Classically Composed Beauty

This is something that I was inspired to write years earlier. Now that I read it again, it’s like my first time seeing it. I was so surprised at myself, I figured I had better share this one in hopes of my readers/followers enjoying it as much as I did when I wrote it.

Her unrivaled beauty is cast over her shoulder in a playful glance as her swaying hips widened the distance between our last kiss.

Her legs possessing curves that can be only explained by magic and miracles, teased my excited eyes and beckoned my footsteps in an inevitable and hurried pursuit.

Her flowing crimson sundress masked the richness of her hips as the gentle breeze flowed between her thighs carrying her perfume back to meet my stare, reigniting images born under last evening’s moonlight and warmed by the morning sun.

I am left standing in awe, straddling a mental divide unsure of which attributes are imagined and which are firmed rooted in a world in which she is Governess.

The whole of her is reminiscent of a classical composition that cannot be explained, but solely experienced. She must me sampled with the eyes, ears and the heart at once to be fully appreciated.

My personal flight of fantasy is further exaggerated in realm of the fantastic as she disappears around the fast approaching corner, but not before she flashes a perfect smile that nudges me unrecoverably over the edge.

I am rousted from my slumber wearing a startled expression. I reach out to her as I whisper her name into the stillness. There is movement next to me and I feel her hands cup my face. A gentle kiss finds my lips and instantly my dreams are nestled in the lap of reality.

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“Discernment”

The difference between “tolerance” and “acceptance” is a silent timeline providing refuge to an inevitable explosion. #RedPillPhilosophy

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The Reign of Error…

The Reign of Error…

I find that I am often the spectator or the participant observer in most conversations that I engaged in. I have found that a riveting conversation that propels me into a place of circumspection or introspection has quickly become my favorite pastime. In many casual conversations I often come across a common theme. I find that men and women often complain about the difficulty in effectively communicating with each other. One side is indicted as one who delves too deeply into a particular point of view or the one who refuses to look beyond the superficial. In either case the end result is most likely an argument (crazy-making debate). Personally, I believe we should spend more effort convincing ourselves that the other has a functional ineptitude that they will grow out of, but our role is to ensure that they don’t cause harm to themselves in the meanwhile.

Research has proven that men and women communicate differently. Men tend to state the facts and share information that has a functional purpose. This is what is referred to a “report talking”. Women on the other hand share in a manner that solicits support, develops the relationship, or relate events of personal importance to polarize the listener toward their own point of view. This is referred to as “rapport-talk”. This dynamic between women often devolve into a type of social misbehavior and conformity with false majority judgments. In the past week, I was having a healthy debate with two women that turned into a verbal joust in which all logic was summarily stamped out. One of women made a comment regarding personal pride. I chose to explain my position and attempted to share an example of what I defined as personal pride while staying within the context of the original subject. Then right before my eyes, those two women were spurred into action by the utterance of “one word” while offering no allegiances to the spirit in which the conversation started. They then preceded to whoop, holler and high-five each other. I could feel the look of shock on my face, as I could not make ANY sense of what was happening in that moment. I quickly stepped back (cognitively) and took a spectator’s point-of-view and I immediately erupted into laughter and exited the room. Neither woman truly understood what I was thinking, but it didn’t matter. I understood my actions enough for the both of them. I also feel that I grew an inch. It didn’t matter whether or not anyone polarized the other toward his or her side of the debate. In my heart of hearts, I knew that tomorrow’s sunrise would breed a renewed reign or error and I would never again be the victim of such folly.

*Disclaimer*

These writings are in no way designed to undermine the perception or quality of those of the female persuasion that fancy themselves a respectable interlocutor. I simply chose a snapshot in time that related to my own experiences to use as fodder for the purpose of perpetuating the development of my experience as a brand-new blogger. I hope that this edition of my publishing choice will serve to generate interesting comments to debate the issue and serve to join both sides in a place I’ll refer to as a yet-to-be discovered common ground.

