I expect this post will raise the ire of some of my more conservative readers, and perhaps generate some debate.
First up, I’m not going to debate the morality of people who have same-sex attraction, neither am I going to delve into the alphabet of sexual identities.
Same-sex parenting was again brought to the forefront of the media recently with iconic Italian designers Dolce and Gabbana expressing that there is only one family – a man, a woman and children. Elton John quickly expressed outrage over these comments, as did many progressive commentators.
The debate about Same-Sex couples revolves around ideas such as: should be able to adopt, utilise IVF and have the same legal rights as ‘traditional’ parents. It focuses on equal rights for all. I totally get this. One of the prevailing arguments used by supporters of Same-Sex couples having children is that Same-Sex couples make just as good…
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Serotonin is on her Sails
I felt a celebration in the end
Of a funeral in the brain
That was not so much Serotonin
But something else, I cannot say!
Something in me enjoyed tragedy
Or the idea of bare simplicity
Nude in anonymity,
Like the keen peace of silence
Or the agony of intimacy
With nobody, but something else
That’s descendent divinity
The space between one
Season of life and another
The waiting, the wrecked waiting….
I felt a celebration in the dark
Of suffering at her fuel’s end
Where mourners leave the known world
And where lovers turn to go
When all the kisses have run out.
And here’s his video
CNNMoney reports that Rolling Stone will soon publish the official review of the controversy-igniting article, “A Rape On Campus” in early April. Last November, “A Rape on Campus” was published in Rolling Stone and described an instance of egregious negligence at UVA after a student named Jackie was gang raped by seven attackers — and appropriate action was…
So…..have I ever discussed how gross my scars are? No?
See, I have several on my stomach, which are my biggest issues. I hate them so much. I think they’re the most disgusting things ever, and they’re all I can ever see about myself. Even my mom says I shouldn’t draw attention to them. They’re disgusting.
But they were cut when I was a lot younger and way skinnier, so as I’ve gotten older they’ve formed these indentations into my sides because there was never any fat to literally ‘pad’ them.
But I want them gone.
And I have three above my right breast from old ports- that have the same indentations-
I’m dying to be 18.
“A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.”
“”I still don’t know your name.” I whispered, lying down. My head pulsed. I had to squint.
Her eyes were startling. I knew I saw her in the park. I wasn’t crazy.
She laid close to me, her chest almost against mine, but I was too scared to touch her. Her toes brushed my leg.
Actually, it was a small bed, so she didn’t have much of a choice.
“Pick one.” She shrugged.
“What? You pick one.”
“I don’t care. Names don’t mean anything.” She said seriously, her hand on my neck.
“‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'” I muttered, wide-eyed.
She turned the best color red, redder than is ever seen roses.
“May.” I whispered. She leaned into me and kissed my cheek.
“I love it.”
I asked sullenly, “Why’d you leave?”
“I just had something to do.”
“Okay. Are you coming back?”
“So you’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” My chest fell. I didn’t even feel like breathing anymore.
Before I could look up May put her mouth on mine and her arms around my neck. I had this weird seizure moment then wrapped my arms around her, too.My head cleared instantly. I got lost.
“Why?” I asked. My chest was going to explode.
“Will you come back?”
“Come hell or high water.” She laid me back down. I reached for her again childishly, but she pushed me back.
“Sleep it off.” She insisted. “I’ll be back.” May brushed my cheek and I watched her go through my window. I laid there in hysterics.
By the end of the week i was grossly in love, and practically certain I’d never see her again.
She never came out of the building I found her in the day before- I even waited.
I looked harder for her than I’d ever looked for anything. I walked into the street because I never looked where I was going.
I tried to sneak her into everything. I changed my walk to every class, trying to find her. Looked at everyone I passed. Like a creeper. Really thought I saw her a few times. And I hung out outside. Really, I loitered. I should’ve gotten a chair and hung out at the corner.
Just one more time, though. She had to come back.
I thought I saw her one time. She looked me dead in the eyes, and I was frozen in place- I bet I drooled. She had this shameless spark of of electric blue light in her eyes only I could see. Time froze. Her clothes were filthy, she was filthy. She was sitting on a park bench with half a dozen other homeless people. It was the luckiest thing in the world. I couldn’t believe it for a second.
I didn’t see her again, even for a second after that. I swear I thought I dreamed her.
I thought seeing her- I knew by then that I didn’t know her real name, so I wouldn’t even try to find the right one- was the last of me and my right mind, so I did everything to give up on her.
So I went drinking that night- and I guess one doesn’t really ‘go drinking’ alone, one just drinks alone. But I drank alone, and felt a little worse. It was some absurd place with pretentious food and fancy chick drinks. The bartender kept pushing margaritas. I was the only black man who had ever set foot in there, and absolutely everyone knew it.
Rebecca had to come pick me up,
“Thanks, Beck.” I mumbled, finishing my third expensive chick drink. She had to carry me out to her car. “You da bomb, bro.”
“Whatever, bro.” She left the car running to drag out of the car before I puked. It was totally coming. She propped me up against the door to get into my dorm before she left.
And then I puked my guts out.
“Had a fun night?” She whispered, squatting next to me. Miley-Rose-Anastasia-bitch handed me a fistful of napkins and grimaced. I took them unhappily, laying on my side on the stone steps.
“It was the the mango juice. It’s the devil.”
“So I hear.” She sat me up.
“So you’re back?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means for now.”
“So do you want me to get you upstairs?”
“Please.” She dead lifted me up under my arms and brought me inside. We both almost fell off the bed, laughing. Whoever was next door banged on the wall and yelled when I knocked the lamp over with my foot.
She took my gross puke-covered shirt off of me, and I got so embarrassed I thought I would explode.
Then she threw a clean one at me and I relaxed.
“Just lay down.” I didn’t feel like arguing.
“What’s your name.”
She didn’t answer.
“Well?” I asked, staring at her. She sat at my desk and stared back.
“Don’t have one.”
“How do you not have a name?”
“I dunno. Haven’t gotten around to it, maybe. What should my name be?”
“I don’t-” I yawned, “I don’t know.”
“Alright. I’ll ask when you’re sober.”
She didn’t have to remind me again.
Still don’t get what’s with
The encores of the war on terror
And the detours through Alice in Wonderland
Well, clearly we enjoyed it so
Doesn’t the story end here?
Can it soon?