Come to think of it, I feel like a conservative. Sex on my mind, my previous post was received quite well. Contrary to reader's opinions of my ability and clarity, I had claimed my fox-hole, was prepared for eye rolls and acute dismissals of my moral standards. None of it has happened. I am still receiving mails and many of them are from women, who are bang-on to the point of what they like in the post, what they disapprove and how they'd go about their sex lives.
A kind lady insisted that I write on the lines of sex and the city; problem is, I am quite inept at that. I do not fully understand, though have a grasp of it, as to how we are evolving as socio-sexual beings. Plus, I have to yet give up on the opposite sex; my only reason not to (give up on them) is because they are my friends. And my friends are nearly everything I need, admire and love in my life. The men in my life are dear to me; and the fact that at some point we chose each other, gives me hope that my choice in the 'partner of my life' won't be sucky.
But why not choose from them, if I believe that they have it all? Well, the girl in a poncho asked this question. My reply was simple, I love them as people but I have no desire to get to know their 'lover' side. Why? Its incomprehensible. Psychological digging got me to unearth my friends, when I was a kid. Mostly boys, and how my mum never really made any differentiation btw the genders. She'd be inviting and chatty without any inhibitions, she never made me realize that all the people that came for my birthdays or I fought with or played with were boys. She would gladly tell people that 'oh, he's been my daughter's friend since she was eight!' Point is, their gender was a matter-of-fact, so when I first told my mum about 'the boy i like', she wasn't surprised that he was not from the gang.
Friends with benefits are great! And sometimes it is an amazing way of discovering another person; but it is an each-to-his-own decision. I need to see the man in a different light, and I know my friends too well - we may just crack up; call it a bad idea and go for a beer... laughing all the way at us being so desperate. Nonetheless, that is I, it may work for you; so do not let my judgement color yours. Also, I believe in the old adage, that 'sex changes everything'. When it comes to the people you love, know, discuss your plans with, consult, cuss and will call in all emergencies - it changes everything. In the least, for me.
That apart, we are different people as friends and different as partners or lovers. Mixing the two is quite a lethal combination - may work or make just kill the whole thing. Am sure you have many stories of lovers gone sour? I too have my tales of friends becoming lovers and lovers going sour - what you will be left with is an emotional drainage. It's a risk that you will have to judge for yourself and take.
However, the catch is to make it work. If you can - fantaboulous. I do not have that kind of intelligence. So when it comes to me, the only benefit I have with a friend is that he/she is my friend.
Dec 5, 2010
Nov 30, 2010
Sex on my Mind
I am going to be nice and give you a disclaimer: If you are mentally above the age of 25 then you could read this at your own risk. If you still laugh at 'men and mice' or genital jokes or are a prude by any definition - this blog has better things that you can read. The Internet, I assure you has a lot more!
Sex is something that we do not talk or write about on a public forum in a way that we should. Now, what way is that? Okay, with my limited interaction with the world I can tell you that women either giggle, brag, frown or are dispassionate on this topic. Men are not too different, except that when they hear a woman talk about it, they like it; in a perverted, cheezy kind of way. It makes them feel that if a woman is free of thought, she must also be free of cost!
We like closet sluts, those pretentiously ‘nice’ girls, 'good' women, who as Fabulous puts it in her shudh hindi 'ki unme kut kut ke kapat bhara hai' (that they are filled to the brim with treachery). I cannot agree or disagree. But I know that kind, and I find them incredibly wise. Drama King, Best Man, Chameleon, Style Icon... to name a few have fallen for them. I do not sympathize, as life equates itself constantly.
Why do we feel the need to legitimize sex, validate it, give it a purpose, make it a journey rather than a destination? Why do we need to tag adages to it? Oh, I love him/her; oh, I am waiting for the right one! oh, I want an emotional connect, oh, I want to marry him/her!
Why should a woman feel disrespectful when she has sex for gratification alone. Why should a man feel like a jerk, when he does the same? Why degrade sex by bribing and corrupting it?
What dissociative genius is at work in that brain of yours that makes you do extremely contradictory things! I am beat. My small truncated brain cannot dissect this harmony of chaos.
We also enjoy a certain prude impotency to the act. (And I call it an 'act'. like eating is an act, so is writing.)
