Sunday, November 13, 2011

Wilde at Heart

You, Mr. Wilde...


Literally imprisoned for following the desires of the heart and body. His brilliance resonates and rings true to the souls of those held under the thumb of convention and social expectation.


Your pen or quill or whatever... a weapon indeed.


Oh Oscar, I am silenced, bitterly silenced, by emotions overwhelming. No place else to turn but to the words of poets past, reading prose like biblical canons. Salvation in the confessions of a heart drunk on forlorn circumstance. Again, I am not alone.


Genuflect before the Picture of Dorian Gray. Through you, I learn The Importance of Being Earnest.


Perhaps my life is a lesson to a young man or an older woman 100 years from now. Perhaps the cross I bear will make it easier for the next person to carry their own knowing they aren't carrying it alone.


Big Picture.


Thank you, Oscar. I do adore you.




Silentium Amoris


by Oscar Wilde


As often-times the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.



And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.



But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.



Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Existential Downtime: Darwin's 5 Possible Outcomes and Dealing With The Monkey Shit Life Throws at You.


Ahhh FML, yo...ferreal...

When did life turn into a game of dodgeball? With every stupid ball thrown, I find myself scattering left and right and dipping and ducking to survive the constant changes happening on what seems like a daily basis at this point. Do I catch the ball and fight back, do I drop low and hope they sail overhead or do I just let that stupid tether ball smack me in the eye... Maybe a little of all three?

I suppose change is inevitable. I suppose the manner in which we respond to change depends on the individual's response or/and the severity of a changing situation.



Charles Darwin's 5 possible outcomes to a change of environment or circumstance comes to mind when I think about how to deal with changes in life:



Adaptation:
Do we allow parts of ourselves to cease functioning for the sake of survival when accepting a new and unfamiliar situation?

Co-Evolution:
Do we continue to grow alongside others as they mutate, forcing us to mutate accordingly in order to exist in a confined area amidst the spectrum of a changing situation?

Co-Operation:
Do we find our strengths within the face of change to co-exist with others that provide complementary strengths in order to survive as a community?

Speciation:
Do we spread ourselves out and find options within the face of change?  Should we seek other aspects in life with the hopes of finding a place to grow into a completely different person?

Extinction:
Do we surrender to the past and allow ourselves to slowly drift into a ghost of what we once were because the inevitable changes life presents frightens us, angers us...or we just resist...?




The more I think about it, the balance of all five is ideally human. Accepting change and giving up a part of yourself in order to adapt. Living alongside someone and absorbing his changes so that you can grow alongside him. Finding your strengths and seeing how the strengths of others around you can help you to survive. Making sure that you don't turn your back on opportunities that present the ability to grow in new ways never thought of. Honoring the past and seeing the road taken and how the road can prepare you for today....

They all can work hand in hand, can't they?


Just some thoughts...

*end transmission*

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Why I like Nice Guys....and the Reason Ain't So Nice.

To quote myself:

"Nice guys finish last because they're too focused on giving everyone around them a head start..."

Not sure what this has to do with this post, but I think that's a brilliant goddam quote. *pat on the back*


So, I'm over here thinking about all of the times I've heard from "nice guys" that they have a problem staying out of the friend zone and getting the woman that they might want.

Well, what I have learned is thaaaat nice guys are attracted to some fucked up women. Just like how nice girls are attracted to some serious assholes. Perhaps their is a certain level of fear-otica involved? Perhaps the danger aspect of having your emotions tossed into a centrifuge and leaving you leveled, in debt and possibly with a new baby has something to do with it.

Who knows?

All I KNOW is that nice guys either don't like me or I turn them into assholes.

Assholes can't get enough of me. I tame them and make them beg...never giving them anything because I don't like them. But I do adore the challenge of bringing the asshole out of a nice guy. New hobby...

Who is this callous bitch that I have become? I'm not the kind of bitch that usually comes with the title of "wife". No, I'm so fucking cold hearted that I don't even recognize myself anymore. Dear God, I have been through the fucking wringer with these fucking men. Good thing that I am a fan of karma, because I could really see myself becoming some kind of serial killer of men.

