The Economics of Modern Dating

In case you'd desire to listen along to the soundtrack that carried my words as I typed, I've added hyperlinks of the songs that played during different portions of my writing process. 

When did we start to talk about the once elusive force of love with such stern, market-driven, borderline corporate connotations? More importantly, WHY?

It's impossible for me not to ponder, dumbfoundedly wonder, where the ethereal nature of love went south, and fell into the hands of investment bankers, stock analysts, and other less poetic communicators. Is it no longer hip to be a fool in love? Is it no longer deemed profitable to fall head over heels, not minding the bruises that might appear on our limbs after the potential of sustaining a harsh come down? 

I've always been transparent about having my heart on my sleeve, hell, I've been obnoxiously loud about it at times, but I believe I owe it to our budding relationship as writer-readers, to truly delve into the logistics and gears that propel my thinking/acting/writing in a time when a "like" on a story or a post, is the closest we seem to get to giving our hearts to somebody.

 

Has the price we once paid for bearing our soul to someone, get too high to pay?

Have we all become just a bite in other people's tasting platters, as they go about searching for the next best thing since sliced bread?

I'd like to think not. No, I wholeheartedly hope not.

I've observed how with an increasing frequency, the language surrounding the intersection of relationships-romance-love, has begun to mimic that of folks whose professions are the backbone of modern day economics––which, no offense, but, let's be honest: are a wreck...(shit show might be a more honest descriptor, perhaps?). The truth is, there is always a logical component to be discussed when deciding what we will do with the rest of our lives, namely what our careers are, where we want to live, how we want to live, do we want to form a family, do we want a destination wedding, will your funeral be open-casket or do you prefer to be cremated? 

But, love, I think, should have never been added to the already lengthy list of "subjects to discuss with your feet firmly planted on the ground".

After all, we ARE sentient, human beings––not stocks, not merchandise, not fads to be tried on and put aside, when we no longer deem each other fit to fill the desired position we're hiring for. 

This does not set aside what it means to have standards and expectations for what we know will fulfill our needs, the basic and the more fantastical of their kind; I simply find it earth-shattering how the new format of dating has decided for us that mouthing the words "i love you" whilst having one foot out the door, is allowed, and what's more, prevalent. 

What is the point in "getting to know" somebody with the mindset that, if it doesn't work out, there will always be "other fish in the sea"? Seems a bit redundant to state the volume of other people at our disposition, and frankly, available at our fingertips, as if that's supposed to make one feel better? If anything, I think of it as a degrading act toward your current "prospect", when instead our internal commentary should be: "there's THAT many fish in the sea, and I only had to go through this few, to find mine?! How did I ever get this lucky?!". 

Now, the cornerstone of our big eyes, (that we seemingly developed over the course of a few decades––despite evolutionary scientists not having made a big note of it ,*scoff*)–– which have us feasting on stranger's appearances as we waltz hand in hand with our lovers, keeping us always dreaming of the grass being greener on the other side––must be a direct effect of the immense fear that is now associated with being vulnerable. And I don't mean bearing your ass to the world (cough, cough), or confessing that you, a fitness guru, once struggled with REALLY being into chocolate chip cookies. 

The kind of vulnerability I refer to, is that of allowing another being to see the good, the bad, the ugly, and the HIDEOUS you––not just fractions, glimpses. Is it not true, that we react almost as though we've been burned when someone we're getting to know DARES to give some constructive criticism? And, you KNOW that this constructive criticism was handed to you, walking on eggshells because we've all grown so reactive and sensitive to the wrong things, so, picture a respectfully delivered piece of advice from your significant other. How do you react? Do you flinch at their attempt to mend your unlicked wounds?

Because, how do we expect to be loved as a whole, when we barely let people in on an eighth of what makes us, us?

And why do we walk on the very same eggshells to ask each other what it is that we want to develop from the interactions that we share? 

It used to be so simple, you'd be 7 years old and would skip up to a kid on the playground, a proposition set in mind––5 minutes later the words "do you want to be my friend?" would escape your mouths almost simultaneously––and despite often being short lived connections, there was no shame in asking for clarity. You were already playing tag, chasing each other, swinging on the playset, so, the question was technically being answered by the fact that out of all the kids in the playground, you'd chosen each other to share a giggle with––and still, we would ask for confirmation that the connection we felt within, was shared. 

When did we become so jaded, so timid, so petrified of showing that we care about being on the same page, instead of just "going with the flow"? How does a 7 year old wake up one morning, and decide that they can no longer bear the weight of the responsibility and commitment involved with getting things straight, when a relationship of any given nature is budding? 

