Dividends of the Psyche, Matters of the Heart.

December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 February 2012 March 2012 April 2012 May 2012 June 2012

I grew into a extreme thinker at an extremely vulnerable age.

The indigenous "chastity belt"

The first idea of this seemed too much like a religious sacrifice, to me, in the beginning, to be taken seriously. But, as time drew on, and people around me grew increasingly abusive to themselves, and allowed others to abuse them, I knew what I was doing. But I knew deprivation had its limits, and that I'd have to indulge in order to know my true, indulgent, self.

I believed in my ability to transform thoughts into art, as well as the fact that all which I breathed through and nourished could become its own form of a gem -- sensual ingenuity. My bed is my canvas, that which I display hath only become a mere fraction of what I wish to give.

In other words, be not misled by my speech, because an embodiment of the need to satisfy IS me, and if I were to deviate or go away from that... I'd be lying to my true self. I am, without a doubt, a pleaser. Like many religious proclaimers, I am devout in my way -- devotion is the only way. If I am not pleasing, I am not living. Not to be confused with that of a pushover, "Yes Woman", or any passive entity, my deliverance of sweet nothings is only to be imagined if I have yet to give it... That, which daydreams, wet dreams, sweet dreams, are made of.
At the time, I knew that someone deserved to understand my PHYSICAL MIND; just whom, I wasn't sure.


A Youth, In REFUSAL of Rebellion

My body was unique to me, all my own; I knew not to share this secret, despite everyone's eyes peering upon it each day as it changed, evolved, solidified... I was all woman, all of myself, and everlastingly adding to my inner being's necessities. I dared not to be frivolous with it, it made too much sense not to deprive the self for sake of psychological satisfaction. Again, in other words, I got off more on sexual selection, than literally "testing the waters".

My body philosophy stems into the territory of surf culture, and the riding of the wave.
Imagine the body's stance, prior to catching the quintessential "perfect tide"... Mounting one's flat surface and becoming one with the foundation of the board, only to crouch onto it with a limber bent body, and be courage personified. I envision myself, gliding on that foundation; only, my board is my lover, and our skin becomes its own foundation. The sensation, even without actually being a reality [yet], is invigorating.


What's it all mean?

The senses can't be ignored; had I gone my entire adolescence without understanding that my sensual being had been born with the changing of my body and mind.... I'd be as lost as many young women without the appreciation of their flaws as well as attributes. My attributes, in truth, as funny as it seems, ARE my flaws.

The marking of rapid growth I hid with permanent ink about my slender waist, yet right above the ever-ample hips and thigh to my right; the slight dark mole under my lower lip that reminds me that I indeed AM my father's child, covered with makeup; the thickness of my yellow calves, once the source of comical torment as an athletic teen... they are all that which make me the dilligent acrobat I am today.

I invested trust, in a dear friend, of the many insecurities I carry with me at all times, but hardly let weigh me so that I am forlorn and weary (they'll never be that heavy, I assure you) -- my thoughts are vivid, yet frighten me to a certain degree. The fact that they are so abnormal, so ingenuous (NOT to be confused with a pompous self-entitled "ingenious") to others who perceive me, they almost caused me to abandon them; I could, of course, never do that. My eagerness to let someone know I need them, the fixation of the black panther painted intimately about my body, and the symbolic Party spawned decades before my birth, their intersecting significance due to sacrifice... how could I NOT be outdone by myself? How could I not need a break from the racing ideals of protest and emotionally-charged rampage?

However, I am all that I am. And with such fever beneath my inpenetrable surface, there is more than steam brewing within my literary loins.


Note to self: MORE TO COME