Bathed in Thought

I am inspired to write for the first time in a long time. Not by a
lady or a burning topic I'm aching to put out my opinion on, but by
myself. My thoughts and the attitudes and actions I have taken. They
swirl brightly in my quiet evening as I lie in bed waiting to sleep.
So bright that I decided to spill them gratuitously onto the page.

These aren't the words I was inspired to write. Not yet. Just a
documentation of that which led me there. I had a breakthrough on a
scene that is proving troublesome to rewrite under the paradigm I've
set for myself and I'm ecstatic, though perhaps, no. I am happy to be
writing this.

It all began with a shower. Or rather the shower was the catalyst that
put several puzzle pieces together for me. You see, showers are the
one time when I feel most relaxed and my thoughts flow as freely as
the water over my skin and muscle. One might say that the shower is
the only place I ever achieve actual meditation.

I was ill this week and I secluded, squirreled myself away in the
cabin and didn't bathe for a period of days that is somewhat
embarrassing to admit. Or would be if I were the type to be
embarrassed. I finally bathed today and washed away the grime and funk
and the beast in its den away. I wrote a poem while in the shower,
about the topic. As the lone wolf swirled toward the drain with the
suds, I was born again human.

All the things I have been reading came together beneath the heat and
sensation of the falling water. The poetic phrasing of Anne Rice 's
the Wolf Gift mixed with a study of sleep I read and curled up in the
heat to incubate together. My thought processes became poetic,
philosophical, insightful.

On my way home from a movie, I thought about the sentence, There are
no absolutes, until I was happy with my answer.

When tonight came, I thought again of the study I read, the suggestion
that the last things you think about before you sleep are etched into
your unconscious for hours. This has been on my mind at night since I
read it and I have begun trying to change what is on mine. This
matches well so the month I took of from visual media violence, which
is frequently an aspect of my daily life between sci-fi fantasy shows
and video games. In order to come down from the games I played this
evening, I took another shower to relax and warm up.

As I lay in bed, my mind turned toward what I would like to be doing
with my life as opposed to what I am. The results of that line of
thought were satisfying, and passed from one line to another like a
train smoothly switching tracks at a junction. My new rails led me to
thinking about the scene in The West Wind I'm currently rewriting.
Beginning the scene at the end and having my characters talk about
what happened prior will be a much more satisfying approach than
trying to have them live every moment of it. The scene I was
describing wasn't that important and I was struggling with it.

Of course, this meant I was too awake to sleep, so I chose to write
instead, and happily so.

I have come to a few conclusions that I hope to follow in the hopes of
creating a happier situation for myself:
Shower at night, every night to take the pressure off the mornings and
set my body and mind into a warm, relaxed state for sleep.
Look into massage school. I truly want to be a Renaissance Man. For
me, that includes making a living. Massage may be one of the
professions I could do to round out my list.
Look into teaching dance more seriously. Find out how much Zach
charges for Wedding Choreography in Spokane and charge less. Find a
space to teach in.
Write. Write more. Finish The West Wind. Write the Eugenics Inc. short
story. Write the other two novels you know are waiting.

I don't think I am meant for the corporate world. For one career path
to follow toward extinction. I want to earn my living from my
interests the same way that I am interested in them: with variety.

The variety, I think, will be the key to my success. A basket full of
baskets full of eggs. Just thinking about it, I can feel some tension
leaving. Time to plan the next adventures.

But for now, sleep, half followed by this darling oversized puppy of
mine. She's a heartthief, fair warning.

Goodnight.

For. . .

This is for the beautiful in my life.

Not you, per se, whose footsteps have worn trails

with all your comings and goings,

all your wanderings

in and out and around my heart.

Nor you, exactly, the one lost

in the fog of time

with the voice that occasionally echoes

a distant, far off Polo

when I cry Marco because sometimes

I just want to reach out and touch you,

just for a passing thought.

It is for you.

You, and you.

But for so many more now too

with their stunning smiles

and bright sparks

and cascading laughter

like water lapping merrily on the shore.

This is for you,

because I am quiet. Shy.

Because honest kindness

drives more people from our lives

than sharp tongues and sly wit

and I learned to fear.

This is for you,

because you are beautiful

and you should know.

On Sexuality

Surgeon General’s Warning: If you’re not comfortable reading or talking about sex, turn back now or forever hold your piece. That’s a pun, not a typo. -evil grin-

The topic of sexuality seems popular recently. Not in terms of gender identity, homo or heterosexuality but in the terms of how sexually an individual presents his or her self. How open one is to sex, and how one conveys that openness. Miley Cyrus’ quite public explorations of her own sexuality as well as a couple of blog posts going around Facebook regarding the explorations and expression of teen sexuality in a digital age are the examples that come to mind.