It used to be so simple.

Now we hesitate to say that we are dating somebody, and rather exchanged the words for "getting to know"––news flash, that's what dating means! And, honestly, it... sucks. How do you claim to be getting to know someone, how do you intend to get into a relationship, if you cannot fathom stepping up, and straight out asking them: are you looking for a relationship?

The defining question didn't seem to pose such a threat on that playground, all those years ago, but now it looms over our heads as we hide our tail between our legs, and timidly bite our tongues––afraid to be seen as someone who doesn't go with the flow, afraid to be seen as someone who feels things. 

I was talking about this with a friend of mine, Mr. @tercus.kuhnsis, who happens to be living the absolute wet-dream that is a healthy, committed, loving, relationship; the conclusion we came to, in regards to why we reject the possibility of being the first to bring up the nature of our relationship with whomever we are "getting to know" (ahem, dating), is that in an utterly twisted way, we have decided that to reduce the uncertainty by asking these big and scary questions, is to destroy the magic associated with the not knowing. 

That's the conclusion he came to, not for himself, but in an attempt to interpret the insanity he's gotten to experience as both an insider, and now a bystander––because, the truth is that, he (and me, and potentially you) KNOWS that magic doesn't come from nescience (or ignorance, unfamiliarity). Because he KNOWS that magic comes from the spontaneity and sensibility we each hold, WITHIN the tenderness in recognizing each other, knowing that you are in a safe place, knowing you have someone to call home. 

Sounds incredibly counter productive to prefer to gamble away your relationships, as a mechanism in order to avoid harm, and yet we try to masquerade it as a calculated risk; we stare down our opponents, and fold at the slightest tilt of a brow; we hold back on asking the important questions, in order to preserve the chances of coming out victorious. But isn't victory something to be celebrated together? Isn't victory supposed to be the result of a climb, a chase?

In actuality, what comes from ignorance, what comes from the unknown, is risk. 

Which can only mean that we've bred generations of adrenaline junkies, as many (MANY) folks relish on the uncertainty that is now associated with modern dating. 

Call us (Tercus & I) old school, but we no longer have a taste for bungee jumping from a lover to another.

How do we not realize that the very fear we carry around in regards to showing we care, could be resolved by... showing we care!

I understand that as kids, we don't know harm, we aren't covered in scars from distant lovers, we are unable to recognize danger until we face it eye to eye, surely that helps us act on impulse and less quizzingly, once we grow older we also tend to grow colder,

but why do we always assume the worst? 

Why do we choose to let our past experiences influence us through such a doom and gloom view 

of the vast field of possibilities before us?

Have we only left room to grow more cynical, forgetting to invite love to come in through the door?

How do we return to the unflinching ways in which we partnered up as a means of survival and not a way to kill time? Or, since procreating to keep the human race alive, is no longer the motivator for us to come together, have we eliminated the urgency and deep-rooted necessity for relying on each other?

Is companionship only just that? Sitting beside each other until we no longer feel alone, and then picking the next partner once you're low on that fix of close proximity?

Of course I could've delved into the obvious harm perpetrated by having access to THAT many people via any form of online communication (whether it be social media, or dating apps), but I'd like to think that despite being gullible and programmable, above all, we remain human. Therefore meaning, that we can gain control over the conditions of our environment, and we are able to make conscious choices that are not influenced by whatever the marketing heads of the most influential corporations have decided is our fate. Plus, it's true that it is human nature to desire that which we cannot have, but, is it so deluded to believe that we should start by desiring that which we already have? 

So, what brings apart those who blindly follow the hype, those who appeared to be perpetually destined to listen to what Oprah said on weeknights, those who listen to the lies that tell them not to open their hearts to the world

––from those of us who dare to fall head first, and dare to wonder if this is all there is, or if we can devour the world in its entirety from how much our love of exploration consumes us? 

Surely a sense of comfort prevails in both groups, but, what urges some of us to get back up again after what seems like the last straw in the battle of modern day dating? 

Maybe I am asking the wrong questions, maybe all that's left to do is simply to hope...

You must be confused by how I begun bashing the fact that the language surrounding love has become so analytical, which I then followed by delivering an analysis on the phenomenon, but, if I ever dreamt of you reading through, I had to deliver my thoughts in a way that you'd find more familiar, digestible. That being said, here's my conclusion, no marketplace lingo nor economical strategies involved: 

I only hope for you to wake up that 7 year old kid within yourself and fall in love, deeply and without remorse. 