So, instead of picking up an axe or a revolver, I write:




They way they glare at me...hungry. The remarks they make about my cleavage and my mouth. Fuck Puppet extreme..seriously it fucking hurts when I want to believe that I am so much more. Well, I used to be more. Now, I'm not sure. Maybe they can sense that I've surrendered and no longer seek relationships and love. Maybe they can smell me when I am just exceptionally horny. Walking in a skirt, satin panties, feeling the lips of my kitty rub against the other...subtle oozing of sex. My wetness. Walking into the convenience store to buy a scratch off game and my smokes. They all turn their heads, nostrils flaring, pupils rapidly dilating....sniffing harder. Approaching me with their off-color advances. Some stumbling into the coffee pots and creamers. Other's looking fearful. Some bold enough to ask for my number.

They are all denied...and I walk away, leaving a trail of sex behind me. Their eyes follow me out of the door.

But it isn't love. It's a carnal desire for sex and conquest. When they look at me, they never see love. They see a whore, a mistress, a woman that might do things that other women won't.




As the voice of the ghost of what I once was trails faintly from millions of miles above me, "I just want somebody to love me..."...repeated... as I recklessly descend into the deep pitch black....until I hear nothing but the steady hum of my own self-loathing, malice and discontent. The familiar, bitter taste of reproach soothes the palette.

Oh, sweet surrender into lustful oblivion. A different kind of numbing.

Fuck me until I hurt. Fuck me until you split me in two. Make me forget about love. About these so called "nice guys". Turn off the lights. Get rid of this hope.




Maybe one day I will meet a nice guy at that convenience store...and he'll sniff me out. He'll be shy about approaching me. Maybe I'll walk up to him, put his hand up my skirt and take him to the men's room. Maybe ...I'll let this nice guy fuck me.  And if he does, he won't be a nice guy anymore.

I want to make him thrust harder and harder as we experience violent fucking into le petit muer. The  further stabbing of my own dead, hopeless heart. The asphyxiation of his decency. The nice guy drowned to death in a pool of his own semen.

Maybe letting him fuck me is murder in an abstract sense. Slaying his stoic sensibilities and aptitude for Godly justice in a way. Making him see the truth. He's just an animal. Just like me.

Death by sex, the numbers increase. The nice guys have gone missing. Keep your doting husbands, super boyfriends and wonderful sons locked indoors. Call out an APB. There might be a serial killer on the loose after all.




Nice guys like to complain about getting the short end of the stick, but I am convinced that deep within the heart of every "nice guy" lays an asshole just screaming to get out. They're just too afraid of letting go...that's when they look at me.

The way they smell me, I can sniff them out, too.

Am I even the prey anymore? Not even a little bit.

What have I become....

Well, maybe everyone, when stripped to the core is pretty much an asshole given enough beat downs by life to make them hate the light of day or cringe at the sound of laughter or break into hives at displays of love.

Or maybe not. Maybe I'm the only cold-hearted, asshole bitch with nothing to lose and a lot of darkness within me clawing its way out every day. I can feel my skin burn underneath from that devil woman's nails scratching to get out of my body.

I fear for the world. The scariest thing a man can ever confront is a woman that no longer gives a fuck.


*fun times*

Sunday, March 27, 2011

How do I taste?




Not bitter, I hope. 


Here's a cute video of a kitten. Enjoy! Hugs and Kisses.





Hahaha... cute widdew kitty in da frijerator...

Saturday, February 19, 2011

A Toast to the Fellas! Cheers.....


Dear Men,

I am just a young woman trying to navigate my way through this life like anyone else. Unfortunately, I feel that your gender has complicated my natural state of being due to persistent bitchassness and bullshit.

I was once a girl with the potential to be a loving, supportive, generous matriarch with an insatiable appetite to please the right man in every shape, form and position. Nothing would have given me more satisfaction than to welcome my man home from work with a blow job and a steak dinner cooked with my own delicate hands.

Now that I am in my thirties, however, I have gone from pink to a steel, titanium gray. I no longer have the desire to be feminine as I have been forced to become one of you.

