| May. 21st, 2005 @ 08:58 am Oh man- another watered down drink! |
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definition
real; (as defined by a man whose had it easy) telling it like it is. The ability to be a "real asshole", shut off from feelings. This kind of "real" allows one to vaguely speak what most would lie about.
real; (as used by a girl) "real cute", "real hotty", "real good fuck", "real big spender", "real freak", "real pro"
real; (as used by a woman)"this is for real(love)". note; women can also be girls once in awhile, but this gets "real old fast", resulting in "real patience", and "real boundaries". If a woman gets involved with a "real asshole" she must be careful not to become as suppressive -that would be "real fucked up".
Really, as used by Thomais' charming, beautiful, mother. Rolled slowly off the tongue, with a Greek accent. This means I am not as amused by your bull shit as you are, but here we are anyways.
Thomai ‘01
game sheet
when I say
"casual sex is an oxymoron"
introspection hides behind your ego
wrapped in a worn hotel sheet
causes a spontaneous nervous laugh
you spit out
"so your not gettin' any"?
on a dollar or more a minute phone
I think "and you’re not gettin' any better"
but I don't bother to say
cause I only want you
better for me
Thomai '02
Tragically Fascinating
It’s fascinating to think what it feels like to love someone who doesn't love back. The compromises a person allows, the denial. The things that are present in loving are lacking, become like young spirited ghosts, teasing darting in and out of shadows, felt in the corner of an eye. They disappear just before headshakes awake from a tear almost forming. More fascinating is grief. So fascinating there are books, counselors, talk shows on the subject. But, for this case, nothing quite satisfies the researchers hunt. Nothing to change the way it feels to know a choice was poorly made. A woman went against her heart. Someone called witch, by those who respect the term, denied intuition and changed destiny. Now time is expected to repair that. So while waiting for time to work, the ghosts of true love are no longer in hiding, they are out glowing in full view. They are strangers in love, at a restaurant conversing, friends in love cuddling, not paying attention to what’s on the television, their attention is on the speck of color in an eye, the wisp of hair brushed from a brow, the scratching chin while in conversation...then there is the doting daddy at a restaurant, feeding a toddler, pausing to dip into his wife’s eyes and give a quick kiss before lovingly spooning mush to their child. Was that toddler a surprise or a plan? (A layer of grief) the love ghosts show up in a personal way for the subject, as a note from flowers sent long ago, falls from a box being unpacked. And a song plays with another, most fascinating idea of when a man loves a woman. And that’s how the body shut down. As important as sex is for the mind, body, and soul...the fact that women who ejaculate often have ease during menopause, the skin toning, and the joyous outlook...regardless of these benefits.... For someone who has, with one fascinating exception, only made love with men who love her, anything less is tragic.
As for that fascinating exception, He worked quickly then intermittently on the conquest of the subject. She was, of course, not his only conquest, there were many, he was/ is needy. The idea that he is a good man remains a fantasy he shares with his mother. For others, like his children, their mothers, women who love him, it is a wish list written on transparent paper hanging in the mind just barely in front of the image of his physicality, so that it creates a composite of promise. The wish list moves down when he displays his cruel narcissism and back up as time heals cruelty and loving females forgive men easier than they forgive themselves.
Thomai ‘03
span
waiting for my date? to come out of the washroom, 1/4 sip of cold coffee waves back and forth across the mug structure
not warming hands or face tilted against for comfort
mind drifts, creates a late night infomercial bleeping out- "have you been surrounded by altered minds? is it the full time altercation? the level of seratonin got up and now it cant come down- like a reverse pinata- candy bursting out of wrappers and rotting inside a big bull? well, have we got just the thing for you...." this hybrid of my first and second love returns to the table
I get to feel waif-ish in a booth this big
and the relief of acknowledged artistry
and thats enough feeling for now.
across good food @ a different place with a different man
I'm playing devils advocate
to his hints of what sex would be like with him
instead of revealing how I like it
"like what?"
I was watching the dance of the wait staff
casting them in better roles
place them like puzzle pieces
while in line
at the grocery store
a good looking 40ish white guy
mentions that women are from Venus, men Mars
"look mister I'm from Detroit- back off"
I'm carrying a bull into the courtship china shop
dropping it and leaving
with out so much as a smirk on my face
I'm not a romantic agnostic
today I'm a romantic fascist
thats a romantic writers way of saying
bitter
not feelin it
ambiguity has got my revolution by the balls
perhaps I outta disguise myself
sit in on
one of the informal group therapy meetings held at the gym
for men who allowed their twisted nerve ganglia
to interrupt
I can see the quest in their eyes, smell their fear
eye try redirecting, warning
useless attempt like the ghetto audience that shouts at the movie screen
these men can't resist that question
of my questionable ethnicity
the imprint on their asses, from my shoe, reads
the date
the flavor of the month went sour
whats my name?
what kind of name is that?
the kind you call out while in bed with your bland life
the name you wish would get you in trouble
you can't even pronounce
Thomai '02
just playin'
it was not you - it was this poem
the playing field was uneven
i have learned
from the start
the reasons changed later
one heart and soul
was closed
without due notification to
the other
heart and soul
has learned
to agree on a set playing field
even and fair
it was not you – it was this lesson
Thomai, 03 |
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