Roar!

Nights vulnerability...

The night, in my opinion is beautifully and wonderfully vulnerable. It is like a woman, spread out, waiting to be devoured. As a woman, spread out and waiting to be devoured, every whisper is like a shout, and every touch is intensified that even the most feather like touch will leave you gasping and aching for more, arching and pleading for some kind of connection. Night is honest in its utter silence and reserve. Even though the world is dark, you have to open your eyes and be focused, and let your eyes adjust to the majesty. As the creatures of the night come out to prowl, there is a presence, allowing for the hunt, the vulnerability of spirit, allowing truth to be set free. Freedom comes at 2 AM, when happiness is abound, and feet ache from wandering aimlessly, that they take you to refuge in the comfort of home where Morpheus wraps his arms around you, welcoming you to heaven. The day comes, a respite for night, until vulnerability is upon us again, promising passion, love, and honesty.

I have no words. This is art and I’m here to look and admire it. I’m speechless, it’s beautiful.

Artist Luo Li Rong

My identity crisis

About once every two years, I go to Taiwan (I'm in Taipei right now) and feel like an outsider, but also, at home. I am Chinese American. Here, I look like everyone else. I'm not a minority. It's only when I open my mouth that the jig is up, because I'm American, and although my mandarin is good back in the states, but here, my mandarin is no better than a kindergartners, and that brings me a lot of shame and frustration. I want to be literate in this beautiful culture. Currently, I understand more Chinese than I can speak. The only mandarin I ever speak is to my parents, and their immediate friends, and they always praise my parents for making me speak mandarin at home. Back at home, in the states, people I don't know see me and sometimes speak to me slower because I'm Chinese, and I haven't spoken yet. They always have a look of surprise when I start speaking English. I feel very much like a minority there, but it's home and I understand. Don't get me started when I get a call from my parents, and I immediately speak in mandarin. They think I'm speaking in tongues or something. But I don't mind. It's a form of pride. I mean, I can speak 2 languages! Most people just know one. I grew up in a small town in Columbus Ohio. We moved there in the early 90s, from New Orleans and my family was one of the only Asian people there. It was hard. I felt so out of place and so alone. I hated all the questions of whether I ate dogs or cats (no), and why my eyes were slanted (I don't know). I was called a chink and my language mocked and made fun of. So much so that I hated being Chinese for a bit. But it's okay now. It gave me a thick skin and an understanding that some people are just ignorant to be ignorant and don't want to learn. It's not my problem. I'm sitting here at a cafe drinking my iced latte in this beautiful city. I have a lot of positivity in my heart right now, but I wish I could express it more eloquently in mandarin, but it's okay, because this is who I am. It took a long time to accept the things I cannot change, but I want to change the perspective. One day, I will write a poetry of love in mandarin, and it will be spectacular. I'm ABC and proud. I am American Born Chinese

Truth!

When binge watching OINTB hasn’t let you sleep for days. Source: Nerdgasm

Passion

Passion (a sequel to Lover) After all is done, the body is still not sated, it could never. Sweat of pleasure rolls off heaving chests. There is no voice, no thoughts, only moans of hunger, of need. Like the eternal flame, the fire never dies. The passion grows stronger as the flames are brought together. Earthly pleasure mixed with carnal passion makes for an awesome explosion. Time freezes as fingers enterwine as eyes wide open stare into the very soul. Little death claims the heart once again as the flames simmer down. The love is very much alive as they lay together. A shiver goes down their spine as the cool air blows against their naked flesh.

butterflyinthewell, hello friend, I hope you get this. This is my 3rd attempt trying to post this, but every time I’m almost done writing, my screen goes blank and my whole text disappears. I want to say that I hope I didn’t offend you, and I had no intention to offend anyone. This poem when I wrote this was about the autistic boy I’ve been working with (I’m an ABA therapist and Respite care worker) who recently had a seizure (his first one) out of the blue, and I watched as his mom stared at him with such love while they were eating that it very much warmed my heart, that the image has been sticking with me for weeks, and I had to write it down.

When I wrote that his mind was in bondage and in chains, I wanted to include my own experiences teaching different autistic children on the spectrum how frustrated they get usually because if they’re completely non verbal, it must feel infuriating to them because all the words they want to say could be on the tip of their tongue, but unable to fully go over the edge to form words, but the love AND freedom is in the way they express themselves, in like you said, “flapping of the hands, laughing, spinning or jumping,” as a form of communication. And again, I hope I didn’t offend, it was not my intention. My experience with this boy has been amazing, and I know that I’m on his mind, because once when I went away for a month on vacation, and came back, he did stare at me, and sat on my lap, and I knew that I was loved and trusted. I still smile at that memory, because I love him and his whole family.

I guess, now that I think about it, it’s not much of a prison if you have loved ones around to keep you grounded, and those willing to help you out to the best of their ability, and to know that you have a whole community backing you up. Thank you, friend, for calling me out so that I can experience other peoples experiences. Again, I hope I didn’t offend you too much, it was not my intention to upset you. But this was a great learning experience in how people deal with obstacles in their lives. Thank you for also sharing part of your story.

His eyes...

she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there far beyond her reach.

Behind his eyes was freedom, far from the chains of his mind and the complex bondage he was held fast to. If only he could reach out. But he is left with a blank stare and various stimulation that were expressed with a flap of his arms, and twirling, his constant twirling around.

She held fast though, returning each time to look into his eyes, because she knew, she knew there was freedom behind his eyes.

A freedom that would break free for an instant, and he would focus and be free from the chains for but a moment, and stare back with recognition, with a single word on the tip of his tongue, but would never be uttered; “mom.”

His eyes, she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there, far beyond her reach.

Porn stars...

I follow them on Instagram because I think they lead the most honest lives.

When you and your crew all find something funny for once.

Source: I Miss The 90s

Destination: Self loathing

It's easy to lose yourself in isolation. With no one to keep you company but the weight of all you've done and the proof of it in front of you as a constant reminder as you look in the mirror. But everything must go back to normal, or as normal as possible as you gather yourself to face the day. You may be screaming on the inside, but on the outside, you have to be alive and not grimace as you smile. I read somewhere, that if you smile, or make any kind of facial expression for 10 minutes or so, you'll become happy, or become sad. I don't know if I believe that or not, I don't want to try, but I do know that you'll become anything if you will it enough. It's easy to hide, it's easy to mask yourself, it's each to blend in if that's what you want to do, and it's okay. There's no written law that says, "War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength." Unless, this is George Orwell's 1984, and if it is, we should all kill ourselves. Destination: Self loathing, but maybe with a few sunny days ahead. Self isolation isn't always fun.

Trust me.....

says the spider to the fly.