Get me through the day.
You don't know who I am when you stare at me with such repair.
I neither need to be fixed, nor do I care to hear the empty words that fall from your forced smile.
Why do you fear me? Is it that I have something you disapprove of, do I make you feel uninterested?
Open your mind to me and you may find that I have a very strong point of view, that I am someone beautiful and full of worth bricked in knowing the truth.
Numbers crunch to tell that I am incorrectly balanced, that humans are scientific creatures trying to survive in a human world.
Sell me your soul and I will grant it the access to fall at my feet and be lifted.
I will not let my spirit fail me, so believe in me.
I will go my way and you are welcome to come with me.
Hurt.
Let go.
The best person you can be in still in store.
Rise up. Free.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Soul Beyond Death
I have learned many things in my 28 years so far, in this lifetime. However I wonder how much of our knowledge we are able to carry-on from past (life) experiences? Let me clarify what I mean by this statement: I don't know if I take re-incarnation as a literal act, however I do think that our energy (soul) does live beyond the days of our bodies and leaves in impact on the things that we have come in contact with over a lifetime. This energy can also attract itself to new devices after death to take other living form(s) - whether a new body or a beautiful purple flower.
Like an apple sliced, I think the core energy of our being continues to survive beyond death, while little 'slices' of it remain to left behind in objects, people and spaces that you had filled when you were alive in all your carnations, and felt a strong connection with. This could be a reason why people say after a love one is deceased, that they continue to feel that person's presence.
No matter what religion you come from, even if you don't believe in re-incarnation, I wonder if you think this could be true? What do you think?
Have you ever seen someone that you swear you have seen somewhere else? Have you ever felt eerie when you entered a certain place, but were not sure why you were feeling this way?
I believe that we will live forever, not in life but in spirit.
To those I love, I give a little piece of my soul to always remember, Parul Pandya.
Like an apple sliced, I think the core energy of our being continues to survive beyond death, while little 'slices' of it remain to left behind in objects, people and spaces that you had filled when you were alive in all your carnations, and felt a strong connection with. This could be a reason why people say after a love one is deceased, that they continue to feel that person's presence.
No matter what religion you come from, even if you don't believe in re-incarnation, I wonder if you think this could be true? What do you think?
Have you ever seen someone that you swear you have seen somewhere else? Have you ever felt eerie when you entered a certain place, but were not sure why you were feeling this way?
I believe that we will live forever, not in life but in spirit.
To those I love, I give a little piece of my soul to always remember, Parul Pandya.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Stereotypes: Stimulating, Cruel & Fun!
Stereotypes are an amusing form of making observation based on habitual nature mixed with healthy hateration and bigotry. At the risk of misunderstood like Lauryn Hill, I want to make clear that I am able to admit that I am often quite vicious in nodding my head at particularly race and sexuality stereotypes. Don't hate me for having a mind, hate the world for making me intelligent enough to identify humour in situations and in people!
I am not a stranger to discrimination. From when I was a child I had people throw typecasting at me in order to make themselves feel more natural and powerful. When I was a wee lezzy in England the white kids would call me brown bread by yelling it across the street while I walked home. At the time this devastated me, but in retrospect I am thinking it ain't such a bad thing after all! I wish I could go back to that scenario and say "well at least I taste good, I am full of nutrients compared to your bleached white ass! Wonder Bread, please you ain't got nothing on me." I wish I could make those kids eat rye or pumpernickel bread and choke just a little, until they were red in the face and I could make a spectacle of them. I know retribution can be tacky but in this case it would be sweet karma!
Then there is the case of the paki dot. When I was young and had chicken pox I ended up picking one on my forehead that left a scar - naturally this became the making of what the white kids would call my paki dot. Again I would love to go back to today and say "you stupid little cackers, Paki's come from Pakistan, I am actually born in England, my parents in Africa and I am Gujrati, does that mean anything to your uneduacted ass? Why don't you go home and play with your swastika-making kit."
On the other hand I will not deny the stereotypes that I myself am guilty of when people do point them out. Firstly the Indian head bobble! Yes I do it, even when I bust a move on the dancefloor I implement the booble-bobble-backslap into my choreography.
Also don't think that when I lived with my parents I did not leave the house smelling like the back on a Mississauga Transit bus; yes curry potpourri sprung from my pores to give those around me a strong and pronounced headache. Yes when I was young I called my mother and father's friends uncle and auntie, but never papa g or mama g!
Then there is the whole identity of being queer. As the Queen of Queer I am obviously a fierce defender of queer rights and freedoms, however I can also admit that queers can be the most irritating and messily exaggerated projection of what being gay or lesbian is about. No girl, you are a girl, take off the elastic band that you use to hold in your giant tatas, it makes you look like Spongebob Squarepants! Free your breasts and the rest will follow. Also just cause you don't want to wear lip gloss it don't give you the right to have crusty lips - moisturize! If those kneecaps are as ashy as those dehydrated, flagellated lips, I am done with your ass!