We may be the only civilization in this world who overvalue inexperience in this domain, and mind you, irrespective of age. A 35 year old virgin commands more than a 19 year old without half-an-inch of skin (in case of a woman). Why? It is so stupid. why would you not want another person to go through the learning grind and then meet you at a game, that could be one hell of a tournament! It's like hoping to play a great set of tennis with a person who calls a tennis racket a bat.
What people want is a crappy novice with no inkling to better her/himself... and all in the name of prudence and culture. I am short of saying, Get a life! Okay, said it.
And all this while, we enjoy a heavy doze of porn, (the industry is booming- someone must be watching!). Why would you watch porn, when the real thing is so much better? And what pleasure are you going to receive by watching two people wrapped in ecstasy when you are left high and dry? The underground sex toy market in Mumbai is so prosperous that I now have to mention it in my work. People are doing it - and what shit, they are doing it to themselves. Are they crazy? Why won't they go up to nice people and say, 'hey, I'd like to go out with you' without the fear of being judged, or you’d rather moan over their pictures on FB? But then again, I have never claimed to understand people. I don't want to sound like Samantha in 'Sex and the City', but there are too many people who are horrendous in that department. I have hairy, gory, 'thandi kakdi' (cold cucumber) stories to tell; which I won't.
Me being myself spoke to my close circle:
The theory of 'first hand and second hand'
Childmom is a prude of the most ancient kind. Why would anyone want to drive a second hand car? was the question she asked me. I did not understand the connection. So she gently explains, 'See, we all like FOB (fresh off the boat) things. No one likes a handed down garment or thing or person.' That is when it hit me - and I wanted to hit her. How could someone equate a human to an object? How can a human being become second hand? She ignored, stating, 'I waited for that one man, whom I'd be physically bonded with in pleasure and love. Unlike your kind who would 'go dancing with boys and never bring them home' (that elaborate rubbish is her way of saying sex).
I feel insulted. But that is not a point here - so I ask her my most genuine question that she (the chef) would fathom. 'How do you know a plate of lasagna is best suited to your palette, unless you have tasted different preparations?' 'How can a vegetarian say meat tastes horrible, unless he has tasted it?' She, now visibly insulted and angry barked rhetorically, 'How can you equate sex to lasagna?' My reply was obvious, 'Just as you can equate people to second hand cars'.
A man with a begging bowl
When on this topic with Drama King, we of course spoke of the 'cat woman', the only goddess he ever had in his life, and has her no more! He was more forthcoming than usual, "Arrre, every time someone talks of love-making, I cry, and then run away." Gone are the days of youth when pleasure was respectful and admirable. Now is a time for cheap foppery and a bent back. For him, at least. His 'ladli lady' has been calling the 'shots', since the last time they spoke of any ‘action’. But we won't go there.
When I told him that there is something called 'Pure sex', he turned to acknowledge that people have forgotten the goodness of sex without strings. “Now I have to ask after weeks and weeks of hinting. And now I am tired even of the thought of asking. How can a man worth any salt ask his woman? What do I say, ‘will you do me a favor of going down on me? Will you please shave?’ It used to be so subtle and smooth sailing - with no words, no gestures, no bribing, no fights, no 'terms and conditions'. A look would be enough. Why cannot all women be like that?”
In my defense, I tell him that he chooses weird women and weird women have weird problems!
My point is that here is a man who knows the art of love and is willing to share it with equal zest with his beautiful ‘ladli’; but when she starts to treat it as a job, the job is done.
The genius
The only man in sync with me on men is the Metro-sexual genius who does acknowledge that men get emotional and impotent with lightening speed. Even in their 30’s they want to own your body. He too like me is living his life in joy and willing to wait for someone equivalent to his caliber. The genius is in waiting, as he puts it. Play the game, and play it long and play it well. When you find a partner, it would be a gift for him or her to see you as the panther.
Love and I have never been friends.
Some like it nice, some like it toasted, some like it pretty. Some like to whisper, some like to own, some like to caress, some like to gnaw; me being me like it pure and like it raw.
Nov 9, 2010
Gloria Steinem
"Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else."
It is I, who also lives in the mental discomfort of words, ideas and dreams.
It is I, who also lives in the mental discomfort of words, ideas and dreams.
Marry me; Marry me; No, Marry me!
Five conversations and my I have found the reason of my fight/ flight from the M-word.
04: 15pm over beer.
A: You know, I would not really mind getting married to you. You are pretty okay.
