Skream + Kelis - Copy Cat
Get it Kelis
I’ve posted this before but I don’t care. This song is sex in the form of oscillating frequencies.
And also because it only get 3 notes. Really?!?
The gay world is so shallow. And it does’t help that I am, either. I’m contributing to this cycle of shallowness where gay men are taught to look a certain way, and if not, they’re deemed unattractive. But how do I break this cycle if this cookie-cutter body is what I already find attractive? How am I supposed to change what I find attractive? Do I even want to? Politically, of course. But sexually? Not really. I don’t know. I’m shallow.
There is something so comforting in knowing that people are interested enough about you, your life, and your interests that they would follow your blog.
This sense of comfort is often the fuel used for why I continue posting on this tumblargh. I feed off of each like, each message, each passerby who tells me they read my blog. I’ll act like I’m not ecstatic about it. I’ll play the cool and innocent card. You know…
“Really? You follow me?! Hold on a second as I put my cool cap on and pretend I’m not overjoyed that you are actually remotely interested about my life that I find quite humdrum.”
But I’ve been thinking about it some more… this fuel, what is it really? At the core of it, it’s narcissism. It’s this growing idea that people WANT to know more about me… like they are waiting for each new post. I mean, I don’t consciously think this as I write my posts, but the overall emotions, the satisfaction from writing, is what I imagine barrage tweeters and dinner uploaders to feel with each post…
“I AM THE CENTER OF EVERYONE’S NETWORLD!”
except for my situation, it’d be tumblr.
It is fun though, having followers - seeing who reads what and what people find interesting.
But the downside to having followers (other than the growing narcissistic tendencies) is having to filter a lot of things I want to write. I know, FIRST WORLD PROBLEMs. UGH, I HAVE TO FILTER WHAT I WRITE. POOR ME. (See what I did there? I’ve acknowledged my privilege thus I am free to act as brash as I want. not really.)
Ignoring my first world problems for a second…
These urges, my incentive to write, is so erratic. At time, I want people to have this window of opportunity to read what I write - to get a peak into what I honestly think about the world/people (Narcissism). At other times, I want to deactivate my tumblr and create a blog where I am my only follower. A place where I am free to rant with reckless abandon.
But the strangest urge I sometimes get is the one to write something so intimate and raw that I don’t want anyone and everyone to see it… just a certain select group of people. This selected group of people changes every time. But this approach is so passive aggression. I would never directly tag anyone in these posts or tell them to read it, but instead hope they somehow stumbled upon it on their own.
I don’t know if that makes sense. I don’t know. This whole post is so vain. I should probably delete it.
I don’t care how much sex anyone has, how often they do it, or who they do it with. I’m much more interested in the consent, pleasure, and well-being of the participants and the people affected by it. I respect women who are asexual, celibate, monogamous, multi-partnered, or have had more partners than they can recall. I respect women who only have sex after a commitment to monogamy and those who have sex with someone within minutes of meeting them. I respect women who have transactional sex, women who have sex for love, or for any other reason. I know that all of these categories are permeable and that many women move from one to another. And I know that any of these decisions can be made from a place of personal power, choice, and authenticity, as well as from a place of coercion, shame, and disempowerment.
Charlie Glickman (If You Don’t Respect Sluts, You Don’t Respect Women)
I don’t know where
I don’t know with who
I just know that I want to get out
some place where I don’t have to worry, think, or even feel anything. I want to lay on my back and float down this river of emotion to a pond of tranquility.
I want to live in an anime world where everything is flawless and beautiful. Where I’m flawless and beautiful. I want to escape to a place where I’m capable of defying the laws of gravity, the government, and social norms. Where I’m the master of my own score-sheet.
I want to go back to a simpler time where all I had to worry about was fun: what to do for fun, how to maximize fun, and how deep does this everlasting well of fun last. Ignore all the bullshit, problems, and responsibility.
Fun. Excitement. Adrenaline. Purity. Mystery. Ignorance. Innocence.
I just want to get away.
you are an ugly reminder of how foolish, how gullible, how ridiculously pathetic I once was.
You didn’t do anything wrong, and you have no reason for having any guilt. In fact, I’d feel guilty if you felt guilty. Why? Because I finally understand your thought process: You tried a relationship with me but you ultimately knew that it was destined to fail (possibly from the beginning) so you slowly backed away after you fulfilled your most basic of lustful needs. I understand that now because I’ve been trying to see your side of it this whole summer, and I finally have! I’ve been eating hearts this whole summer and I get it now! It couldn’t have been done unless I broke the hearts of hopeful men, but I understand!
I eased the guilt of playing all these romantic hopefuls by tricking myself into thinking there was ever a spark; however, I knew from the start there was never a start between us. I just wanted one thing and one thing only. And once I got it, I tossed them aside like dirty laundry, just as you to me. Delicately and sweetly of course, just as you to me. “I’m not ready to date” just like you said to me three weeks after you dated your ex and three weeks before you found your new BF.
But at least I finally understand it all now! Your side has become so clear to me. So why do I still get frustrated whenever I see your face? I cannot stand that I’m still reminded of my naivety. How could I have been so STUPID? I knew your ploy from the start yet I let me guard down. Once I had hope we could have been something more, I lost. I LOST THE GAME. My ego? My Pride? defeated.
But I guess I should thank you for teaching me the reality of dating. Thank you for teaching me to never let my guard down; that dating is all a game, and the winner is the one who leaves with their heart still in tact.
I know I like you because my initial reaction was “Damnnn, you are fine.” But not that kind of fine. Not the ‘fine’ that directly translates to “I’m TRYNA FUCK”, no, not that one. I’m talking about the respectable ‘fine’, the ‘fine’ that makes me want to get to know you a little bit more. The ‘fine’ that has me desiring to see your face again. That ‘fine’ that has me wishing for another opportunity to meet you.
I actually feel a tad bit embarrassed. You caught me staring, gazing, dazing into your eyes. I couldn’t help myself, you were so adorable. In your proper flannel shirt underneath your navy blue sweater; your fashion sense was so classy.
“Hi, I’m ______” you approached.
We shook hands and then parted, but I bet you didn’t know how much you had me crushing.
I don’t even know if you are queer but you sure seem to have a lot of the same mutual queer friends I have. I hope you are.
I hope you remember me. I hope I see you again. I don’t know you well, but what I do know is that I hope our paths will cross again. Perhaps another conference? QACON, perhaps? Perhaps.