I hope you meet somebody that not only drives you crazy with their looks, but with the way you feel when they look at you, and maybe sometimes with their annoying little bad habits, but ultimately your love for each other is stronger than the desire to throw the towel, and the love you share pushes you to work through your differences as you continue to grow–instead of hoping that if you love them strong enough, they will magically morph into your ideal version of them. Better allow them to show you their ideal version of themselves. 

I hope you ask out that person you've been crushing on for a while now, putting your nonchalance aside, and I hope they accept your invitation; if they don't, however, I hope you don't take it as a sign of defeat, but rather as a sign of your strength, your persistence, and your humanity resisting the numbness being perpetrated around you. 

A sign of life. Of hope.

I hope for you to stop being afraid of asking for clarity, I hope that you ask for the love that you give and I hope in return, that you get your needs met and your dreams fulfilled. I hope you rid yourself of the shame associated with not wanting to leap into the unknown head first, naked and alone, and replace it with the excitement that is to entwine your fingers with your lover's and jump together into the ether. 

I hope you scratch the idea that to hope, is inherently to be foolish. 

I hope, you too, hope.

Much, much, hope––and even more love,

Cassandra a.k.a Eureka!

fisherman's blues

thaw.
savour the melting of the thick
walls of ice 
engulfing your once
frozen heart.
quite refreshing, ain't it?
not to be at the mercy of
an ancient calling to
forfeit from those who venture
near the mouth of the river that
flows through our veins and 
leads to our soul...

 ––an orchid strapped to a stone, dragged across a field covered in slush familiarity.

Extract meaning from my mindless ramble, if you will.

desire paths & crosswalks

 To coincide, is living proof of fate at work––faith reworked.

Prove me right!

Uncork the desire 

that pours from our uncouth mouths, 

wrapped in silk cloth 

and the thrill of

a gentle hand caressing mine

in the most delicate graze––

you'd surely drive anyone crazy.

Catch a glimpse of me, as I picture you... Dream lover, when you sit beside me I feel like there's no other.

Am I perpetually bound to long for you? Or will you touch me, and set us free?

the lover's bench.

 I find myself
sitting on the lover's bench–
loveless, but hopeful,
foolish?
Goosebumps, jet fuel, a jackhammer's echo beside me.

Everything seems brighter, despite the chills that creep down the skin on my arm.
I am engulfed by a new sense of warmth.
To the beat of my off-beat antics–I hope.

Anticipation is wishful thinking's trusted companion, and the rational mind's Friday night cocktail.

Some things just stick to you, whether you want them to or not. Much like stray hairs and lipgloss...

Must we always speak in tongues?

Do we recognize the ideal lies to tell ourselves, and idealize merely ordinary folks?                                     

I sure refuse to believe so, mostly upon the faulty principle of "ordinary folks"–sure, some possess a brighter sparkle in their eye–but isn't it miraculous enough for a sentient soul to walk this earth?

Some questions I've got, just wondering.

reflection: faith, fate–an intersection?

 What is faith to a non-believer?

Surely the word must translate, perhaps with a meaning transcended–yet not so far removed from the blind leap, stomach-churning, teary-eye invoking force.

I often wonder, what's there left to ponder–did the greats ask all the questions there were to be asked?

Maybe I just worry too much, but, I can't seem to help myself. There's always an interrogation itching to be matched with answers within me.

Prophetic dreams, premonitory thoughts, reflections of desires fulfilled by the mere push of chance, an unassuming question asked: "what if?". 

It's such a fitting word–reflection. I find myself considering, turning thoughts on their every side, biting my lip in deep concentration as I stare at the way the light kisses the ripples on the water before me.

Maybe faith is in the knowing no matter where you are, there'll always be light reflected on the surface.

stranded standards - estranged expectations / kiss and tell

I am constantly left feeling like the saboteur of my own happiness.

Undermining my very own joie de vivre for the sake of "not lowering my standards".

I'm well aware of the fact that said standards have saved me from a slew of endeavors that I'm certain I would've deeply regretted, whether it be the morning after, or 4 months and an empty feeling in my chest later. 

Sometimes I wish I would simply succumb to the ubiquitous hookup culture, the mindless slam of another body onto yours, no inhibitions or hesitation, no overthinking--in fact, no thinking whatsoever/at all.

And then my logical mind comes out to play, a gentle tug at my slightly tickled curiosity, telling it to sit down and hold its composure. I thank it, shake off the feeling and invite the thought to step aside and not come back. The thought waves yet another goodbye, promising me it will be the last time it will come around, but winking knowingly--its fingers crossed behind its back.

