Re-Writes..."Why I Blog"

i'm making my "why i blog" a post in order to eliminate some of the confusion i've been having with archiving my work. plus, it's just as true today as it was when i wrote it over two years ago.

"a friend told me i should get a blog. apparently people want to know what i’m thinking. well, i think love. and i think romance. i think about guys that neglect their woman’s need for passion and know that i’ll always be a commodity because of it. just yesterday a woman wrote me she liked something i’d written and how she wanted me to understand why she gushed over my words. to understand that people just didn’t write or say things like i’d written to her. and as i was reading her words how sad it made me feel. sad because i know she has someone in her life. but i had to let her know right then. that was something i wasn’t trying to understand. i never want to be that lame. if i ever acted like love and romance weren’t my life, i’d be a lame ass man. i told her that even though i may not be the best man i can be yet, i took solace in the fact that i don’t have any problem letting my girl know that i wouldn’t be shit without her love and support. and how only a lame ass man doesn’t treat his queen like a queen. i needed her to understand that. so i’ll say it again. i think love. and i think romance. passion is my religion, what i write is the gospel. so you ask why am i blogging? gotta spread the word."

3-20-10

Writes..."Sonnets 111-120"

sonnet 111

“there was a knock at my door late last night…
shocked me ‘cause i wasn’t sure she’d roll through…
she’d said she’d be in town, and that she might;
so i’d responded, “i “might” want you to…
i’m reckless with words when it comes to her,
‘cause our history’s reduced me to “prick”;
with what i say, there’s nothing to deter,
like the fact that she used to suck my dick…
i opened the door wearing just a towel…
then it dropped, but she’d seen my ass before…
and i didn’t care if the action seemed foul,
or appeared i thought i was gonna score…
naked exposure has caused me to see;
our relationship’s based on apathy…”

sonnet 112

“i’m now thiry-two, will be thirty-three,
in age shortly after the autumn’s dawn…
and i’ve discovered a pressing goal for me:
that before i die i create a spawn…
won’t not love a woman with her own kids…
a double negative tendered as proof;
a triple negative means life forbids,
me and my own; that’s what i know as truth…
a woman with kids; wanting, must want more,
not just mine because i don’t have any;
i’ve seen it too many times before,
when words were two-sided like a penny…
she want what i want until we were done,
me without a daughter or a son…”

sonnet 113

“i don’t tell jokes, but i say funny shit;
like that i have abandonment issues…
‘cause it’s hilarious i can’t forget;
the first time she left i needed tissues,
or the last time, when the tears shed were mine…
see, i find those two statements amusing…
‘cept they seems to be missing a punchline…
why is good comedy so confusing?
why is her leaving so disconcerting?
i guess ‘cause she professed a love for me,
and then went away, with my heart hurting,
after having declared a love for she…
perhaps i’m more comedian than not;
my love life being the stand-up i’ve got…”

sonnet 114

“in describing myself, here’s what i say;
i’m like no one but i’m still just a dude…
let me phrase who i am another way:
i’m a nobody with the attitude;
that nobody does it better than me…
whatever “it” is; does that make me vain?
the best there is “from sea to shining sea”…
(insert something here); “amber waves of grain”…
my critics say, well, who knows how they speak,
of someone who gives himself such acclaim?
if pissing excellence means that i leak,
then i leave droplets all over my name…
a talented guy, with numerous skills…
here stands: “the incomparable b. wils”…”

sonnet 115

“ i want a woman in a mini-skirt,
a halter top, with her cleavage exposed…
in clothes that make her intentions overt…
as she leans on a pole, carnally posed…
that’ll wink at me from o’er her shoulder…
as if to offer an invitation…
and i’ll advance; each step growing bolder,
sans even the slightest hesitation…
who’ll watch me approach with a knowing smile…
and raise her skirt to show nothing beneath…
a blatant seduction hoping that i’ll,
place myself behind her to then unsheathe,
the sword located inside “southpole” jeans…
for a passionate act where we mix genes…”

sonnet 116

“i recall when the thought first did occur,
having found out at the age of thirteen…
that being in love was being in her;
but wasn’t her, it was the space between…
because love inhabits where you’re inside;
in those moments when connections are made…
and feelings shared are shared through legs spread wide,
when more than a little skin is displayed…
but there’s no love for her ‘til she is nude,
and offering intimacy to you;
no love for her if you’ve already screwed,
with the pretense it would be born anew…
love is the first feel of her innocence…
when emotions are at their most intense…”

sonnet 117

“all i know of love, everything i’ve learned…
has come from something that i’ve watched or read;
and though it was deemed as passion that burned,
i find it merely a thought in my head…
‘cause it seems love doesn’t truly exist,
at least not in the way it’s been portrayed…
snapshots in black or white of being kissed,
or any act of affection displayed;
of an extreme that takes one to the brink,
along an edge where you can’t help but fall…
i don’t know; all i know is what i think;
i think i know very little at all…
‘cause i’ve only dreamed about the notion,
when love describes action and emotion…”

