The Anatomy of My Music

To play him like a cello:

set him form first between my knees

allowing my fingers to gently
caress his smooth surface,

the shine of his skin proving to be
a sign

of careful attention.

I imagine the music I will make
with him,

first hearing it on some distant
wind

before committing it to reality.

My hands trace his curves like the
sides of the cello–

stroking from slender neck

over soft yest strong shoulders and chest

past the dip of torso to linger at
his waist,

savoring the texture of flesh like
the grain of wood.

It is then that I bring my hands to
his shoulder blades,

palm sliding down his spine
languorously,

bowing him back,

strumming the first notes of pleasure
from him.

His spine becomes the strings and
frets and chords

and I play him like a cello–

finely tuned and longing to rise to
the challenge

of fulfilling his potential.

There is a deep fire in the song of
ecstasy he plays;

low sonorous moans reaching my ears

driving me to increase my skill for
making music.

I slide my body further down

keeping my living instrument
between my thighs,

my hands pressed to the curve of
his hips

and my mouth becomes the bow my
fingers were;

lips playing tender kisses down
invisible strings

tongue gliding up the spine

from tailbone to the nape of his
neck

and back down again.

My mouth

his body

and the music we create with his
eager flesh

The Ex Hate Mails as posted on Myspace (first of the bunch)

Dear babycakes,


Me good guy. You bitch. Me tired of your fat cunt. Me don’t like your meat curtains. Me suffering from sinusitis because you have a fish taco in between your legs. Me don’t like it anymore. me don’t feel anything. Me feels inadequate. Me have low self esteem because your cunt is too loose. Me tired of you stealing $20 all the time. Me damaged after seeing you pee standing up. Me don’t want to hang on to your boobs. Me just want to be asexual. me just want to try new things. Me want to fuck a hermaphrodite. Me an emotional cripple. Yes, this is all about ME now. Now you, go away.

Peace out,

John

p.s. I want my porn collection back.

Pique Me

You'd expect it to happen
Not in the open, but in a shower, perhaps,
Where boys and beauty settle down together
As seed does to soul, water to skin, silently,
Without ceremony, under one's very breath
Boys are too beautiful to let live
I get randy just thinking it
I cannot tell exactly how it starts
As though moments before I am overcome
By some devilish scheme: a puppet
With strings for life. My heart rushes
Up my throat, poised as though ready to burst
In my mouth. My eyes smear everything a brilliant
Crimson and I see the screeching of skin
Feel the music of bones snapping in my hands
Or grinding against my teeth
Or sometimes I just swish a blade, and push it
Through an artery wound like rope around a neck
Squirting, a bloody rainbow opens like a fan
People around see and are struck simply
By such murderousness, like the old woman
In church, who bequeathed tissue paper
To wipe my lusty face with. I bring my own
Thank you, twirled softly around a kitchen knife
I am possessed of so much love
Enough for all those boys to stay warm in
Instead, the bloodbath is always cold and sweet
But even I am growing tired of this constancy
And end up asking boy after butchered boy
Having killed countlessly
Did I really possess you all?

*Ah don't you just LOVE life and all its perplexities. You meet a lovely lady, quite intriguing, she offers herself...very accommodating...you tell yourself she has the softest looking pair of tits you have ever seen...but of course, she is quite more than ample set of bosoms...she smiled...you move slightly closer to give her a kiss and you turned your back and make a mental note that you have been the dumbest of all fuckwits alive...you really should consider drunk driving...

How a bout a really lovely man. You know you are doomed the moment you saw him. And the man isn't just capable of making himself adorable, the man is also funny and isn't living under a rock for centuries...after a couple of conversations with him you realized he is not just a man...he is a fuck worthy man...God, you wish he would refrain from talking cause you are starting to run a rated R movie in your head...but no...you should stop yourself since you were, and still are, a poster girl for refined, poised and chaste Catholic girl. But you cant help yourself since the last time you did the unthinkable was three years ago (August 28, 2006) and you want to conk your head each time you were reminded of it...telling yourself...ah well, i know why it is called the forbidden fruit! Argh!So you grab that alcohol bottle and force yourself to a cold shower...with the hopes that the pill you just popped is strong enough to knock you out until Christmas.

Knowing Its Essence (whatever it may be)

This is for all those who are still searching...May you find what you truly wished for! Those who are dazed and confused don't let the flame disguise the fire...

Life is the process of finding love; every person will need to find four people in their life.

First person is you,

Second person is the one you love most,

Third person is the one who love you most,

And the fourth is the one you spend the rest of your life with...