Oh fags, oh fags. Stop dancing like dancing queens. Janet Jackson choreography is not suppose to be soft like tender assholes. Dance hard like cock! Oh and the styles I see are just not ok! We are lucky that many of the worlds famous designers are queer because if it wasn't for them, people would really realize that both queer men and women tend to look like they are as confused about their wardrobe as they did when they penetrated or fingered by another for the first time. If you stick it in remember it comes back out. Stay in the closet if you are gonna be a hot mess - I don't need you on my team of representation.
I hope you have enjoyed reading my ramblings from the contents of my explicit and sometimes cruel mind. Now go slap an ugly gay and have a lovely day!
I am not a stranger to discrimination. From when I was a child I had people throw typecasting at me in order to make themselves feel more natural and powerful. When I was a wee lezzy in England the white kids would call me brown bread by yelling it across the street while I walked home. At the time this devastated me, but in retrospect I am thinking it ain't such a bad thing after all! I wish I could go back to that scenario and say "well at least I taste good, I am full of nutrients compared to your bleached white ass! Wonder Bread, please you ain't got nothing on me." I wish I could make those kids eat rye or pumpernickel bread and choke just a little, until they were red in the face and I could make a spectacle of them. I know retribution can be tacky but in this case it would be sweet karma!
Then there is the case of the paki dot. When I was young and had chicken pox I ended up picking one on my forehead that left a scar - naturally this became the making of what the white kids would call my paki dot. Again I would love to go back to today and say "you stupid little cackers, Paki's come from Pakistan, I am actually born in England, my parents in Africa and I am Gujrati, does that mean anything to your uneduacted ass? Why don't you go home and play with your swastika-making kit."
On the other hand I will not deny the stereotypes that I myself am guilty of when people do point them out. Firstly the Indian head bobble! Yes I do it, even when I bust a move on the dancefloor I implement the booble-bobble-backslap into my choreography.
Also don't think that when I lived with my parents I did not leave the house smelling like the back on a Mississauga Transit bus; yes curry potpourri sprung from my pores to give those around me a strong and pronounced headache. Yes when I was young I called my mother and father's friends uncle and auntie, but never papa g or mama g!
Then there is the whole identity of being queer. As the Queen of Queer I am obviously a fierce defender of queer rights and freedoms, however I can also admit that queers can be the most irritating and messily exaggerated projection of what being gay or lesbian is about. No girl, you are a girl, take off the elastic band that you use to hold in your giant tatas, it makes you look like Spongebob Squarepants! Free your breasts and the rest will follow. Also just cause you don't want to wear lip gloss it don't give you the right to have crusty lips - moisturize! If those kneecaps are as ashy as those dehydrated, flagellated lips, I am done with your ass!
Oh fags, oh fags. Stop dancing like dancing queens. Janet Jackson choreography is not suppose to be soft like tender assholes. Dance hard like cock! Oh and the styles I see are just not ok! We are lucky that many of the worlds famous designers are queer because if it wasn't for them, people would really realize that both queer men and women tend to look like they are as confused about their wardrobe as they did when they penetrated or fingered by another for the first time. If you stick it in remember it comes back out. Stay in the closet if you are gonna be a hot mess - I don't need you on my team of representation.
I hope you have enjoyed reading my ramblings from the contents of my explicit and sometimes cruel mind. Now go slap an ugly gay and have a lovely day!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Heart Attack
Have you ever been in love with someone so deeply that you felt as thought you were missing a part of yourself when you were apart? I know some may say this is a sign of codependency, even call it pathetic, but I am telling you that if you knew what I know and felt what she makes me feel, you would understand how unexpectedly she has become the centre of my happiness. She deserves me and I am hers alone.
I can’t sleep without her heat coming into me when our naked bodies are pressed together through the night. She is gentle, she is warm, her talents are fruitful and I am privileged to watch her grow.
She encourages me to be a wiser woman and also allows me to come clean with my fears and hesitations at times when I feel compromised. When I come apart, when I begin to tumble down towards the ground, she is always there to take me into shelter by opening her chest and allowing me into her heart. I feel safe with her by my side, so safe that at times I fear being homeless, displaced if she is ever to go away from here.
I want to say to her: “Shine on me dear baby, lead me through the endless corridors of life, meet me at each wrong turn I take to kiss me and tell me that you will lead me back to the safety of your arms. I need you so much it makes me cry, when I think of how deeply your love encourages me to reflect the eternal wisdom of the moonlight.”
I will kiss her every time with every ounce of passion I can conjure just so she always remembers how I feel - just in case tomorrow I die, I want her to know, I will carry a piece of her heart with me away if she permits me to do so.
I feel an abundance of complicated emotions when it comes to her, I feel weak and vulnerable, unlike myself at all sometimes. Usually I am tough, I am blunt, I am independent and agile in mind. I don’t know if this is healthy, I feel like I am loosing my mind.
Don’t try and save me, it is too late to turn back now. Forever she will remain engraved into my soul as the women who opened me to a plethora of visceral sensations and became the consort of my longings realizations.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Evidence of Greatness
Leaping up and around, she settles into the room by taking her a-symmetrical jacket off. She is smooth like a glass of J Lohr. She doesn’t seem to get twisted in anybody else’s moments, only her own. The moments may be divine if she chooses them to feel that way. Clicking of the clock the arms strike 9:43pm. A step is taken backwards into the real future of her dreams.