K: (laughing, shell shocked), I know, Am way better than OKAY.
A: Well, you will still need a man. You should settle, now that I have given you an offer. No one wants to marry a 30-year-old woman. You know the cycle and rest of the problems of being an old mom.
K: Sure, But I do not want to marry someone who thinks that way. Then again you got to decide what is right for you.
A: You are so wrong all the time.
08:00pm over coffee
J: You know, I love you.
K: So say a dozen other men.
J: Seriously. How long are you going to play this carrot and donkey game?
K: What do you mean? You overestimate my wit.
J: Shut up. We all love you. and you treat us like options. toy with us when you are bored and then go find someone else to join your brood.
K: Awww.... you sound upset. You know I do not do that! How is it my fault if you are in love with me? Did I give any of you ideas that I was in love, or needed love?
J: (a sigh of resignation) It's not your fault. You have always been a tease and runaway...
10: 45pm over the phone
C: Am barely waking up with the sun, and the first thing I do is call you.
K: how sweet. so how does ur day look?
C: Hmmm.... lot of regular stuff.
K: Hmmmm... sounds interesting!
C: ya, how was ur day?
K: (goes on for 20 minutes about all the fun she had on a regular Wednesday and narrates anecdotes). Truly fun!
C: (cackling) you girls are mad. Minty was asking about you last night.
K: ohhh yaa, how was the party?
C: Nothing much, we drank, played poker, chatted and head home.
K: Wowo, you have perfect conversational skills.
C: Ya, you like to talk. I like to listen. It'll work perfect for us after we get married.
K: Wowowowo.... Marriage? where did that come from?
C: Come on K, you know am the best guy around to marry you. either the better ones are married or there are ugly bastards like A, whom you'd never marry, even out of pity.
K: what makes u think you are not from A's category?
C: You indeed are a cruel woman.
Day two
07: 45am
( Fabulous is in town for Diwali. Her first in two years. A post on her will follow soon.)
Fabulous: Coffee or brunch?
K: Brunch. I need to talk.
Fabulous: About your writing?
K: No.
Fabulous: Men is it, then.
K: (a sign and a drag... ) Yaaaa...
Fabulous: Why do you even bother yourself with these dick heads?
K: I am confused and I need solutions, not sermons.
Fabulous: Yayayayaya....
11:20 am over Brunch
After a long narration of the 'Marry me' saga. Fabulous in her contained frustration responds.
Fabulous: Let me list your faults with all the men in your life.
1)Your biggest fault is that you just treat men too well. - it's cardinal sin. that makes them think you are not generic nice but nice to 'them'.
2) You never insult a man. Insulating his ego; you proclaim that you are a cow!
3) You are generous and caring. Never spend so much time on a man. he will become a buddy if-and-when he has to. A man only understands gifts as sexual favors. Using a man in many other ways is most important.
4) You don't show a man his true place. soft cushioning makes them think they have better value than their actual price tag.
I have a glazed look, thinking of how my chain of life slipped since she left the country. How she had anchored it with high heels and kick arse attitude, of how everything disrespectful actually belonged in the trash can. She shakes me up, almost screaming, "Do you get me? Or have u become a retard, and need me to write it for you?"
In a sudden bout of emotion, I get up and hug her, whispering a 'thank you'. She dumps the fork in one hand (deciding against her wish to stab me) and says: 'I love you bitch. Remember who you are! You are not a settler, never have been one - and as long as I am alive; you will never be one.'
7:10pm In conversation with Mom.
Mom: "Oyster seeker called to wish Diwali. The boy loves you and is still obsessed with the idea of marriage. He still calls me 'Ma saaheb'. Are you sure we should never think of him in 'that' way.' (the words 'your husband' are forbidden. the consequences dire.)
K: ( I wink and peck her) Yesssss, MOM!
Mom: Did you like the Pilot boy?
K: No. He told me a lot of things I could not live with.
Mom: Is there Nothing good in a any man any more? Why won't you like anyone, beta?
K: Mom, I have become the man I wanted to marry; unfortunately, the men have become the women I'd never marry.
04: 15pm over beer.
A: You know, I would not really mind getting married to you. You are pretty okay.
K: (laughing, shell shocked), I know, Am way better than OKAY.
A: Well, you will still need a man. You should settle, now that I have given you an offer. No one wants to marry a 30-year-old woman. You know the cycle and rest of the problems of being an old mom.