This is a pretty flammable topic in the United States. Of course, most are, since we’re raised as a country to believe that we’re all right as individuals, mostly by the sheer virtue of being American. (Note that we call ourselves Americans, as if we were the only country on the two American continents. . .) Largely the flammability is due to religious influences. America is a “Puritan” country, which is to say, founded by and abundant with people who are frequently sexually repressed prudes.

I spent my formative years reading Anne Rice, Jean M. Auel’s Earth’s Children series (Clan of the Cave Bear, Valley of Horses), Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex but Were Afraid to Ask, and Robert A. Heinlein, to name a few sources. None of these were particularly shy about sex or sexuality. One of my favorite quotes is Heinlein’s: “Darling, a true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times you can be as modest and dignified as your persona requires.” If your reading comprehension scores are limited, this is not Heinlein’s way of calling all women whores. If that’s what you took away, you missed the point.

I think I was lucky, really. When my parents discussed what they wanted in a child, a ‘good lover’ was on the list. (That they had the conversation about what they wanted is awesome.) When it came time in my teen years for a talk about sex, they offered to buy condoms if I was too embarrassed. That was the entire discussion. I educated myself, set my own moral compass, and I have never regretted the way I have gone about it. My parents never stood in the way of my learning and growing. They let me make my own choices, so I never had anything to rebel against.

We are, at our core, sexual creatures. Though we have come a long way from the animal need to rut, biologically our core function is to reproduce. There are many different moralities regarding how one should go about doing this, but for me, if you’re not hurting or disrespecting anyone, do what makes you happy. Sex is better in a relationship with an emotional connection, but I’m not going to tell anyone it has to be that way. I can’t. I started having sex at 16 and while I prefer to count my experiences as “enough -1”, the number of partners I’ve made love to is not insignificant.

I have never once felt like a horrible person for this. Having sex with one person many times is generally better for both individuals than sex once with many people. I like having monogamous sex. In my experience women respond better to a lover they know and trust, no matter how good he or she is. But my own moral compass is fairly simple: when engaged in an intimate physical encounter with a woman, I quite comfortably say I do as many things right as I can. I don’t treat her like she’s just a tool for my own masturbatory pleasure, I am aware of my abilities and limitations and do my best to respect her and ensure that she is equally if not more satisfied.

For me, that’s only real right or wrong about sex. Did I treat my partner well? Was I considerate of her needs, expectations, and boundaries? How many and how often has always been simply part of how my life has turned out. I have never gone out to a bar and picked up someone to take home. I’m always aware of women I’m attracted to, and since physical attraction is directly connected to my libido, that’s part of it. But it’s never been my goal to pick up women. I’m aware of my attractions and interests, but respectful of each as an individual. When I find myself in a willing, consensual situation, I follow my desires. If they lead to sex, so be it. If I’m not sure it’s something I want, or have misgivings or hesitations, I don’t do it. If my partner expresses misgivings or isn’t sure she wants to, I don’t push her. Sex is about respect. It’s easy enough to find a willing partner and does no man harm to be patient if it’s not forthcoming. I’m not above driving a woman so wild she changes her mind, but that still leaves the decision in her hands.

It seems to me that denying our sexuality, repressing it, more frequently results in more erratic, unhealthy sexual behavior than being open about it. There is a lot of evidence to support this, and its been shown that the stricter the mores regarding sexuality in a given area, the more individuals in that area clandestinely seek out that which is not ‘permitted’. A map I recently saw showing porn consumption in the US by length of viewing and delineated by ‘genre’ unsurprisingly showed the heaviest consumption and most deviant types consumed in the areas included in what we call the Bible Belt.

I should reiterate that I don’t support lascivious, promiscuous behavior. My definition of such is the active seeking of new sex partners on a regular basis for your own gratification: i.e. Barney in How I Met Your Mother. If you practice safe sex, I don’t find multiple partners to be an issue, however. It’s all about intention.

Equally, I don’t think that we should go from one extreme to the other. There’s a healthy way to approach sex education, and exposing teenagers to porn intentionally is not it. They are going to find it on their own, whether in your own home, on their smart phone, or at a friend’s. Instead of treating it as a deviant thing, I think healthy discussion would be wiser. For one, because, for the love of god, women deserve better sex than that. There’s a terrible, unimaginative, extremely boring pattern for most porn out there and it barely ever varies from that format. I generally find one of the most common endings rather unpleasant, personally. If it’s your kink, that’s your business, but facials make me want to vomit.