sonnet 118

“i need a woman and i need one quick,
with double-d breasts and an ass that’s fat…
hand on my sac while she swallows my dick…
er, forget i just wrote any of that…
fuck it, i wrote it, i dare not erase,
a thought explicit; don’t put them past me…
i need a woman; to “bust” on her face;
the use of slang meaning i “cum” nasty…
i’ve changed my mind, disregard those last lines;
i’m just venting some shit that’s in my head…
getting “head” would be what really defines,
the thing i need from a woman in bed;
or kneeling before me, backed against wall…
her need being the release from a ball…”

sonnet 119

“i’ve found in life there’s only one truth:
“a promise only means “promise” to me”…
fact that i’m writing this confirms as proof;
there’s more substance in it than there should be…
“promise you won’t say “i promise” if not;
do this for me since you’ve told me you love…
‘cause words that i use are all that i’ve got,
so i just use words for those i think of…”
she promised she wouldn’t; and i believed,
everything she whispered into my ear…
only for me to learn i’d be deceived,
or had been deceived, so it would appear…
when she promised me we’d always be one…
two halves of a whole; now seemingly done…”

sonnet 120

““a kiss will show if one has feelings for”…
no truer words have ever been spoken…
but i don’t think of talking anymore,
since refined speech tends to leave hearts broken…
so when “she” can’t determine how i feel,
‘cause i don’t verbalize my ardent side…
my lips on her lips prove “we” are for real;
a truthful action that has never lied…
true passion can’t be faked in oral bliss…
two people connected, each play their part…
thus, i swear by chemistry for a kiss:
it’s a concept i hold dear to my heart…
like the song says, for “if you want to know…”
more than all else, their kiss will tell you so…”

Presents..."2 Years Down..." by Natasha Cain

"i'm not re-posting this because it's partially about me... i'm re-posting it because i'm partially responsible for its occurence. and i find the fact that nattie and i continue to push each other with our writing noteworthy."

"as this day is almost over and i am finally able to compose this message that has been lingering around in my head for the past couple of days i shall start in this manner...

two years ago today is when i was talked into starting this blog and i'm so glad that i did. it has helped me get out some things that have been on my mind over the last year. and as i have not written that much this year thus far, i still just have shit to say. but this year may just be different because it was brought to my attention that the writing that i do is meaningless. i really wish that i heard this from a stranger whereas i really wouldn't give a fuck, but, because it was from someone close to me that said it i'm really not quite sure what to feel. i love to write and express my feelings and just because it my be something that is a hitting home on a situation that other people are going thru or a reflection of my life doesn't make it invalidated. so i turned to my spoken words in my vlog....what in the hell for....so you may be aware in my facial expressions that i really don't give a damn or the flip side of me actually caring so we will see how this goes.

also today is yet another special milestone in my life. 5 years ago... i know i can hardly believe that its been that long....but 5 years ago i met this guy of whom pisses excellence now but then back in the day you could bet on a random rant on a "space that was not his own". i don't know what made me respond to that particular rant but it was one of those things that was right on time. and to think that after that he was literally right down the street from me. it was like sitting in a park playing someone on a mobile game and realizing that the laughs were after you pushed the send button. and to this day he is "ketchup" and i love him so much for bringing out a side of me that is now all of me! i love ya b. wilson."

"i love you too "mustard"."

Finally Finished..."The Love Blogger"

“the auditorium where the press conference was scheduled to take place had a maximum occupancy of 300 people, which meant only the who’s who in the world of entertainment journalism had been invited to what was being billed merely as “the event”. brian wilson, known the world over as “the love blogger”, was to make a rare appearance due to the expected release of his second book entitled “as i lay dying”; a line he had borrowed from a faulkner work. his first book “pandora’s heart-shaped box”, titled as a tribute to his favorite band, had been a collection of pieces he had written and compiled over the initial two years of his blog’s existence, and it had been a tremendous success: having garnered both critical acclaim from its reviewers and financial prosperity for the company that published it, as well as its author. and because of that success, “as i lay dying” had become the most eagerly anticipated book in years, perhaps even decades; its release date seemingly a national holiday in some countries, where non-essential government offices were planning to remain closed and many companies were going to give their employees the day off. the date, etched in everyone’s mind was april 14, 2014, and 4-14-14 was fast approaching.