K: Sure, But I do not want to marry someone who thinks that way. Then again you got to decide what is right for you.
A: You are so wrong all the time.
08:00pm over coffee
J: You know, I love you.
K: So say a dozen other men.
J: Seriously. How long are you going to play this carrot and donkey game?
K: What do you mean? You overestimate my wit.
J: Shut up. We all love you. and you treat us like options. toy with us when you are bored and then go find someone else to join your brood.
K: Awww.... you sound upset. You know I do not do that! How is it my fault if you are in love with me? Did I give any of you ideas that I was in love, or needed love?
J: (a sigh of resignation) It's not your fault. You have always been a tease and runaway...
10: 45pm over the phone
C: Am barely waking up with the sun, and the first thing I do is call you.
K: how sweet. so how does ur day look?
C: Hmmm.... lot of regular stuff.
K: Hmmmm... sounds interesting!
C: ya, how was ur day?
K: (goes on for 20 minutes about all the fun she had on a regular Wednesday and narrates anecdotes). Truly fun!
C: (cackling) you girls are mad. Minty was asking about you last night.
K: ohhh yaa, how was the party?
C: Nothing much, we drank, played poker, chatted and head home.
K: Wowo, you have perfect conversational skills.
C: Ya, you like to talk. I like to listen. It'll work perfect for us after we get married.
K: Wowowowo.... Marriage? where did that come from?
C: Come on K, you know am the best guy around to marry you. either the better ones are married or there are ugly bastards like A, whom you'd never marry, even out of pity.
K: what makes u think you are not from A's category?
C: You indeed are a cruel woman.
Day two
07: 45am
( Fabulous is in town for Diwali. Her first in two years. A post on her will follow soon.)
Fabulous: Coffee or brunch?
K: Brunch. I need to talk.
Fabulous: About your writing?
K: No.
Fabulous: Men is it, then.
K: (a sign and a drag... ) Yaaaa...
Fabulous: Why do you even bother yourself with these dick heads?
K: I am confused and I need solutions, not sermons.
Fabulous: Yayayayaya....
11:20 am over Brunch
After a long narration of the 'Marry me' saga. Fabulous in her contained frustration responds.
Fabulous: Let me list your faults with all the men in your life.
1)Your biggest fault is that you just treat men too well. - it's cardinal sin. that makes them think you are not generic nice but nice to 'them'.
2) You never insult a man. Insulating his ego; you proclaim that you are a cow!
3) You are generous and caring. Never spend so much time on a man. he will become a buddy if-and-when he has to. A man only understands gifts as sexual favors. Using a man in many other ways is most important.
4) You don't show a man his true place. soft cushioning makes them think they have better value than their actual price tag.
I have a glazed look, thinking of how my chain of life slipped since she left the country. How she had anchored it with high heels and kick arse attitude, of how everything disrespectful actually belonged in the trash can. She shakes me up, almost screaming, "Do you get me? Or have u become a retard, and need me to write it for you?"
In a sudden bout of emotion, I get up and hug her, whispering a 'thank you'. She dumps the fork in one hand (deciding against her wish to stab me) and says: 'I love you bitch. Remember who you are! You are not a settler, never have been one - and as long as I am alive; you will never be one.'
7:10pm In conversation with Mom.
Mom: "Oyster seeker called to wish Diwali. The boy loves you and is still obsessed with the idea of marriage. He still calls me 'Ma saaheb'. Are you sure we should never think of him in 'that' way.' (the words 'your husband' are forbidden. the consequences dire.)
K: ( I wink and peck her) Yesssss, MOM!
Mom: Did you like the Pilot boy?
K: No. He told me a lot of things I could not live with.
Mom: Is there Nothing good in a any man any more? Why won't you like anyone, beta?
K: Mom, I have become the man I wanted to marry; unfortunately, the men have become the women I'd never marry.
Nov 2, 2010
Two Tin cans and a String....
I throw up. I grew up with the Princess Diana syndrome - it's just not restricted to bulimia. there is so much more to it, I'd like to quantify it someday. I know too many women who throw up, so I would not call it odd. Sometimes, I throw up in my mind. It's quite real, for that time. Like dying in a dream.
I keep fumbling on my laptop and hurt my nails, spoil my manicure and wonder whoever reads on whatever?