Nor should I leave any reader with impression that a more conservative mind set is necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think that teaching healthy sexuality and monogamy, even to the extreme of no partners before marriage, are by nature dichotomous. But I will always believe that a healthy awareness of what sex is, the possible dangers or consequences, what it can/should be, what is possible in pleasing a partner and how to go about it mutually are important. If a person’s mores suggest having sex before marriage/outside a relationship is taboo, so be it. But don’t let the concept be taboo. Sexuality should be embraced whether that sexuality is saved to be savored at a later date or enjoyed in the moment. It’s an integral part of who we are, but never, ever, all we are.

-m0rg4n    

P.S. It continues to boggle my mind how many women have never had multiple orgasms or thought that they weren’t capable of doing so. It’s a tragedy of contemporary American society.

P.P.S. If we are One Nation, Under God, does that mean we’re in a missionary position?

Hodiernus Dies

“I can’t wait for fall,” she says. So does the cute meme picture on Facebook from that one group that loves walking through crunchy leaves. I love this. I love it when people have an appreciation for seasons that aren’t warm. I love stand collar pull-overs, track jackets, pea coats, red wine warming me from the inside out and flushing my cheeks, the fire roaring in the woodstove and its coals as it calms down from its initial, hungry tantrum. I love the chill in the air, the leaves turning the color of the inside of pirate’s treasure chests, and shuffling-walking-dancing balboa through the red-gold crinkle and tinkle of the sound of glass breaking without the destruction or pain.

“I’m ready for fall,” someone says. On one hand, a smile tucks itself into the corner of my mouth. On the other, my brow crinkles. I love autumn and winter, spring is nice, and summer, when it’s not too hot, is glorious. Today is summer though, and as much as my love for the ephemeral smiles in anticipation of leaves beneath my dancing feet, it loves the todayness of this August 28^th. (And realize right this moment I’ll be 31 in exactly three months. Where did the year go? But that’s not today. That’s 31, three months from now.)

Fall is coming, but I’m ready for today. And tomorrow, and the next day. Summer, with summer suns and skies and storms. Sunsets and rises behind clouds and a star that seems determined to show off its rays this season. I don’t remember a year when they were as visible as frequently as they have been the last couple weeks. It’s beautiful, and I’m content with being here, now, today. I am happy with the flip flops and my brand new Vibram toe shoes that are, quite honestly, like hugs for my feet. Feet that needed hugs. Are they ugly? Probably, but at this point in my health, that’s okay.

When the weather turns, and eventually forces my frozen toes back into socks and shoes that protect them from the elements, I will be ready for that too. I’m ready for fall, but not in that “I’m not satisfied with what I have kind of way.” I’m ready for fall like I’m ready for rain, or sun, or snow, or cold, or heat. I’m ready for whatever the day brings. I’m ready for today, in this season, and any day. This is the day I’m in. This is the age I am. Today is the world I have and I’m going to seize it. This particular one I’m going to seize gentle, more of a cradle, really, and snuggle up comfortably to it with a contented sigh, as though it were a pillow. That’s the kind of today I’m feeling. Nugglesay Diem. Snuggle the day.

I’d love to hear someone say, just once, “I love pea coats and hot chocolate. But today is good too.”

Today is a reason for living.

-Our Lady Peace

 -m0rg4n

Verbosity

And this will be known as the summer I barely wrote.

Paradoxically, the quote of the summer is:

“So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.”

Of course, barely writing to me includes thousands of words saved, and thousands left to sift into the oubliette of my text message trash so that it will stop telling me the inbox is 80% full. Words I don’t care about because they were written in haste or to chat, or to tease and delight but not linger.

The meat of it, however, the sustenance of writing has escaped to play on green-blue-brown waters of lake Pend Oreille, hike through the shallow running current of the Pack River, and dive deep into the virtual worlds of science fiction and fantasy novels and video games. The bones have been buried under nearly continental workloads and only recently begun to surface. Only today have I begun to really begin to engage in a bit of archaeology, unearthing earlier writings and finding the muse to gather new thoughts.

My book remains unfinished, not yet ready to collect imaginary dust or dog ears as it sits on the virtual shelves next to a thousand other Kindle writers. What a time to be a writer! I write a page here, a page there. With my other goals achieved, I have set the completion of The West Wind as one of my next goals. Its time will come.

I dived into the open arms of the dating game again, and such a curious game it is. For my first adventure after more than a year of celibacy, I went on a date with a former student who is now a widow after less than a year of marriage. Our first, and last, date was the week before their first anniversary would have taken place. Somehow, I am not surprised that a second opportunity did not present itself. Perhaps it might have gone differently if she had shared her story instead of letting me discover it on Facebok. The topic never came up.

My second adventure has proven the most fruitful, yet the most outside my comfort zone and while not concluded, is nearing one. I have been enjoying the company of a single mother who lives an hour and a half away every other weekend and is outside of my usual physical type. While there is chemistry and she is good company, it is not emotional chemistry and I have not developed the beginnings of feelings for her. I always feel like our time spent together is an escape from her reality and responsibilities. That isn’t a complaint, but it isn’t something to build a relationship upon.