In life, initially, you will meet the one you love most, and learn how love feels. Because you know how love feels, so you can find the person who loves YOU most. When you experienced the feeling of loving others and being loved, you will then know what it is you need most. Then you will find the person who is most suitable for you, to be able to spend the rest of your life with.

Sadly, in real life, these three people are usually not the same person.

The one you love most doesn't love you.

The one, who love you most, is never the one you love most.

And the one you spend your life with, is never the one you love most or the one who love you most. He is just the person who happens to be at the right place at the right time.

Which person are you in other people's life?

No person will purposely have a change of heart.

At the point in time when he loves you, he really loves you.

But when he doesn't love you anymore, he really doesn't love you anymore.

When he loves you, he can’t pretend that he doesn't.

Same goes, when he loves you no more, there's no way he can pretend he loves you.

When a person doesn't love you and wants to leave you, you must ask yourself if you still love him. If you also don't love him anymore, do not keep him just to save your pride.

If you still love him, you should wish him happiness, and hope that he will be with the one he loves most, not stop him from it.

If you stop him from finding true happiness with the one he loves, it shows you already don't love him, and if you don't love him, what rights do you have to blame him for a change of heart?

LOVE IS NOT POSSESSIVE.

If you like the moon, you can’t just take it down and put it in your basin. But the moonlight still shines upon you.

In other words, when you love a person, you may use another method of possessing the person.

Let him become a permanent memory in your life.

If you really love a person, you must love him for what he is. Love him for his good points, and the bad. You can't wish for him to become like what you like him to be just because you love him. If he can't change to become what you like him to be, you don't love him anymore.

When you really love a person, you cannot find a reason why you love him.

You only know that no matter when and where, good mood or bad, you will wish to have this person to be with you.

Real love is when two people can go through the toughest problems without asking for promises or listing criteria.

In a relationship, you have to put in effort and give in at times, not always be on the receiving end.

Being away form each other is a type of test. If the relationship isn't strong, then you can only admit defeat.

Real love will never become hate. When two people are in love, they love to ask each other to swear, to make promises... Why do they ask each other to swear and promise? Because they don't trust each other, they don't trust their lover.

These swear and promises are useless:

"Till the sky falls, till the ocean dry, my love for you will never change!"

We all know that the sky will never fall; the ocean will never dry. Even if it does happen, are we still alive by then?

Be careful when making promises; don't make promises that you cannot keep. Swear by things that can never happen, because it can never happen, so no harm just saying it casually. Remember, swearing by things that can never happen are the most touching?

In a relationship, what you say is one thing, but what you do is another;

The one saying doesn't believe; the one listening also doesn't believe.

"Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have..."

And for those who found the person they love the most, who loves them the most and got lucky and now who’s spending their lives with them, I could wish you the best. Hope the guys will carry their wives, just like on their wedding day, in their arms until they grow old.

Excerpts From The Incessant Ramblings Of Those Voices In My Head I Give You...

Italian Hand Job

Your adroit fingers

Seeking freedom

In a quiver

Of cold air

Heated surface

Illuminates

A form

Of worship

A long awaited union

Of an empty sheet

An artist

The pain is perfect

Take your broadest brush

Cover such nakedness

With hues

Of copper dream colour

Warmth dribbles

Dip your brush

Quick twists, slow turns

Want flows

Form linear traces

Define curves

Need to soak

Drenched in pleasurable mutuality

Lick your thoughts

Form saffron curlicue

In secret places

Cerise helix

Around darkened corners

Slivery tip created heated contours

Slide under

Leave manic colours

Swirling abstracts

Each thought and movement one

Rhythmic drips

Down on your canvas

Glide it over

The rough surface

Driven by

Pulsing fiery shades

Dribble your paint

Sienna

Azure

Indigo

Shadows

Of

Grey

Draw

Your

Passion

Your words

A

Collage.

CONVERSATIONS WITH THE NOODLE JUNKIE AND THE FRECKLED ROBOT

HE IS MY CAIN

The freaks, of course, are those
For whom there is no more hope. Or love.
Poked fun at inside the womb they slid
Into a world quite humorless, with bodies
Wrong out of shape from boisterous,
Pent up laughter: the jokes on them.


Though their cages and my booth scream
From the same spectacular side of the carnival,
I will never accept claims, seriously,
Of kinship. The human spider. The turtle boy.
Twins linked to each other by their penises.
Man leapfrogs, eats flies, and croaks,
With every inch of him mottled, eyes unblinking
And red. I’m not such a one.


Because after the balls have circled like bats
I too have someone waiting for me. He’s happy
I come to him at just the right time
When money is always tight for my sweet.
I give him my night’s earnings when he asks.
He’s yet to show me he’s able not to.