Her gloves are red leather; they show that sex, sexuality and intelligence is worn confident. So her tits weren’t as perky as the white girl with the great gleuts at the gym. Fuck that. She rowed just as hard to get ahead. For sometimes it felt like there were a million bright ideas dancing in her head and highlighters were meant to scribble them out. She rode harder than a horse.
The tap of a finger on glass echoes alongside the sound of others laughter. A smile appears on her face. Her laughter fills inside her breasts, her eyes as well. If she were a star she knows it would be a bright one. She came from the past.
Her gloves are red leather; they show that sex, sexuality and intelligence is worn confident. So her tits weren’t as perky as the white girl with the great gleuts at the gym. Fuck that. She rowed just as hard to get ahead. For sometimes it felt like there were a million bright ideas dancing in her head and highlighters were meant to scribble them out. She rode harder than a horse.
The tap of a finger on glass echoes alongside the sound of others laughter. A smile appears on her face. Her laughter fills inside her breasts, her eyes as well. If she were a star she knows it would be a bright one. She came from the past.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Self-Employee
If one journey is about to end, is it only natural that another begins? Each day we spend so much of our time dedicating ourselves to our employers. Yes, the place that most of us spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and others even more. I have never stayed in one place for too long, that is the way that my jobs have unraveled before me. Some would say that I am a woman of many hats that is driven by my passion to support the arts and artists.
I have never been someone who won't accept a new challenge, or go somewhere that is outside of my acquired skill sets. I think it is good to push yourself to be the best that you can be professionally, to learn by watching those who are experts in their fields--while also spending time becoming better at what it is that you have been given the responsibility of doing.
There is a fine line that needs to be drawn when is comes to your self-respect and your workplace. You see, I know that I am not just a menial worker who pushes button and delivers good without never knowing what is in the package. As I have grown older I have come to see that I no longer want to just work for an organization that utilizes me but that also values me.
I really appreciate the independence that has emerged for me as a part-time freelance worker, I am the master of my own will. This is a very empowering and testing position to be in; essentially the time and effort you put in as a freelancer drives only your personal results, not that of another's organization. I encourage all creative minds, those with a passion that they have buried because they became a part of the Borg collective to remember who they are. Make time to fulfill your dreams the way you had thought of seeing them being realized when you were a youth and saw yourself in the future. Now is the future, you hold the power. Make that change.
I have never been someone who won't accept a new challenge, or go somewhere that is outside of my acquired skill sets. I think it is good to push yourself to be the best that you can be professionally, to learn by watching those who are experts in their fields--while also spending time becoming better at what it is that you have been given the responsibility of doing.
There is a fine line that needs to be drawn when is comes to your self-respect and your workplace. You see, I know that I am not just a menial worker who pushes button and delivers good without never knowing what is in the package. As I have grown older I have come to see that I no longer want to just work for an organization that utilizes me but that also values me.
I really appreciate the independence that has emerged for me as a part-time freelance worker, I am the master of my own will. This is a very empowering and testing position to be in; essentially the time and effort you put in as a freelancer drives only your personal results, not that of another's organization. I encourage all creative minds, those with a passion that they have buried because they became a part of the Borg collective to remember who they are. Make time to fulfill your dreams the way you had thought of seeing them being realized when you were a youth and saw yourself in the future. Now is the future, you hold the power. Make that change.
Friday, March 12, 2010
14 Minutes
This wasn’t the time to dick around. “I want you to fuck me go good,” she said. I planned on it. I had sat there all day in my own wetness, with thoughts of her hot yoga body pressed all against my breathing skin. I had fantasized of her on top of me, her stomach erect towards the ceiling and her beautiful pink breast bouncing from side to side. I would glimpse to the side to see her tattooed leg and that would make me even more in the zone. She says to me “feel how wet I am,” and I let her slide my hand down her thighs and I know when I have hit the wetland of her call. She is soaking, she is dripping. She moans to me, “this is what you do to me.” I reply, “oh god.” I growl and I feel such an cannibalistic urge to want to pound her pussy and have her cream all over my hand, swallow her whole. I slip one finger into her, spreading her voluptuous vagina lips and the warmness quickly causes me to want more. More feel, more motion, I wanna taste her all over my face. “You do me so good, ya baby,” she mumbles as I watch her beautiful stomach pace in and out. I breathe in her scent, it smells like raw sex. “I wanna eat you,” she says, but I refuse. I wanna please her, she is pleasing me by just laying there with her beautiful body unveiled to my pressing desires. I can feel the moisture tipping my clit as I slide in and out of her glorious insides. I can’t take it anymore, I flip her on to her back, if I am gonna fuck her, I am gonna do it deeply and softly, just like she wants it. I hear her say my name and I tense my back into an arch, I know she likes seeing my big tits dance across her chest. I work her up a little more before it is time to go down, down to the place where all life begins, down to the place where I drink the substance that retains life in all my functions. I giggle, she looks up. “Now,” I tell her, “I am going to make you cum like a bitch.” 14 minutes later my promise is realized with her beautiful release and the words “baby I love you so much.”
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