Today, I tried to put on lip gloss and eyeliner and shit but I couldn’t do it. Why? Because progressively, throughout the day, I grew a humongous set of great, big, undulating hairy testicles and a fifteen-inch cock.

I was alarmed. Needless to say, I did what many do when they can't cope with unforeseen circumstances. 

I bought a bottle of (fill in the blank booze here).

Grab a glass... I'll pour a snifter or two...

Ready? Let's do this...

Yes, men out there…Here’s a Toast:

For all of the times you let a door slam in my face when walking behind you into the local Radio Shack – for all the times you’ve made hissing noises and crude gestures towards me while I was out and about with my kids – for all the times you stared me down like a bloodthirsty jackal while in the presence of your significant other – for all the times you cowered at the threat of my accomplishments and tried to cut me down with disparaging remarks – for all the times you were amidst a sea of male photojournalists and you chose my neck to step on in order to get the perfect shot…

For all of the times you’ve raped me…

For all of the times you’ve swung at me, thrown laptops at me and did permanent damage to my right knee…

For all of the times you’ve told me you loved me and then disappeared…

For all of the times you’ve taken pieces of me and never embraced the whole me…

For all of the times you’ve left me hanging…

For all of the times you've taken my dark skin as a warrior’s armor, able to withstand the toughest blows…

For all of the times you’ve called me a bitch and a whore for not complying…

For all of the times you lied and lied and said you loved me…

For all of the times you’ve left me  alone to care for our kids without a dime of support or your presence to make them whole positively…

For all of the times you were supposed to be my protector, but chose to side with my assailant…

For all of the times you opened me up and left me alone as vulnerable prey….

For all of the times you made promises and broke them…

For all of the times you expected my solidarity despite your infidelity…

For all of the times you forced me to question my beauty because I didn’t live up to your Hollywood-hyped television standards….

For all of the times you left me in the cold, unclad and bleeding from the inside…

For all of the times you ate me up just to defecate me out…

For all of the times I gave you my love and you spat upon my very most fundamental emotion…

For all of the times you colored my pink black…

Here’s to you, MEN.

CHEERS!!!

Thanks for helping to cultivate me into the strong, vicious she-male I am today…

Balls the size of co-co-nuts and a great big dick that’s hungry to tear some anus…

Thanks for your cold shoulder, because it has turned me into the Ice Queen I have always needed to be…

Romance? Fuck that…hugs and kisses are for ladies? Me? I am no longer a lady by any means. I am the most dangerous being in the world. I'm one of you...

Once a woman who wanted a caring love, then a woman denied. Funny how the formula works.

I have no choice…Thanks for not giving me any OPTIONS, Men…

So, while you sit wrapped up in your self delusion, comfort and complacency…lying in your mother’s basement or childhood bedroom or underneath that Venus of Willendorf bosom of your significant other…suckling your way into selective memory…

Remember… you turned a bonafide DIAMOND into a Coal Miner…

Have another shot. I know I will…and I’ll drink your ass under the table.


Best wishes,

Your Protégé.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Pretty Baby. Let's go.


I am here.

Went window shopping for a new bike and I had this Blondie classic on repeat on my iPod.  Couldn't help but to ask myself what is attracting me to bikes these days so passionately? I've always had an affinity for bikes and muscle cars (novice gear head that I am) and then it dawned on me:

 I am replacing love with vibrating steel that will always be there. Where this bike might break my budget, I'll be confident that it won't break my heart. Plus, I can straddle and ride it as long as I want and we'll "arrive" together every time. ;)

Downside to finding my new love is that I might have to break out the chapstick and kneepads to come up with enough bread to bring this bad boy home.

Meet my new future boyfriend:
2009 Moto Guzzi vintage-repl. California Touring Bike...In homage to the heartbreaker of all heartbreakers, Mr. James Dean. Although, it does have Brando quality about it. Doesn't it?


For your musical entertainment, as you envision beautiful me straddling this painfully sexy machine and riding it into the beyond, my inspiration to GO. Miss Harry, let 'em have it.


I fell in love with you...