Since the invention of E-mail, at my puberty; the most mails I have received, are from shoppers providing discounts - on everything inclusive of a penis, which I thankfully do not have!
Sometimes I think, how traumatic, to be born a man! How irrationally judgmental and demanding.
I often simply stare, never looking directly in the eye. I have learnt the coy glance without throwing the obvious coy look. My mother taught me that one, unconsciously, I suppose; she worked that look when my father's rich friends visited. I can not communicate, men have extreme reactions to a beautiful woman talking - either they are mesmerized or they are disgusted.
Women have the same reaction to a more beautiful women eating. It's offensive, you know. I often eat prior to leaving the house + all the alcohol keeps you full. I talk as little to the men around as I can - the fear of sounding too smart or too dumb rests on my shoulders.
I often act impressive, and impassive to their achievements.You know, all men, and I mean ALL men feel that women are dumb, in some way or the other. Be it your father, friend, brother, lover, pimp... they all talk in that annoying, 'don't strain your brain, darling' tone. They find it adorable that their knowledge supersedes a woman's ignorance on 'Kung Fu - grasshopper or a trojan in a lap top or the bonnet of a sedan'.
I communicate with people like I used to with my neighbor, through our tin telephones. We said and heard all we needed to hear and were happy. Es ist it. With all the Facebook, Twitter and Shittier crap.... people are on islands far away and on mind-lofts that are further distanced.
"I keep screaming into a void and till my words gather moss, rot and start to disintegrate.
I worry for all the unsaid, unheard things.
I now call thoughts things.
It's a kind of frightening cruelty that I seek to evade.
Eons ago, I read some soothing words somewhere, I search for that book endlessly.
I am an actress living my film in an aside. I talk to me too much now, in my head are debates, chaotic conversations and even accusing fights - sometimes a destinarian resignation that only comes form feeling physical pain.
I fear I may lose it, then I fear that I may not. That I may have to live with partial madness of a cynic and that of a drugged optimist.
I rewrite my story from memory, to fill the endless blank pages of my life with something sensational - to not let it seem mundane and a stupid waste."
Men are my subject of interest and exploitation. I am the USED. small gifts in return of bigger bargains. "it's a bad deal, Q, a very bad deal." "But I need a car, a chauffeur, a wallet, a hand around my arm, a pair of lips to talk about the world, bottles of alcohol, lines of coke. I have needs too!" I stumble and my throat swells in a overwhelming feeling to cry, instead I throw up.
Wise capitalist once told me, 'the value of a woman is noted by the amount of men she can attract and not sleep with.' I am d kind of woman wise men repel, and successful desperate empty hasty men want to admire.
And marry.
that is the worst! Marry, why in god's name would you want to marry me? Why?
"I do want to marry, sometime. but i don't want to marry you. For now, just learn to bang right. I'm quite tired of giving you instructions."
Between, did you not fall in love with me instantly because I was not the kind to nag you with the "M" word?
MEN ARE SUCH FOOLS. They always want what they can not have.
Wise capitalist once told me, ' women are most attractive, when they won't give a man what he wants.'
I would like men who are uncommon, ugly or carelessly rich. But which other woman won't? I hate cheap-stakes, talking about gifts always in future tense. Fabulous says, 'it's an ugly man's way of retaining a beautiful woman.... the carrot at the end of a string.'
Maybe, like her, I should get myself a job. something fabulous. like a writer, or a photographer or a museum curator - they all use such fancy words to beehive men. Something that makes men believe that their lives have a meaning, a purpose, a goal. Something that they can show off... " I am dating Y... who is the Director of Jamboreejumpings" or something as irrelevant on those lines...
Men, like women, want to marry a designation, a place, a skin color, a figure, a wardrobe, a kind of 'taste' in all things popularly good. Men pretend, just as commonly as women pout.
It's been a year since I have had decent sex. It's been a life time since I've had great sex... I may never have mind-boggling sex... Indian men can not have sex (leaving a handful whom I have not had sex with); with their, limping little poodle penises. And we live in the land of Kamasutra! Seriously. And they fucking blame a woman for faking an orgasm. what do u want us to do... get bored and go off to sleep over your sasquatch egos?
Maybe I should jump over the fence, get a pussy.
Maybe this living life business is just not my thing.
Maybe, I need to get a job, get a vibrator and get my own pair of happiness.
Maybe another Xanax will help me think clearer.