Ah, my third. . . the first date I wanted, and the last I went on. The date we had was wonderful. Good dinner, good conversation, and I have no idea why she claims she didn’t feel a spark. We went for a walk after dinner and as we walked side by side she continuously moved her hand from her side to my bicep and back. There were a few moments of natural beauty we enjoyed together, and a couple moments in which I chose not to kiss her, but could have. I felt like she expected one at the end of the date, from her body language and long embrace. I rarely kiss on the first date. Perhaps that was the spark she was missing? C’est la vie.

In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy living. I am trying to let go and enjoy myself more, worry less. I playfully call it controlled hedonism, though I’m hardly hedonistic enough for it to warrant the terminology.

Work is an intriguing mess right now. I work for an in-house advertising agency of a fairly well known women’s retailer (the company was on the Fortune 500 list once upon a time), and we have no copywriters for our catalog or retail work. We have been understaffed in that department for ages, even before the last three all left within three months. To my knowledge, we’ve had one interview for a copywriter in all that time and THAT was last week.

My own department is down one person, who moved to Montana and is working remote until my boss is tired of dealing with it. That’s the honest version. She’s working on a “temporary basis while we transition and look for a candidate to replace her.” He doesn’t like remote, and while I can see it working, it’s bad for morale. I have plenty of down time (i.e. Right this moment.) and would love to be out playing during that time instead of being stuck at my desk waiting to see what, if anything, comes my way.

For my part, I have made it clear that I’m not really interested in being a proofreader any longer. My boss apparently has plans for me, if he can ever catch up enough on the work he has to act on them. When he told me he was planning to post my former co-worker’s position I told him to post mine too and hire me to do something else. Where this is going, I don’t know. If it goes somewhere, soon, I won’t care either. I refuse to become one of the copywriters, however, but that’s certainly not in his plan. Just today a friend of mine here was introducing another employee to other departments and referred to me as being in the “proofreading department” and my boss corrected her, saying I was in “Operations”. (That’s Creative Operations.) I hope that’s a sign of things to come.

Life in general is interesting as well. A friend of mine has been living at the house while he goes through his second divorce. It is in the early stages at present and she is fighting his requests, which is to be expected. He is doing remarkably well, however. I am happy for him. This divorce may be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. His soon-to-be ex was one of the more unpleasant, toxic people I’ve met.

Mira is doing well, she had her first heat in May/June and then a false pregnancy. Apparently her body thought it was pregnant in spite of having no puppies in her womb. She was very cuddly during that time period, but has since become a puppy again. A very large, 90 lb. puppy. She last weighed in at 88 lbs. With minor exceptions, she’s still a wonderful dog and a heart thief. Almost everyone who meets her falls for her.

Sometimes I wish I was a dog. A golden retriever, maybe. Or a mastiff. Newfoundland? Life is good as a dog.

That’s enough for now. Hello, friends.

And a thousand words, goodnight.

-m0rg4n

Beauty Is

Beauty is

as beauty does,

so much more than just the hours 

spent tête à tête before the mirror

making up and curling hair

all the while wondering 

who might be the fairest of the fair.

Beauty is

as beauty does,

a kind smile flashed to a stranger,

the tintinnabultation of her laughter, 

the soft kiss on the bruised knee of a child

who looks at her forever after

like she's the beginning and end of miracles.

Beauty is

as beauty does,

the heart and the hope

she offers up time and again,

waiting for a love who sees

her skin is made of glass

and it is not only her feet that dance.

Beauty is

as beauty does,

as beauty does unto others,

as beauty does unto itself.

What beauty does unto the world

defines beauty, 

breaks the mold. 

When She Smiles

She's pretty when she smiles

it's not the make up 

that makes her light up

not the diet that draws the eye

She's lovely when she smiles

it's not the low cut

shirt that makes her perk up

not the short skirt that makes her bright

Tell me, what did it cost you for that frown

the one you're wearing like an iron crown

what toll did you pay that brought you down

If you like I'll sit and listen for a while

make you laugh, I'll clown around

cause there's nothing more precious

nothing more priceless 

than your smile

She's radiant when she smiles

it's not the heels that 

define her beauty

it's not the hart that wins the heart

She's charming when she smiles

it's not the workout

that makes her stand out

not physique that's so unique

Tell me, what did it cost you for that frown

the one you're wearing like an iron crown

what toll did you pay that brought you down

If you like I'll sit and listen for a while

make you laugh, I'll clown around

cause there's nothing more precious

nothing more priceless 

than your smile