The Thinker and the Prover are Often One In the Same

The Thinker and the Prover are Often One In the Same

Every individual is an institution. We learn what works for us from birth through our caregivers, from those that we learn to respect and/or hold in high regard. We learn to successfully navigate the pitfalls of life by appropriately applying what we believe operates in our best interests. Each time we have any measure of success using the tools that have collected over our lives, those tools are then made permanent. We apply them over and over effortlessly without fail. Once we reach the level where modern society categorically bestows the title of adulthood on us, we then assume ourselves to be experts in the craft of “living life”. We live blissfully until we meet another person that questions our approach. These persons can potentially undermine our credibility and cause the institutions that we have built over our lifetime to crumble around our feet. We will fight tooth and nail not to allow anything to permeate the “Bullshit (BS)” that we have learned to subscribe to over our entire lives. Instead of applying to our lives that which we ultimately understand to be endowed by truth or logic, we will often weave new information into the brand of BS that we subscribe to in an effort to fortify the institution we have became accustomed to living within. In this instance we stop connecting with those around us who care about us and are interested or inclined to make us better. Self-improvement at this point is outside of our grasp.

I was recently exposed to a book that I’d heard quite a bit about. The book is entitled “Prometheus Rising”, written by Robert Anton Wilson. It’s an exploration in the workings of the human mind and how to get the most out of yours. He offers a point of view where he states, “Whatever the Thinker Thinks, The Prover Will Prove”. This is an explanation in a few words that expresses the simplicity in which we manage to curtail our own intellectual growth and become the impetus for discord in relationships whether professional, personal or romantic. If a person believes that they are correct in their beliefs about any situation and another person chooses to shatter your perceptions by offering another point of view, the individual will circle the wagons to ensure they protect themselves and their institution from the likes of you. They will continue to assume their infallibility (illogical thinking), because their approach has worked thus far in every other situation with overwhelming similarity. They will seek to prove you’re the one who is wrong so, their approaches will remain sound and therefore protect the institution. This is necessary from the individual prospective, because the psyche cannot take a blow that will open up their personal history of problem solving to outside scrutiny. After all, the first law of Nature is “self-preservation”.

http://dedroidify.blogspot.com/2013/02/whatever-thinker-thinks-prover-will.html?m=1

An Offer of What Remains…

In those grotesque moments when your mind is ablaze and swirling in a firestorm unleashed by matters of the heart

Your heart that was once protected in her hands has been broken into millions of disintegrated pieces and being boiled by the acid in your stomach

Your words have retreated to their origins and abandoned your interests of expressing yourself to the one who holds the key to your joy, in a manner worthy of her understanding

The only thing that remains, is a simple gesture, to reach out to her and hope that she responds in kind

#zenandtruth

HILARY 10/11/13 – 8/9/14

Today, I’m mourning a loss. It is for me, nothing short of a tragedy. This sad story began while out with some friends having drinks. I was at the jukebox creating a playlist simply to have some background noise while we sat and talked. There I sat unsuspecting any malice was abound when out of nowhere the tile floor jumped up and smacked Hilary down. Hilary is one of my closest confidants and we have become friends on a very personal and/or intimate level. When I saw what had occurred I immediate rushed to her rescue. I felt so helpless as I witnessed the assault on poor unsuspecting Hilary. The worst part is the fact that the assault was unprovoked and it just boiled down to a senseless display of aggression on the part of the provocateur. Hilary lay there motionless… I picked her up and turned her over, noticing that one side of her face was black. It appeared as if she has suffered some sort of traumatic short-circuit. When I saw the damage, my heart just sank as I realized that what she and I once had would be forever changed. I cradled, the motionless Hilary in my hands as one of my friends screamed from the corner… “Oh Wow, what happened”? To even explain what had just occurred seemed beyond my capability. My mouth was dry and I could barely tear my eyes away from what I was witnessing. It took everything in my power to not scream out. I drew the energy from someplace deep within to carry my weary self back to the embrace of my friends and contemplate my next move. For most tragic situations that evoke this type of searing emotion, dialing 9-1-1 is an option. However, I sat with my face in my hands and thought over and over. “Did I get the Apple Care Plan or did I opt out”? My stress level increased even more as I realized that I did not have the answer to this burning question. Even though I had the undying support of my friends, they could only render sad eyes to reflect their pity on my current situation and me. Tomorrow I will make the pilgrimage to the Apple Store where I will replace Hilary with another iPhone 5s and lay her to rest forever. Please send positive thoughts my way as deal with this feeling of loss.