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Universal Jewels: 11 Tips for the Heart in 2011

--on rotation: SPREAD, Outkast, The LoVe BeloW --


The Universe taught me a few lessons on how to "refine my heart" in 2010. With open eyes and newfound wisdom, I know how to define healthy love. Hopefully, these painful lessons learned will save many of you some heartache.
  1. A person who chooses to leave your life is not worth crying over. Anyone that can turn his/her back from the magnificence that is your LOVE, that is YOU, never truly loved you in the first place. Cut your losses and hold onto your proven ability to love without depths, love without conditions. Your love was too big for someone so small. Remember that.

  1. A good lover should enhance your positive attributes and make it effortless to dissolve negative energy. Compromise for growth as one, not sacrifice your identity to soothe your lover's insecurity.

  1. You should never have to choose between intimacy and security. Love should be the glue that binds both qualities seamlessly.

  1. It is utterly impossible to accept and reciprocate the greatness of what love has to offer and what love can be if you have no love of self. If you have no love of self, you'll never feel worthy of such a blessing that love is.

  1. Be mindful of people that casually use the word love. It is a word that should be held sacred and only uttered when the sayer is prepared to truly embrace the responsibility of truly loving you.

  1. If you fall in love, make sure the the person will be there to catch you. Falling on your face hurts pretty damn bad and your face will never quite look the same again.

  1. Love and Hate exist upon the same infinite litmus strip of passion. There is no limit to either emotion and no defining threshold of change. Levels of passion can run up and down the scale and change at whim depending on the conditions of which the heart is kept.

  1. Hate is not the opposite of Love. Indifference is the Opposite. You cannot hate without the presence of passion or the disappointment of failed Love.

  1. Love without fear, but never love a coward fearlessly. You will go from hero to fool in a matter of moments.

  1. Hearts don't break. Hearts are muscles and a strenuous workout from a lover that's hurt you will only make your heart beat stronger. I promise. It is not the end of the world.

  1. Treat your heart like the last pink diamond. Keep it on display for the world to see how beautiful your love truly is, but make sure you have laser sight technology surrounded that bitch to take out intruders. 

All my LOVE, faithful readers. There is Love abound. Some real, some counterfeit (thanks Dana!), keep your eyes and your heart open. 2011 - the Cinderella Year 

Sunday, December 19, 2010

You Are HERE

Everybody wants to be somebody to someone, to something, to everyone...Everybody wants a reason to be here on this earth.

Some of us believe that there are a select few destined to make monumental changes that affect humanity. Unfortunately, not everyone is destined to make a super-human impact on the world as a whole.

Everyone cannot be Superman.

We are not all built with the temperance of Gandhi.

Even at our most sinister, we cannot all embody the wrath of Hitler.

It is within our quiet of our daily lives that the biggest impacts can be made. Similar to the butterfly effect theory, we exist within the same manner. A subtle gesture of kindness or an ignorant action of seemingly harmless carelessness can set off a reaction larger than what you've ever imagined.

You are here. Make the most of it. Be conscious of your power...as insignificant as it may seem to you and others, the fact that you are HERE gives you the strength of a titan.


How Claymation Satan Made me Think..



I suppose the word "Existential" and the phrase "Youth Programming" are relatively contradictory terms. 


Recently, I stumbled across this old clip from a 1985 claymation feature entitled "The Adventures of Mark Twain". In a nutshell, the plot basically navigates through several existential journeys, weaving its way through the fibers of Christian doctrines. The concept of heaven, creationism and the meaning of humanity as a whole are questioned throughout the film. Mark Twain is the Captain of the ship and Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn and Becky Thatcher are the passenger/students, poised in curiosity as our vessels, seeking truth through the eyes of a child. Upon release and  due to public outcry, the film was banned from airing on many television channels across the country out of fear that the subject matter would taint the minds of children.


Needless to say, watching this clip inspired me to watch the entire film. Watching the film inspired me to question the entertainment that is offered to our kids. If we can saturate our kids with Jesus-praising vegetables, sexual innuendo, violence and consumerism, why can't we give them the option of critical thinking? Every media outlet with their claws in the "youth market" aka our kids, binds the mental development of our children by telling them what to do, how to think and how to feel. I know I'm not saying anything new...


