task" persons), and that's not so easy, hence the incomprehension that can rise between man and woman regarding affection.

It's nice to make love with carresses, but it is said that when a man discovers the other way to do it, the animal way, then he can't go back and will mainly be stuck onto direct sexual relations, can't we switch willingly then?! hmm.

Elementary : one goal is to feel fine with others

Not everything is love.
Not everything is related to sex and intimacy, absolutely not, only one thing is certain it's that we feel the greatest joy when we share something with people we feel perfectly safe with, whatever is the thing you share, even the worst : a bad movie, a walk for mushrooms in the forest even though you dislike eating mushrooms, a nasty junk food meal, crossing smelly devastated areas, speaking about suicide and children rape, these can seem like painful moments but if you share it with someone you feel fine with then you'll keep a peaceful feeling out of it, whatever the person is : man, woman, older or younger, handicaped, ill or healthy, sharing the complicity and freedom of communication is what makes you feel satisfied and at peace in your life, and obviously you don't need to be intimate physically with everyone you feel fine with because here enters the question of sexual orientation, body traits likings and personal attraction for features of plain appearance.
I can feel so satisfied and peaceful at the end of a day spent with one or several male friends, without feeling the need to touch or tease cause i'm not homosexual and attracted to them physically, or a female friend with which we philosophize all day, and it's so rewarding, but i know i have no attraction for her body. People like me are intimate, they function the best in a small groups, even more in face to face exchange, but intimate means intimate to oneself, being close to one's true self in front of the other, without mixing, just feeling that freedom to be with the other.

Being free

I don't love like in the movies, i don't love like in the poems, i don't love like in the books, i don't love like everyone thinks we are supposed to, i don't know what it is, i'm probably already over that, is holding hands under the table at a banquet dinner, attachement?, or above, a piece of love?, it's a source of instant need for being comforted, be stronger in oneself thinking "i am not alone", i don't plan to be dependant, a zombie of love, i want to be fine with myself alone, a free electron, and give to who i feel to and to who wants me, but we are trapped from the start, and me more than others, my body tingles, i can imagine my hands revering someone else, pressing her against me in the most peculiar places, i'm like a faithful cat (don't think it's an oxymoron), i escape from the grip and caresses, untamed like i'm belonging only to myself, and i come back slithering gracefully to stay close for a moment of intense affection, and there is so much desire in me, but my mind play it proud, and sting me with the trident of the devil, warning me that i could end up like them, brainless, dull and superficial, if i give way to my wild imagination to try what others seem to venerate, they say we have to kiss before going farther, oh my case is so special, and i fear the eyes laying on me, i kiss every part of the skin but my lips slip sideways when i say bye, don't judge me, i'm a confused beast, there's a war in me, there's a pit like moat all around me, i'm careful and passionate when i give, then i retreat in my self hatred, all i want is carrying you in my arms to that place where my love runs free.

reminder on a false belief to change

My self worth is defined by the sincerity others can give, that's why i feel so influenced by the surrounding hypocrisy, this has to change if i don't want to feel hurt constantly, i must find myself worthy only because i exist, and that i'm sincere with myself.

the illuminated misfit lone rider

I ride my bike at night, when almost all natural light is gone, when immensity catches on, that we believe we're gonna be sucked away and disappear, when it's a time for poetry, i put on loose and weary training pants, a grey waterproof coat with high collar, and some old sneakers with cracking seams, i put on my headphones, a big set, encompassing my ears entirely for the music to hit my soul stronger, i play rock and impetuous tunes, long, eerie, instrumental, but not only, i play classical and saddening songs, i listen to teachings, a man with a slow deepened voice, i feel transported, i ride fast, the wind whiping my face, making my eyes cry behind my glasses, i ride far away, randomly, on which path my mind is attracted to, until my arms get stiff, and i can see the all too prominent muscles and protruding veins of my body, my hands griping tightly the handle, i pass in front of heavily lighted restaurants, clubs, gas stations, i see people dressed smart, pretending to have a good time or really having it, flirting in the darkest spots outside, while others are chatting loudly inside, i pass them, shot like an arrow, i watch everything but i don't stay, i'm always on the run, and never fitting anywhere, moving lights, white, yellow, red, become blurry streaks, i see beauty in that environment, the moon and stars always above, the clouds, the tall buildings and tree foliages awe-inspiring, always, i cross bumpy ground trails at full speed, i zigzag in residential neighborhoods, watching through windows shedding lights the people sat in front of their tv set or eating in their modern kitchens, the teenagers playing video games in their rooms, bursting into laughter, then i go slow, hands behind my back, chin up, between towers of cheap dwellings, i feel lively, i'm burning inside, sweat is rolling down the vertical hollow of my sternum, soaking the shirt on my belly, and on my back down my spine, my calves are hardened, my brow is revealed as my hair are gathered backwards in a fuzzy wild mass, i know i look ridiculous and cheap, in exercice, but that moment riding freely is for me a transcendental experience,
i identify so much with that strange looking lone rider,
it's an allegory of my life.