The truth is that I was never one for kissing unknown boys in unknown places, I wanted to go with the flow but needed to know a time and place three business days in advance, spontaneity is not a warmly welcomed guest in this home-- I've got my father to thank for it, his clear cut limitations around the four walls of my room certainly set the pace for the way I'd handle myself in the face of the world's extended hands creeping from the dark corners of dimly lit places with unfamiliar faces. 

I have always been one for irony, though. Not only irony, but also absurdity bordering on the edge of cynicism masqueraded as satire. Plenty of "do it as a joke" feats would happen. A first kiss is not something that should fall under that umbrella though. I knew better than that, but perhaps peer pressure prodded past my logical thinking brain, and dug its claws into my shoulder, rushing me to "grow up", resulting in yet another anticlimactic experience. What should have been fireworks, or at least a sweetly awkward exchange, once again turned out to present itself as an embarrassment, a shame-inducing, guilt ridden exploration with a side of anxiety provoking head rush, and a lot of sweat, not to mention mosquito bites. I didn't love him, nor did I have a legitimate interest in what could possibly drive his existence, I didn't think we would fall in love (still I longed to be proved wrong) nor did I feel a connection growing as a pit in my belly. 

So, why is it that I still fell to my knees, on the streets of Paris, upon learning that my first kiss was the talk of the town? I saw no intimacy in the moment we shared, felt no spark at the crashing of our lips, had no desire to form a relationship with this... boy who happened to be a vulture, masqueraded as a conventionally attractive yet over confident bordering on cocky jerk, who for one reason or another deemed me fit to become the next victim to his perfectly plotted crime. 

To be completely frank, the kiss that followed and the boy attached to the lips that partook in it felt like karma for having missed the mark on my first go around; a kiss so fatal that it flipped my life upside down, left me open mouthed with my head hanging from a bed unmade, it was the catalyst of a wooden balcony's breakage. The kiss, it was earth shattering, in that we were playing real life Romeo and Juliet, and everyone knew that our innocent friendship had crossed bounds before either of us realized it. This kiss began and ended with belly laughter, was preceded by tears and followed by more kisses, and empty promises laced with peaches only that the pits were the last remnants left behind for me to cut my tongue with–bleeding and raw, is the state I found myself in, following that kiss.

grey curtains

i laugh the hardest when I'm alone in my room.

why is it that i can only seem to allow myself to fully feel my emotions in the quiet of a confined space turned confidante?

weeping and hurling was all i knew to do, but now that laughter echoes from the center of my chest bouncing off the walls surrounding me–i'm a stranger to this place, it told me so.

no longer am i handcuffed to the darkness underneath my mattress, no longer does it suck me into its comfortably tight crevices, no longer do the white walls make me feel clinically insane, no longer does the sound of silence drive me up their colorless surfaces.

so why keep my joy a secret? who's it keeping cover from? why give these four walls the satisfaction of drowning me at my lowest and yet getting the highest cries of euphoria from this little girl who's grown up?

perhaps my moral is grey like the curtains over my windows and closet.

iPhone notes app–how cliché!

 Excerpts from notes I've typed through time:

* In a way, a lot of true love connections are reliant on energy, on vibrating at the same wavelength. All in all though, I believe the concept of true love transcends all limitations, and prejudices, and is just a manifestation of humans at their purest form. Innocent, primal, instinctual. This varies from one person to another but I think it’s about finding the person who’s a balance between comfort/safety, and taking leaps of faith, venturing into the unknown. 

* Peonies

Red cabbage hard good

Tamari crackers 

Organic light whipped cheese

Shortbread cookies 

* Part of life’s allure is its ever changing nature, but it’s inevitable to get caught up in the anxiety and fear that said changes inherently provoke; so, as a closing remark or perhaps even a toast to the days spent under the California skies, and the nights slept under the light pollution covered stars— I thank you.

* In the 5th century BCE Greek philosophers looked to the natural world to inform their examinations of ethics, human character, belief and behavior. By producing a superior physical being, Myron sought to reflect the moral standards at the time. 

* It wasn’t dissimilar to a tango, we were creating the choreography as we went; it was akin to playing Jazz, his moans the melodic notes and the pounding of my heart the beat of the song; it was like playing God, each moment our eyes reconciled, the fire created more energy within our centers, my mouth giving him the sip of life to quench his thirsty soul.

 

 

Cassandra B.V.: On My Influences.