As creepy as this clip is, I appreciate it. I appreciate the fact that it is scary and it cuts against the grain of what is taught. If it raises questions in the mind of this adult and inspires a blog post, imagine what it can do for children. We can turn off our televisions and read with our kids, which most of us should be doing, and build discussions leading to critical thinking. However, there's nothing wrong with the moving image. It's a great educational tool and particularly helpful if it's poignant and relevant.


With all that being said, let's bring back thoughtful entertainment to our kids. It doesn't have to be about Satan or destruction all the time, but we should move forward in creating and supporting thought provoking programs for our children. Why do we permit idiotic television and cinema to become entertainment cornerstones in our children's childhood memories? Are we trying to shield our kids from the inevitable truths they'll have to face (which can be ugly and very frightening) or are we just as asinine? Perhaps its a combination of the two, but the latter speaks a harsh truth, doesn't it?


...After all, someone pays for the cable and puts shows like "Dancing with the Stars" and "Meet the Kardashians" within the highest viewer ratings...and it ain't the kids.


Enjoy the clip.



Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Poetry Moment: At0miC L0vE - by kelly a. abel

My Love is a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Treat it as such...


It must remain concealed from the likes of thieves, enemies, spies - the fallible...

Who wish to harness her power for the sake of selfish causes like winning personal wars and inner battles...


My Love is a Weapon of Mass Destruction.


When present and diffused, she still lingers heavy as a threat, this complex creation...

Making leaders of the world cower and fall to their knees at the possibility of her devastation....


Treat it as such.


She is hidden under ground, beneath the iron fortress of a clandestine sect...

Giving the responsibility to subdue the beast and spare the world...


Ignited by a countdown from ten to one, a traitor within pushes buttons...

The world anticipates a global decimation, hands in prayer to be the celestial chosen...

At zero, the world takes a deep breath and bears witness to her magnificent implosion...


My Love is Like a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Treat it as Such...

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Delicious Randomness: Is Sesame Street in Brooklyn?

Just where is Sesame Street?

I think it's in Brooklyn.

I'm leading towards Brooklyn for several reasons as follows:

1. If you proceed South down either Flatbush Avenue or Ocean Parkway towards Midwood, Canarsie and Sheepshead Bay, the streets are named after letters. Avenue T, Avenue Q, Avenue R etc. Now, I know that the East Village in Manhattan has Avenue's A through Avenue D, but the Architecture is more or less pre-war New York City Tenement-Style Multi-unit dwellings. Although, Oscar the Grouch could easily mesh in with the dumpster/toilet culture of the area...particularly in the seventies. Which leads me to reason number two:


2. Brooklyn is known for its dutch inspired row homes known as Brownstones. 123 Sesame Street is in fact, a Brownstone owned by Gordon and Olivia. Although you can find variations of a Brownstone home in just about any borough in New York City, I would say, the infamous Sesame Street Brownstone stoop has design aesthetics to brownstones seen specifically in Manhattan and Brooklyn. While 123 Sesame Street could easily blend into a West Village, Harlem or Upper West Side block, there is another factor that leads me to believe that Sesame Street is in Brooklyn:

3. Geographic Comparative: Sesame Street has a very unique layout uncommonly seen in most boroughs. It's kind of a cul-de-sac. And, it only has three buildings: 123 Sesame Street, Hooper's Store and Maria and Luis's Fix-it Shop. Upon research, Sesame Street also has a laundry mat, but I have yet to find a photograph or video of any muppets entering and exiting one. I also didn't try that hard to find one. Anyway, there is no cross-street and I'm not sure if there is a way in or a way out of Sesame Street. I've seen quite a few no-man zones like that in Brooklyn. "How the eff did I end up on this 'block'," Is something that I have mumbled many times to myself. Yes, I'm convinced that Brooklyn  has strategically placed vortexes in certain areas that sucks you into blocks that no one even knew existed. I believe Sesame Street is one of those Blocks.