When he does I’m never ready to resist
The smile like water, the hand thrown open,
The blanket of hospitable skin. I never let him
See me getting dunked like bread in his coffee.


He hasn’t, yet, and it’s the one promise
He keeps whose future brokenness I am.
I love him so much I can see myself a fish
Swimming feverishly in soup, forever.


It’s like it’s true he loves me, too.
After all he says it right after I’ve said it
And give him what he so pityingly takes.
Breakfast I carve out a woman’s heart from my body.

Between Coffee Breaks and Canons from Sandcastles

I find myself abed and sick

With frictions of fever

Seemingly the stars claim

Ascendancy in the sky,

And I have been told to bid

The heavens for cure.



But even if these stars are vast,

Fervent With fire and

Countless In number,

Nothing accounts for their mad distance.



I find ivory flames

Staring cold back at me

And only this single

Candle's Flicker

Licks the air warm for me.



The discourse of days

Has taught me not

To wait

For dawns and hope

To a see a different shade of light,

But merely succumb to cycles.



It has been said that truth

Like light, must be broken

In order to be seen.

I believe it is the same with love

And other truths that are hard to discern

At a glance or are merely invisible



I remember in haste

What the afternoons were like

And I'm reminded

Of my broken watch

As I sat in the same spot

A stolen glance

Intrigued by your voice

If only I could remember

This familiar stranger

You remind me of the pain.

Knives (A Chinese Story) in other words you are ugly on the outside and uglier inside

Mother said: The Chinese say, do not give your knives away.

So I gave the boy I loved a picture of him holding a gun.

The Chinese I knew from my mother’s admonitions were a wary, self-preserving sort.

We offer candies, before all else; to strangers, to sweeten their commerce with us,

Keeping back the sour, the biting taste; lest our guests’ teeth turn on us.

Mother, so quick to warn against knives and teeth, why did you never tell what words could do? At your bidding, I never spoke aloud of evil things, for fear my voice would make them real.

And perhaps, the words I recognized as insults I deflected, but what have the compliments of twenty-some years made of me?

“This is my beautiful daughter” said my mother’s friend, introducing her daughter comely to my mother at church. Mother then, turning to me, “here is the math wizard.”

At that time, the words stung so, and even now, when I am grateful for them, seeing them more unjust to my brother than to myself, sometimes, sleep-disheveled, I look at the mirror on mornings, and they sting still.

“Will you marry me?” a callow boy once said to me. I wept to hear him say it and even today, still desired not to send him away, weeping with joy that I should be so prized, flattered-foolishly, fearing I would never be valuable again.

“Ya sui – pretty girl” was his pet name for me. The first few months we were in love. When that endearment passed; replaced by others, I missed it sorely, and chided him.

Too fleeting had I been “she is a beautiful creature” – I wanted to be so again.

“My eyes are yours only” was never enough. “I will always love you” he would often say.

He asked me, “why is it important that I tell you this all the time when you know it’s true?”

I knew then words had not done to him what they had done to me.

I see how I cut and scar myself

squeezing into forms too narrow for me:

too slim, too soft, too kind, too obliging,

too pale and huge-eyed;

and I tremble to note how many times

doggedly, I come back, bloodied,

and ask to be let in,

chambering to contort myself into their

confines again.

I see how I cut and scar myself,

squeezing into forms too narrow for me,

again and again, because I want to,

having only been warned, in my childhood,

against knives.

Melodramatic Musings of Muesli Girl

From you, I have learned this much: that the only way to love purely is across cracks, chasms, and astronomical distances that we can only love that which we can appropriate most freely. The ancients sing to us of Clytie. How she loved the Sun. How she waited for him constantly. How he crossed the sky each day to the lilt of her delighted laughter, to the sound of her adoring voice. How her devotion never faltered, though he left each night with no promise of returning the morning. And because he was always eight minutes longer himself, she could choose to believe that his luminous fingers stroked her face only, that it was she alone he wished into his sea home longing for her, madly aflame with thoughts of her. It was not divine pity, then, that scaled her fare, for even Selene, the cold-hearted knew how to pine. And so this happens.

When we learn to love purely: the body shrinks, grows, radiant, send down roots, turns ever lightward. We no longer wish to leave.

*****************

And so we go on...

I think of your words

and i wonder what you taste like

I can't see your face

yet i burn to have you inside me

filling the void that aches

from my never-ending need

feeling somewhat guilty

for picturing you without your permission

not quite sure if you would be

flattered or appalled

to be the object of my roving fingers fantasies

***

envisioning you touching me

as my fingers slide deep inside me

a poor substitute for you

but all i have at the moment

and i wish i could

see your face watching me

as i fall over the edge of oblivion

reaching for you