Maybe, I should go on weed or shrooms instead. Be a part of the 'green revolution'.
I am thinking and talking constantly. I am thinking woman. I am disturbed by the banal that people ignore. I too cry over Ethiopian children, I even buy Ethiopian cigarettes to help their economy.
Maybe, I should become a social worker.
Maybe make a trip to America wearing a saree. Europe has no money left.
I need to make a living; maybe get a man?
I read the depth in the 1,040 words above and I want to romaticize my illness as a psychosis. Maybe, I should write a book on the superficial genius of the charades within our deeply intellectual and financially opulent society.
Maybe I can title it - 'Society is dead.' And talk like a corpse, dancing in mirth.
Maybe I should consult a psychologist before hand.
Maybe retain the madness to elevate the bizarreness of the book.
Sigh* Smile*
I think I'm going to throw up again.
I keep fumbling on my laptop and hurt my nails, spoil my manicure and wonder whoever reads on whatever?
Since the invention of E-mail, at my puberty; the most mails I have received, are from shoppers providing discounts - on everything inclusive of a penis, which I thankfully do not have!
Sometimes I think, how traumatic, to be born a man! How irrationally judgmental and demanding.
I often simply stare, never looking directly in the eye. I have learnt the coy glance without throwing the obvious coy look. My mother taught me that one, unconsciously, I suppose; she worked that look when my father's rich friends visited. I can not communicate, men have extreme reactions to a beautiful woman talking - either they are mesmerized or they are disgusted.
Women have the same reaction to a more beautiful women eating. It's offensive, you know. I often eat prior to leaving the house + all the alcohol keeps you full. I talk as little to the men around as I can - the fear of sounding too smart or too dumb rests on my shoulders.
I often act impressive, and impassive to their achievements.You know, all men, and I mean ALL men feel that women are dumb, in some way or the other. Be it your father, friend, brother, lover, pimp... they all talk in that annoying, 'don't strain your brain, darling' tone. They find it adorable that their knowledge supersedes a woman's ignorance on 'Kung Fu - grasshopper or a trojan in a lap top or the bonnet of a sedan'.
I communicate with people like I used to with my neighbor, through our tin telephones. We said and heard all we needed to hear and were happy. Es ist it. With all the Facebook, Twitter and Shittier crap.... people are on islands far away and on mind-lofts that are further distanced.
"I keep screaming into a void and till my words gather moss, rot and start to disintegrate.
I worry for all the unsaid, unheard things.
I now call thoughts things.
It's a kind of frightening cruelty that I seek to evade.
Eons ago, I read some soothing words somewhere, I search for that book endlessly.
I am an actress living my film in an aside. I talk to me too much now, in my head are debates, chaotic conversations and even accusing fights - sometimes a destinarian resignation that only comes form feeling physical pain.
I fear I may lose it, then I fear that I may not. That I may have to live with partial madness of a cynic and that of a drugged optimist.
I rewrite my story from memory, to fill the endless blank pages of my life with something sensational - to not let it seem mundane and a stupid waste."
Men are my subject of interest and exploitation. I am the USED. small gifts in return of bigger bargains. "it's a bad deal, Q, a very bad deal." "But I need a car, a chauffeur, a wallet, a hand around my arm, a pair of lips to talk about the world, bottles of alcohol, lines of coke. I have needs too!" I stumble and my throat swells in a overwhelming feeling to cry, instead I throw up.
Wise capitalist once told me, 'the value of a woman is noted by the amount of men she can attract and not sleep with.' I am d kind of woman wise men repel, and successful desperate empty hasty men want to admire.
And marry.
that is the worst! Marry, why in god's name would you want to marry me? Why?
"I do want to marry, sometime. but i don't want to marry you. For now, just learn to bang right. I'm quite tired of giving you instructions."
Between, did you not fall in love with me instantly because I was not the kind to nag you with the "M" word?
MEN ARE SUCH FOOLS. They always want what they can not have.
Wise capitalist once told me, ' women are most attractive, when they won't give a man what he wants.'
I would like men who are uncommon, ugly or carelessly rich. But which other woman won't? I hate cheap-stakes, talking about gifts always in future tense. Fabulous says, 'it's an ugly man's way of retaining a beautiful woman.... the carrot at the end of a string.'