4. Finally, the residents. Brooklyn is quite possibly one of the most culturally eclectic neighborhoods in New York City. It attracts residents from all over the world. Because Brooklyn was and is within the process of gentrification, many neighborhoods are rapidly becoming more culturally diverse. It's also very popular and trendy among homosexuals. (ie, Bert, Ernie, Big Bird, Snuffy and Bob). There is also a zoo located in Brooklyn that Ol' Dirty Bastard spoke fondly of (R.I.P.). The Zoo is located in Prospect Park and I'd venture to guess, Big Baby Jesus wasn't talking about goats and cubs or whatever they have caged up over there. Anywho, that would explain why there are so many animals living on Sesame Street. I'm assuming these animals got sucked through the vortex I spoke of before and got stuck on Sesame Street, learned to speak and domesticated themselves enough to rent apartments. Now, people assume that Brooklyn has some pretty rough and hardcore residents. So, the sunny dispositions of the characters might not match my theory. I almost gave up until I found this photograph:

Don't Sleep on Sesame Street....Just Sayin.


I now leave you with the song my inner child won't stop singing. You can also blame this video for inspiring this nonsense that I probably wasted too much time putting together. Godspeed, yall*

Friday, November 5, 2010

Non-Fiction

Non-Fiction, (excerpt from my novel, The Gravity of Me, available April, 2011)

By
kelly a. abel


People will not worship what they can see and touch. They will, however, give credence to a dream, for a dream is hope. A dream is a wish. A dream is an infinite kingdom where possibility reigns fantastic.

One day, I'll be a story of a trial you will share with your son the night before his wedding. You will tell him of a moment of uncertainty that clouded your judgment and almost made you give up everything. You will look lovingly at your wife from an obstructed view of the kitchen, watching her dart in and out view, busy with whatever.

I am the story shared between girlfriends, the urban legend. I am the written lesson of how to crash and burn with grace. My story, so lacking credibility and rich in sensationalism that they just can't resist turning each page to see what happens next.

I am the obituary written by unknown hands that my parents read blindly. A small paragraph on an antique- beige textured card with a photograph of my smiling, youthful face on the cover. It is the face they remember, the face they want to remember. They read the paragraph, generalizing and non-descriptive in content and they cry quietly in mourning over the release of a burden. They will never read the entire story.

One day, I'll be placed on the top shelf of a bookcase in your den. Covered with dust over time and left untouched and never to be revisited. You'll glance up and see my spine, leather cracked and gold embossing faded. You won't even think of the story, but you will think about how it's been a while since the cobwebs have been cleared from that top shelf. 


You will continue to move forward with your life at the pace of snail, sleepy and slow and abandoning dreams for the safety and certainty of reality. 

Still, you find yourself on your knees, beside your bed, hands prayerful, in reverence of this. Of me.

I am and I will always be nothing more than a story you tell. I am fiction at its best and tragedy at its worst. I am never, ever seen as a biographical text or a historic account of a moment that should never be forgotten. I am the Cat in the Hat. I am the scribing of youth and discovery. I am The Lord of The Rings. I am truth swallowed by fantastic beasts and heroes and lore. I am a parable within the cannon that binds the living.

I am not real. I never, ever was...not to you, not to anyone.  I am just text on paper, reading as different stories to different sets of eyes. I am a glossy, three- dollar porn rag. I am the one-thousand paged horror novel, creating phobias within your subconscious. I am a Victorian romance, unbelievable and daft to the modern reader. I am a science fiction masterpiece, a legend trailblazing between planets and stars.

I am epic.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

No Slaughterhouse for This Bovine Heffa, jusssst sayin...

I HATE being out of shape.

Ever since I had these kids, I've put dancing aside. I have not been able to commit to not one single, solitary fitness regimen since my life now belongs to little people. Between professional development, education and child rearing...not to mention living in my head and fighting insecurities, I have yet to find a place in my life to incorporate a regular healthy, physical activity.

I feel totally unfulfilled.

But...it's not like I haven't made a few attempts. Let's run down the list and see what I have tried:

Yoga and fitness videos. NO. I feel like an idiot sitting in front of a television while some fitness cyborg tries to tell me how to do a proper downward facing dog.