Musicians, poets, graphic designers: one way or another, we all utilize words. We all worship language, both spoken and unspoken. It is women like PJ Harvey that ignite the spark in my eccentric self, unable to conform to the world’s ideals, simply because not being true to herself isn’t feasible. Peter Blake shifted my distaste for pop art into great esteem, his ‘all in’ approach spoke to me, even before knowing he was 1/2 the mastermind behind Sgt. Peppers album cover. Language doesn’t stop at type though, Stephane Sednaoui’s storytelling is exquisite, capturing so many words unspoken through the motion and emotion of people’s humanity with his camera. The literal poetic tongue, curious and inquisitive mind that W.S. Merwin possessed, fusing abstractions of existentialist thoughts into seemingly mundane nature scenes, is nonpareil. Cherry on top, Jeff Buckley, has had the biggest impact on who I am, and who I aspire to be: an enigmatic and magnetic creator of transcendental and soulful art. 

Halcyon.

Nobody talks about the calm after the storm. 

That moment shadowed 

by impending doom

Right after the roaring of the masses has subsided 

and the fireworks have turned to smoke and disappeared with the clouds

The leftover dust and leftover meals, frozen 

in time in a moment that’s to be cherished forever 

but lived for merely a fragment of a second

The matters of which the heart has spoken on and won arguments against the brain to. 

The words pronounced incorrectly that once said cannot be taken back or unheard. 

The inevitable accident of red wine spilled on white sheets by 

inebriated lovers tangled under the covers. 

The undeniable rush of blood to the head that kicks in 

before a masterpiece is brought to life. 

The uncomfortable knot in your throat when holding back a cough, or tears, 

or confessing your fears at the pews knowing well you’ve sinned 

yet not asking for forgiveness but rather a set of ears to 

hear about your hedonistic misdemeanors. 

The seconds after a song has finished when you are left empty handed but so 

full of something that resembles love, not dissimilar to the inches between 

the mouths of two parting lovers, about to inhale a piece of the other 

for the sake of closing the distance and eclipsing all doubts in sight.  

The place where the tip of the tongue reaches the lobe of the ear, 

in a caress so delectably intimate that the darkness would be jealous of the 

stillness of time during that point of contact. 

The collision of two souls, worlds apart; 

stubborn enough to dream of finding true eternity

and brave enough to leap into the fire surrounding them as 

the sirens get louder yet go unnoticed and taken as an invitation 

to dance along to the melody—the only concern being remaining in each other’s presence. 

The morning after, the days in between, the birth of a child, the last seconds before the sun sets over the mountains, the moment you stop fighting sleep and surrender to its gentle tug at your haggard body, the effortless way in which his soul and mine fell into synchronized step, intertwined never to be torn apart. 

blow a wish and you're gone! : 13 words that MUST be part of my written works in the near future

Cyborg

Pick

Break

Crude

Over

Lucky

Joy

Rescue

Salvation

Seen

Venus

Real

Seven

icarus

" is this all
       there is?  "

the boy pleads to the sky

the question burning the tip

of his tongue as it rolls out.

pondering on the sun's

deceitfulness as his squinting

eyes begin to cave in to the

inevitable force that blinds the

poor, foolish boy.

"you promised wings,
          and the freedom to soar
  Your
              skies"

he screams at the top of his

lungs soon his legs, too, bend

and he's got dirt on his teeth

and the sky's turned to 

grey and he's all alone with

no restrains to hold him down

but the weight of a promise

unfulfilled, and a dream that was

nimble at most.

violent violets & peppermint tea

 blood' s, tricky, sticky sweet aroma

trickles over

and seeps in the foolish promise

that is anise,

unknowingly soon to be buried under

clove,

then moss.

the transient gust of innocence that

never fails to surely fade just soon 

enough to leave an imprint on your

nose and an empty feeling in your

chest departing from your senses

unseen

unheard yet present even in

it's waking absence.

a whisper followed by eternal sleep

woken only by the sound of

a nose's futile dreams --

don't pick at old scabs

 a stranger to myself

estranged in my own skin

ripping me up at the seams

or so it seems

salivating at the mere

thought of shaky knees

engulfed by my sorrow

running with bleeding heels

body that breaks when its

'posed to heal

hindering the cascading shadows

of sudden apocalypse--lips tender

only the faintest whiff of

a starved poet's tears

will suffice in the bargain

of a dying devil's last wish

still i long for a

body i can recognize

amidst the crumbling tragedy

that is my own

11:27 PM

Hoy,

en esta noche solitaria

solo me acompañan las estrellas artificiales.

Gracias satélites, por ser tan fieles.