(Piece for a trip)

There, In the night breeze

I'm taking few steps on the terrace,
the night is clear and so many stars are twinkling, much more visible because of the absence of artificial light in this rural town.
A mischievous wind brushes my hair.
I turn back, and she's here.
She's smiling frankly, i can see the shine of her teeth.

I'm feeling playful.

I let my hand twirling in the air, and after a spiral, i put my finger cautiously on her nose with my stretched arm pointing out.

- "Alakazam!",
like i'm putting a spell on her.

I slide down gently, intensely focused on the little patches of skin touching.

- "What is your wish!", she says, entering the game.

We are staring deeply at each other for several minutes now, our heads perfectly still, one face radiating on the other, powerful and profound as two fronting mirrors.

- "I wished your clothes disappear."

She softly washes down my visage with her hand, closing my eyelids by rolling her warm fingers on it.
I stay motionless, a breeze rises up, i get goosebumps and i hear the sweet rustle of leaves in the trees.

- "There you are."

I open my eyes.

She stands here, innocent.
I admire her naked body impudently, bewitched,
and her eyes so bright piercing through me,
her face calm and strong,
and the shine of her smiling, welcoming being.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

(Robert Dennis Crumb (born August 30, 1943)—known as Robert Crumb and R. Crumb—is an American artist, illustrator, and musician recognized for the distinctive style of his drawings and his critical, satirical, subversive view of the American mainstream.)










 .Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky (Russian: Моде́ст Петро́вич Мýсoргский; 21 March 1839 – 28 March 1881) was a Russian composer, one of the group known as "The Five" He was an innovator of Russian music in the romantic period. He strove to achieve a uniquely Russian musical identity, often in deliberate defiance of the established conventions of Western music.

Rejection, Oppresion, the anger of a hurt ego

That girl, she was sitting on a square chair at a long bulky table, several persons were gathered for a huge meal, coming from behind, that guy, they are the sweet couple, he puts a kiss on the back of her head, surprised she tilts backwards brusquely, hiting him in the jaw, he errupts, waving his arm in front of him like a shield, his body twisted in a momentum to flee away, throwing insults, the whole package of mental rejection and anihilation of the other, in an attempt to settle down the situation she puts a forced smile on her face and shed out quantity of apologizes, her hands regroup on her lap, she huddles up in that familiar frightened form, she must have been used to those raves, the guy went in the kitchen to rince his chin, accusing her, cursing her of her awkwardness, angry words running along the corridors, slowly she loses her smile, then guilt, fear, and self blaming defeat her pretty face, she retracts even more in her shell, her moral drops and crashs on the floor, he comes back, always criticizing bluntly, he makes a circle around her, dismissing with a slap her conforting gestures.Such a fuss for a clumsiness, such disdain, such emphasis to break down a person and mend one hurt ego, how long is it going to last again?

(Those two are a couple for two years and plan to get married)

And we're wheeling out of time

Out of the fast food, i carry a cup of ice cream with me, as usual i'm very slow to eat but we needed to isolate in the fresh air of the night, the main room began to be packed and noisy with ostansibly pumped teenagers;
Lingering meerily on the darkened parking lot we reached the distanced spot where we left the car, the discussion continues, about human relations, we get into this, voluble i pace and hop in front of her, she's leaning on the side door and i act laid back leaving my ice cream on the roof then taking it back several times over her shoulder;
We argue blazingly, our opinions bump, cross and fly around, clinking like do our glances of complicity, grazing like the shine of our smiles, in that jousting we are fairly enjoying;
She calls me a libertine, and refutes my ideas about freedom and self induced happiness, she postulates for faithfulness and the muzzle implicitly set on the members of an old class couple, is she enjoying that confrontation as much as me, the partisan of faithfullness but through personal feelings and not rules?!
Goodnight we say, while she's still teasing me on my ideas.

Some days later, after an evening lasting meal with few common friends to be, i was staying afterwards to help cleaning things up, i needed a ride home and decided to earn it, she was here ready to leave with her own car, but one of my friend already proposed to take me back, it was late in the night already but someone asked if we wanted to see a touching movie, one he wanted to share, (few people had already left, we were now four with me in the appartment), she delayed her departure and agreed to watch the movie, like everyone;
In that odd atmosphere, all muffled and sleepy, dazed by abundant food and wine, she sat next to me on the couch, gathering herself on a corner under her coat, it's october the room began to be cold; Two days before she rejected my theories, that i displayed heartily, with the usual passion and conviction in my words, and that night, under her coat, she takes my hand... my body boils,  confusely at first we rub affectionately, hand in hand, sharing warmth secretly, twisting, caressing with the thumbs, above and under, once grasping tightly then releasing and laying over, i feel the softness of her pearly skin, the sharpness of her painted nails, she searches to entangle our fingers, and climb carefully on my wrist, each our turn we take over and charm the other, that's two hours of delight in a such small contact, it's almost nothing for those who practice it brainlessly, regularly, as an outlet, but what's the most confusing is why she threw away my theories vehemently and still seeks to approach me?!
She's warned, i'm an outsider, a thinker, a loner... a free rider...
an eternal lover.