Running: Ha! Next.

Competitive Cycling: Okay, I bought a bike for my birthday and haven't ridden it yet. Not because I'm lazy, but because every attempt I make at peddling around my neighborhood, my plans are quickly thwarted by a psychotic Jamaican in a BMW X5 haphazardly missing my rear tire by a millimeter. I want to lose a few pounds, but not if that means expelling my organs onto concrete. Road Kill fitness...not so much my steez.

The Gym: There is no end goal. I get on the treadmill and I run. And run. But the wall in front of me isn't getting any closer and the man licking his lips next to me is still by my side, no matter how fast I try to run from him. Fitness Centers are like Hamster Wheels for people. Not feeling it so much...

The Shake Weight and The Thighmaster: Don't even ask... but, I do appreciate the free expandable closet organizers they sent (retail value 9.00 each).

_________________________________________________________________________________

So, I'm thinking that I need a regimen that will incorporate stress relief, anger management and fitness along with a tangible goal or a prize. Perhaps martial arts or maybe I should take a dance class. Hmmm...

Perhaps a Capoeira class might be just the ticket I need to fly into fitness. Hilarious. The thought of me slinging my cellulite about in a roundhouse kick circle dance is funny and disturbing. Haha..I should videotape this...

Any other ideas out there? Post a comment and give me your two cents on how I can pave my road to fitness and tell me what works or has worked for you...

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Album Review: Fold It! Mold It!, Random Recipe

Soooo...


Here's my first attempt in music criticism. I've always been a bit of a snob when it comes to my listening pleasure and disdain. Why not write about it?




Now, when it comes to finding honest and relevant music, I find myself digging deeper into the crates these days. In an era where anyone can buy pro-tools and even make beats on their cell phones, modern music has become cluttered with half-assed noise on constant rotation. 


Last Thursday, I had the honor and the pleasure of meeting two phenomenal women, Fab and Fran, that hail from Montreal at Arlene's Grocery. I missed their set, but they blessed me with an impromptu sidewalk private show on Stanton Street. See my videos for Random Recipe in previous posts to see their energy in full force. Ignore my "drunken swagger". Shout out to the Sound Surgeon... Ah, I owe you pizza and shots.


Anyway, the next day, I downloaded their album "Fold It! Mold It!":




Random Recipe is comprised of a dynamic foursome including band members Fran (Vocals and Guitar), Fab (EmCee and BeatBox), Vincent (keys/guitar)  and Liu-Kong (percussion). The combination of live instruments, raw Beat-Boxing and Fran's earthy vocals are engaging and definitely ear candy. Fab's flow roughens the edge of their sound with her French-Fried delivery on the microphone without distracting from the blended ranges of sound that makes Random Recipe an absolutely charming listening experience.


The album is seamless and can be easily enjoyed from beginning to end. The tracks are far from redundant and each song provides a different dimension to sound exploration without killing the floating vibe that Random Recipe's sound has undeniably targeted. "Without You" has a light airy, whimsical bounce and still retains its slickness and cool. "Dangerous" is probably one of the more aggressive tracks with its drum and bass explosive rhythmics, blowing up the track through beat-boxing and percussion. However, the song gets pulled back into that easy cool again with a mellowed out down-break on Fab's flow.


All in all, Random Recipe is definitely chock full of the right ingredients, making the perfect dish to satisfy your ears. One part grrrl, one part Hip Hop, one part fresh and all the way hot.




This novice critic gives Random Recipe 5 out of 5 Red Pills. (That's a good thing)

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Who the @^#& are YOU !?

Sooo...
1512 Boulevard Baby Designs, Cafe Press


I recently installed a stat counter on my blog to get a better understanding of my audience. Almost a thousand visits and very few comments are left on my page. I got a little weirded out by the idea that my thoughts are on display to...everyone and anyone...and not too many people are responding to my blog site directly. Although, I do appreciate the emails that I have received from those of you sharing your experiences with depression and anti-depressants. That was cool.








googlebot logo by Tyler Jordan, eVisibility
While my counter isn't specific enough to list names and addresses, I have a general idea of whether or not my blog is being read by human beings. I can assume that my readers from the Virgin Islands, Slovenia, Denmark, Brazil and the States are actual people based on certain statistics and clearly defined criteria.