Hoy mi musa se ausentó,

me pregunto a quién estará consolando...

Querida Luna, tan lejana y tan comprensiva

escuchas mis lamentos, sin juzgar ni opinar;

me pregunto si a veces se siente sola.

Oh Luna, tu ausencia me derrumba.

Esta noche nada es real.

Esta noche las luces no brillan con fervor.

Las calles permanecen vacías,

es como si intentasen reflejar mi interior.

El silencio me consume, me ensordece.

Esta noche no siento, esta noche es insípida.

Esta noche pasa, pero parece nunca acabar.

Con pupilas dilatadas y camas desordenadas;

el vacío se manifesta en una flama,

quema sin piedad

y se consuma por la mañana.

Esta noche nada está en su lugar.

(septiembre 2018)

I lied.

I'm sorry, about the jejune manner in which I deliver these news to thee.

But, it's true. I lied.

Remember that "catatonic and raw" post I wrote not too long ago? Perhaps you don't, so, to make this apology mean anything at all, go check it out. I'll wait.

I'm assuming that you've chosen to dig up the latter post before continuing to read this one, but then again, assumptions are often faulty, and can lead you down quite the slippery slopes, don't they? Regardless of whether you turned out to be a little rebel, or a team player, I'll resume my apology.

The man of my dreams is completely made up. Well, not really, he's not entirely fictitious, but I embellished both his vague, yet oddly specific, description, (really? 25-35 years old? since when are you the great master at age guessing??), and the frequency in which I see him. 

To be completely transparent with you, he does live in my dreams, but it is more often during waking hours, that these scenarios develop with such ease. I figured adding an age range to this chimerical (yet hopefully prophetic) prospect, would please those who decide to peruse my thoughts and might have an inclination towards me, romantically. I now realize how absurd that sounds, and although I don't apologize for the words I wrote, I apologize for delivering them in such a seemingly authentic way. My dreams vary far too much to perfectly pinpoint this subject, but I am still hopeful that the dialogues that have been had with my sleeping self, are somehow aiming me closer to his physical self. No matter the mold he's shaped from, nor the rounds around the sun he's done, purely energetic pull and true cosmic connection.

Sure, I might've hit you with a title that raised your expectations radically towards me coming out as a blatant liar, but, despite the somewhat white (aiming more toward grey, truly) lie that I redacted in such a heartfelt way, my integrity wouldn't allow me to stand by and pretend like I can convince myself of what "happened" in my dreams. Well, the impending doom that by not being fully sincere might be hindering my opportunity to receive all that is good in the world, or hey, bad karma coming my way, might also have played a big role in pushing me to "come clean"... 

Thanks for reading, hope your week goes on smoothly, happy Monday. (what even is time, huh?)

no room for regret

and true to you i'll be

sunken lips over cashmere legs 

in a tangle of evergreen sleep;

i'm only living when i

watch you draw the curtains closed

with hazy sunday thoughts composed

in overthrown empires we make ourselves known

don't cower down, break the ground beneath my feet

i'll sail on forward as mockingbirds sing;

it's swallowed pride, or sticks and stones

at last clouds burn with the warmth of what never begun

and the lust of what's been lost

-

unspoken words often leave scars

of which scabs i pick at and burst open until

oblivion reaches the tip of my tongue,

unsteadily, hastily, taking a sliver of forgiveness

before they're nowhere within reach

and the candle's wax burns thin

beside the avenues i'd taken out to sea

while the ghost of you and the ghost of me

tiptoe over the ledge of what never was

 and will always be

Catatonic and raw

I have a problem with words. I have encountered this burden throughout my entire life, but I hadn't dissected it until now. I have so many things to say, I know exactly what I want, but the words simply never come out. At least not in the way I want them to. Either the tone is off, the punctuation is excessive, or the color is dull. I can hear the echoing of my thoughts bouncing from one wall of my skull to the opposite, and god it really pains me. 

Sometimes violins will ignite something within me that literally makes me water at the mouth, it can get nauseating at times but I surrender to the melody. Every tiny detail, every missable characteristic, I notice them all, and I take them in as though it were my sole purpose to admire and be captivated by the existence of x thing. 

Is this unwise? To think my fears will not reprise? New Girl is a goddamn masterpiece of a show, even with the filler episodes, and with the incomplete ending (which I truly hope means another channel will reboot the show).