Maybe, like her, I should get myself a job. something fabulous. like a writer, or a photographer or a museum curator - they all use such fancy words to beehive men. Something that makes men believe that their lives have a meaning, a purpose, a goal. Something that they can show off... " I am dating Y... who is the Director of Jamboreejumpings" or something as irrelevant on those lines...
Men, like women, want to marry a designation, a place, a skin color, a figure, a wardrobe, a kind of 'taste' in all things popularly good. Men pretend, just as commonly as women pout.
It's been a year since I have had decent sex. It's been a life time since I've had great sex... I may never have mind-boggling sex... Indian men can not have sex (leaving a handful whom I have not had sex with); with their, limping little poodle penises. And we live in the land of Kamasutra! Seriously. And they fucking blame a woman for faking an orgasm. what do u want us to do... get bored and go off to sleep over your sasquatch egos?
Maybe I should jump over the fence, get a pussy.
Maybe this living life business is just not my thing.
Maybe, I need to get a job, get a vibrator and get my own pair of happiness.
Maybe another Xanax will help me think clearer.
Maybe, I should go on weed or shrooms instead. Be a part of the 'green revolution'.
I am thinking and talking constantly. I am thinking woman. I am disturbed by the banal that people ignore. I too cry over Ethiopian children, I even buy Ethiopian cigarettes to help their economy.
Maybe, I should become a social worker.
Maybe make a trip to America wearing a saree. Europe has no money left.
I need to make a living; maybe get a man?
I read the depth in the 1,040 words above and I want to romaticize my illness as a psychosis. Maybe, I should write a book on the superficial genius of the charades within our deeply intellectual and financially opulent society.
Maybe I can title it - 'Society is dead.' And talk like a corpse, dancing in mirth.
Maybe I should consult a psychologist before hand.
Maybe retain the madness to elevate the bizarreness of the book.
Sigh* Smile*
I think I'm going to throw up again.
Conversations
While ordering a round of drinks.
Him: Only a certain kind of women like Bloody Mary.
K: Then, I am that certain kind of woman.
Him: Only a certain kind of women like Bloody Mary.
K: Then, I am that certain kind of woman.
Why not? I'm asking, why not?
People should celebrate a single woman's madness.
Just the way they glorify the superficiality of a marriage posed in pictures or the emotional poverty of a successful man.
Just the way they glorify the superficiality of a marriage posed in pictures or the emotional poverty of a successful man.
Sep 23, 2010
Surviving through the dark night.
My Knight was asleep, I knocked at this mind, but the labor of daylight, rests his body and sooths his mind into REM. K in bated breath, battled her mind and shot two arrows with a comfort that they would reach and be felt when the time was right.
~ Sleep wont arrive anywhere close to me. A little breeze slips through the curtains and feeds it secretly. I lay awake, silent, starving for warmth and slumber. And you, my dear, lie in peace, dreaming quaint dreams in borrowed cold air. While I shiver in woolen socks. Tis is not fair.
~ The hours are passing slower than the minutes I spend with you. I look out of my window, into a lonely street, now at peace, in remains of cracker wrappers for bed cover. In some waters nearby; the elephant headed, pot bellied god with his rat are gratefully dissolving. Here, I stand, filled with thoughts to my gray brim, yet parched. The WorldWideWeb offers many strangers with familiar faces, alas none that I can share my insomnia with. Their clamor resonates a loud song of daylight. And I have a wooden cuckoo for company, she peeks out at intervals, reminding me that I too exist. Time travels unfairly putting parts of the world to sleep and the rest wide awake.
~ Sleep wont arrive anywhere close to me. A little breeze slips through the curtains and feeds it secretly. I lay awake, silent, starving for warmth and slumber. And you, my dear, lie in peace, dreaming quaint dreams in borrowed cold air. While I shiver in woolen socks. Tis is not fair.
~ The hours are passing slower than the minutes I spend with you. I look out of my window, into a lonely street, now at peace, in remains of cracker wrappers for bed cover. In some waters nearby; the elephant headed, pot bellied god with his rat are gratefully dissolving. Here, I stand, filled with thoughts to my gray brim, yet parched. The WorldWideWeb offers many strangers with familiar faces, alas none that I can share my insomnia with. Their clamor resonates a loud song of daylight. And I have a wooden cuckoo for company, she peeks out at intervals, reminding me that I too exist. Time travels unfairly putting parts of the world to sleep and the rest wide awake.
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