However, what I found alarming was the googlebot, OneRiot and opensocial traffic spiders that crawl across my page daily, monitoring my usage and the usage of my audience. What it's doing, in fact, is indexing my entries and updating google's searchable database. It's automatic and invisible and really frightening as hell that technology like this is so intrusive and unseen. Documenting, documenting everything we do....


A big part of me wants to shut my blog down and disconnect from the world wide web. The concept of being constantly, automatically monitored by big brother or Robocop or whatever makes me feel, dare I say, a bit violated.


There is that small part of me that actually believes that my drivel is helping someone out there, so...I kind of feel responsible to continue saying whatever it is I have to say.


From 123greetings.com
Maintaining humanity at this point, in this era where love, relationships and friendships are wrapped in wires, is getting more and more surreal by the day. Can I really throw caution to the wind and naively step into this World Wide Webernet and attempt to display humanity even though this paranoia of a watchful eye constantly lingers overhead?


I don't know...

Sunday, October 24, 2010

At the end of the day...

At the end of the day, I love you and that love is never, ever going to go away. Your Happiness is paramount.


Short Entry. Big deal...

Saturday, October 16, 2010

On Drunken Sex

On Drunken Sex

^Interesting Blog - click the link

The dilemma...

When the lines are blurry... If one side can blame it on the alcohol and claim victim...can the other counter the claim and say he is not the attacker?

In the UK, the courts are passing legislation stating that a woman who has sex with someone while drunk can be considered a rape victim because she's not in her right mind to engage in consensual sex.

See article here:

MEN FACE JAIL TIME FOR SEX WITH DRUNK WOMEN


So what do you think? If a sober man would not commit an act like rape or date rape, but the same man in an intoxicated state would because his sensibilities are impaired, should he get a pass?

If a woman calls rape even though she was drunk and doesn't say no, does it make determining clearly defined cases of rape more challenging by blurring the boundaries of non-consensual sex?

Hmmm.... food for thought.

Either way, if no is said by one party even once, it IS rape. No way around that...

Share your thoughts....

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Art Break: Pearl Necklace Series (maybe)


This is me playing around with a concept for a series "Pearl Necklace"...
Still haven't found the right look I want to project. Anyone out there in the NY Metro interested in modeling, drop a line. It's time for some fine art photography. 

*****edit to add*****

If interested in modeling, please note full body shots and full or partial nudity might be required to realize the vision. Male and female models. Don't be skurrred.


Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Open Doors

I see a world out there...all for you to shape and nurture. A world for you to build.... I peek through doors and I see your throne, empty and waiting for you to believe in yourself enough to rule...enough to claim your destiny.

So many things are happening and the world spins solely in favor of YOU. 

Grab it. Lay your heavy hand upon the axis and set your own cycle.

So many things are coming in order and in line and the only thing that's missing is you.

Wake up.

Claim it.


Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Randomness

I'd like to punch you in the necktie.

Of all the things I've lost, I miss my time the most.

Al dente spaghetti is for suckers. Make mine well done.

Heyyy...There's nothing musical about these chairs.

Instead of quietly leaving a tip for my waitress, I hand her my tip and say, "keep the change..ya filthy animal" - Angels with Dirty Faces, Gangster Johnny

Next time you see a lady with a big booty, she might be wearing an adult diaper...and it might be full.

Urine is a smell that you'll never forget.

Refund is "dunfeR" spelt backwards.

Fellas, next time you want to take a lady home, instead of buying drinks and making stupid conversation just say, "I'm the star of the show! Me! This is my big dick and I wanna fuck right now!" - Dirk Diggler, Boogie Nights. I promise, something WILL happen.


If a tree falls on an ex-boyfriend in a forest with no one around...would anybody give a shit?

No, not manslaughter your honor...I'm just making up for an abortion that should have happened 46 years ago. His mother would thank me.

Randomness...