Why is it that I can't cry? Not a single tear is shedding, but I swear that if I stare at the wall in front of me for a beat too long, I can see myself weeping, heaving, completely crumbling apart. Maybe it is true, maybe my suspicions are correct; I think that i have unhealthy coping mechanisms, maladaptive daydreaming for starters. I have been obsessed with reading since a very young age, and I loved pretending that the characters were standing next to me as I read, I loved immersing myself completely in the stories, and so the hours flew by as I held conversations in my head with all these beautiful and enchanting characters.  I tend to be obsessive, and I easily become completely engulfed by my emotions, a single note in a song will make me become unable to open my eyes for the remainder of the melody. I talk to myself in the mirror, pretending I am holding a conversation with whomever is an object of my affection at the moment, that or pretending that I am meeting somebody I've been dreaming of. It is weird, there are certain characters in my dreams at night that have become recurring. There's this group of girls, they are all beautiful and exquisitely unique, each bringing a different scent and a different color to the mix. We explore a small coastal town, it is cloudy and small, but it is ours, and we're on top of the world. These girls are real, despite them being a figment of my imagination and subconscious. They are so painstakingly real that I promise you I have woken up and gotten out of bed just to check the pockets of the jacket that I wore when one of them handed me her bracelet to take care of. Each time I am greeted by an empty pocket, but I continue to hope.

Then there's this boy. I don't think boy is the most fitting word, as he appears to be anywhere between 25 and 35 (I know, a LONG stretch), but in spirit, he is the boy of my dreams. Literally. I met him as I was scouring the streets of a pretty vivid city, on a particularly busy day. There were heaps of people walking, talking, living fast paced lives. Then there was I, wonder eyed and sporting my best crooked smile as I explored the reality my lucid dream had granted me. Oh, yeah, little detail, I would vouch that 55% of my dreams are lucid, and the recurring ones certainly have become oddly familiar, I guess repetition does etch things onto your memory. I digress. This boy, whom I don't know a name for, is so incredibly fascinating. I could talk to him for hours and hours. Most mornings I'll forget what we spoke about, but throughout the day I'll recover little fragments of our conversations, and I'll smile to myself in recognition. I have always wanted to write a book, maybe this is my sign to do so... maybe I can spark this otherworldly connection onto this dimension.

I'll tell you more about the boy tomorrow, that is, if I remember (I'll try i promise)

there IS such thing as TOO MANY fish in the sea.

The following entry is the result of my unplanned hiatus, as well as the utter mushy mass of a brain I was left with, after unsuccessfully designing a logo for myself! ENJOY.

I understand that my words will inevitably go unseen, neglected, hiding behind the link on whatever social media profile of mine brought you here, skimmed over at best, and that doesn't sit well with me at all. In fact, it terrifies me, makes me want to shrivel up into a little ball and sob. However, here I come with yet another rambling stream of silly thoughts and sentiments, typed out from my couch, all while listening to Nutshell by Alice in Chains, among other less crushing songs! 

I've got a question to ask all of you brave soldiers who put yourselves out there in the dating scene, but ESPECIALLY those of you who have walked through the gates of hell that guard Bumble and Hinge. 

Do these particular spaces make you want to chuck your phone at the wall? If your answer is yes, I'm with you, OH BOY I am with you; alternatively though, if your answer was a deeply confused "Huh...no?", what is your secret? HOW do you manage to swipe through all of Los Angeles' most finest and eligible skaters, surfers, film students, the occasional transplant, and OH, the pick me boys, without burning out? I'll answer for you, it is virtually impossible. Unless human interactions don't faze you, or perhaps you're only in it for a physical encounter, these tricky little apps WILL suck the life out of you. 

I mean. My "Moves Making Impact" section, which I have set to support Human Rights reads as follows: 

           "You've made 7733 first moves to support your cause and 7733 since you joined Bumble - thanks for all your help!"

You've made 7733 first moves

So, riddle me this: how come out of 7733 human beings that I have reached out to, and even held decent conversations with, in some occasions made playlists for, or perhaps gone out on a date with// not a SINGLE ONE has stuck around. TRULY stuck around, you know, in the way that those people you read about on Twitter, who find the love of their life through a post made in an attempt to vent and scream into the void in a satyrical dating resume form. Yes, I speak of @trycypress and @MCMCD_ , you beautiful lucky bastards, I envy you in the dearest of ways.  I must confess, that I just keep on shaking my head on impulse, as I type out words I did not expect to ever admit, but in the spirit of confessing my deepest darkest secrets and coming clean about the true state of my emotional wellbeing, in face of having a 00.000% success rate, I am about to write something that I am planning on never deleting. You'll see, in the next few days, or perhaps even tonight, but you'll just know it when you see it. 

Some things DO last a long time, Daniel Johnston is absolutely correct in saying that. Loneliness isn't discarded as one of those things, in fact, I believe it to be a state of being that can haunt you, follow you around, lurking in the corner of that room full of people where you're sat poking at the food on your plate.

Too niche? Quite frankly I don't feel like wrapping up this post, simply because I haven't reached a conclusion just yet, and I really just NEED to get this off my chest.

Until next time...     

love bite: let's talk about vampires.💋

There isn't a particular reason for me to be writing yet another post on this lovely Wednesday , 

and THAT was the exact moment when I realized, that I was in fact NOT writing on a Wednesday, but on Thursday night! 

Oh dear time, you and your sneaky ways... It is now Saturday night (yes, I checked), and in honor of the recurring fang-tastic vampire-themed dreams I've been having the past few nights, I hereby present my top 5 songs (atm) that remind me of vampires. 

1. Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode BUT performed by Anberlin : such a SEXY song and I am not sorry for saying it!!! Vampires dancing around and biting necks, simply SO blissful! This tune's connection to tonight's theme is thanks to Season 1, Ep. 6 of The Vampire Diaries, Damon and Vicki dancing will forever be memorable, k?
2. This Wheel's On Fire covered by Siouxsie & The Banshees : please tell me you hear the vampiresque nature of SJB's (a.k.a Siouxsie Sioux) singing... The guitar arrangements along with the synths + her voice + the lyricssss = please BITE ME.

3. DLZ by TV on the Radio : I can't quite explain why, but most of TVOTR's songs remind me of vampires. This one isn't necessarily up there on my list, but it's a good enough pick to introduce you to TVOTR. Perhaps TVD's use of their songs on the show helped influence a lot of my choices, but I think that even if you disconnect the two, this band's music has a fabulous somber/sexy energy (much like vampires do!).

4. Bela Lugosi is Dead by Bauhaus : I once read a Youtube comment written by some guy named Scott Jefferson (shoutout to Scotty), whom said, and I quote "I remember listening to Bauhaus before Goth was a thing.  We called it Vampire Punk back then."; THANK YOU Scott for reassuring me that this banger (and other Bauhaus' tunes) are vamp-adjacent.

5. You're My Lover Now by The Teeth : perhaps the band's name contributed a big chunk to my association between fangs and this song, but I can just imagine a smoking hot count Dracula (which BY THE WAY, go read up on the real Dracula, Vlad Tepes, uncultured swines), trying to flirt/romance somebody despite his obvious lack of social skills and/or tact! Either way, the little screams + the guitar instantly bring me to that mental space.

lines i cannot shake

 And when the ghostly dust of violence traces everything ~ circles by soul coughing

Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time ~ all my love by led zep

Dumb luck is only the luck I ever knew

I'd make a wish but I don't think it'd ever come true

Dandelion, I guess I'll leave it up to you - dandelion by charlotte gainsbourg

Who'll come and bless them in the middle of the sea?

With the winds-a-blowing right to the bone

When the pipes are calling, will you take our bodies home? - rest by syd matters

 

you found me!

After an intense staring contest with this **blank and annoying** page, my nit-picking brain decided it was time. I was ready to finally launch this blog... You see, the main conflict resided in what the correct introduction to this silly little website would be, but, perhaps that's what kept me from embarking on this journey for SO LONG. 

It's funny how mocked you can feel when that blank page and blinking cursor tease you, as you rummage through the clutter of ideas you yearn to share with the world. 

Anyway, I digress! This is the official welcome to all of the following folks: 

• fellow poets
• melomaniacs
• lovers of cringe (both cringing at things, and BEING cringeworthy)
• my dear friends of course
• Sal Vulcano (i know you're out there Sal)
• perhaps even my  s o u l   m a t e    happens to stumble upon this, in which case, hey, nice to meet you, come here often? ;-)

I write with too many commas, my thoughts will often be inside jokes that crack me up (that probably only I would understand), and I could probably talk about music until you no longer bear to listen to me.

You've been warned.

In this blog you will find a variety of poems (written by yours truly unless stated otherwise), song recommendations along with my commentary on said picks, photo dumps, passages from books or other reading materials I enjoy, completely miscellaneous posts filled with truly DUMB contents, and more... Some entries will be written like this one, with a tinge of irony. Some entries will be a tad more personal, and might be on the verge of oversharing. I do not want to box myself into a specific style, and I won't, so be prepared and expect the unexpected :-)

inspired by the fear of being average,

eureka!