to no one’s surprise, the press conference was slated to start at exactly 4:14 pm on april 13, 2014; the day before “as i lay dying” was supposed to hit bookshelves in every major retailer and online shopping site. it wasn’t a terribly creative idea, but the book was set to start being sold in less than 8 hours and nobody involved in the ad campaign for it felt it necessary to hype up the publicity surrounding its release by doing anything extravagant. there would be no red, white and blue fireworks exploding in the background of the statue of liberty celebrating “the next great american novel”; no 100-foot banner of brian wilson holding a copy of his latest creation draped from the top of the eiffel tower lauding, what seemed poised to become, the next global phenomenon. there wasn’t any need for such outrageous stunts; everyone already knew about the book, and it had been decided that a spectacle would have constituted overkill in terms of exposure and probably have done more to hurt the publication than to help it. they had even tried to nix the author’s press conference; it was only due to his fierce insistence and their piqued curiosity at what someone, who only gave glimpses into his mind through his writing, would have to say when given a microphone for his words and an audience eager to hear them that it had been allowed to proceed.

at 4:14, the doors burst open and two burly ex-football player types in dark suits and sunglasses entered the auditorium, talking loudly to whoever was speaking to them in their earpieces, as if to announce their presence to the awaiting crowd. not that anyone cared, everyone in the audience were too busy making their final preparations for the press conference: journalists organizing their notes and going through the list of questions they had been instructed to get answers to, photographers settling into comfortable positions where they could get front page worthy photos of the author as he made his announcement, whatever it may be; no one paid them any attention at all. they were followed by two more men, wearing the same types of dark suits and shades, who made quickly their way towards the podium. a few seconds later, dressed in a black “armani” two-button suit with silver pinstripes, white shirt and silver tie; and surrounded by four more ex-nfl players turned bodyguards, brian wilson came into the room amid a sea of flash bulbs and chatter amongst the people gathered there. as he walked, his “armani” wireframe glasses began to slide down off his nose and he nervously pushed them back up onto his face; he was anxious, not used to the kind of attention this press conference was bringing him, and he could only think about what he was going to say and the sense of relief he would feel when he said it and this ordeal was finally all over. his four accompanying bodyguards separated; a couple going to the left of the microphones and the others going to the right, leaving the celebrated author isolated in the middle: with all eyes on him, awaiting his every word.

there were more camera flashes as the room began to quiet and soon all that could be hear in the place was slight feedback when brian wilson inched closer to the microphone. he looked over the room for a few moments; then began to speak…

“fuck love.”

and with those words he retreated from the podium, following the path he had taken into the auditorium back out of it; leaving the entire crowd in stunned silence.”

sometime in early '12, just finished today.

Writes..."Sonnets 101-110"

sonnet 101

“every day i’m on the same fucking rant;
and this shit’s eating at my very soul…
i try to get over it but i can’t,
i’m so stressed out, i’ve become an asshole…
nah, i’ve been an asshole; i won’t deny,
though i claim to be a lover of most…
i haven’t figured out exactly why,
“i love you’s” from me make women turn ghost;
like the thought behind the words should be feared…
my brain’s been unable to comprehend,
once i mouthed that line, why love disappeared,
and brought about a relationship’s end...
here’s the question i ponder every day:
is “i love you” now something not to say?”

sonnet 102

“i’ve come to realize that the truest truth,
is one i’ve often thought i could deny…
so i write these words to offer as proof:
i’ll commit to something before i die…
a lady’s next to me with a baby,
big brown eyes staring at me and i know…
not “possibly”, or “perhaps”, or “maybe”;
i “definitely” have to make it so…
to be the reason “she” had curly hair;
or the reason “he” is really smart…
i see unreal children everywhere;
‘cause my mind is in accord with my heart…
like paternal intent’s been set in stone,
i know what i want and i want my own…”

sonnet 103

“sometimes wondered why i was all alone,
and which lover’s absence i’d deemed the worst…
‘til i formed a conclusion on my own:
that i’d never left love; love leaves me first…
didn’t ask her to stay, should’ve, but i,
couldn’t ask her to remain here for me…
i still don’t understand the reason why,
leaving me seemed to come off as easy…
when she’d once professed a love in her heart;
dedicated to one who’d loved her back…
no tearful goodbye when she did depart,
or emotions from words that seemed to lack…
the day she left, her love just disappeared,
and thoughts of loving someone became feared…”

sonnet 104

“i have thoughts of us and a single kiss…
my lips on yours, with our tongues intertwined…
a passionate moment of heated bliss,
where you and i are fullfillment defined…
you want to sneak off to a secret place,
to continue this splendor in private…
but i can’t release such a lovely face;
my desire simply won’t allow it…
i hold you close so everyone can see,
what fervor looks like at its most intense…
the lust between us, that overwhelms me,
proves an energy almost too immense…
with “almost” being the operative word,
since me kissing you is an act preferred…”

sonnet 105

“with her eyes shut, thoughts of me are composed,
every time that she’s in her bed alone…
her top’s still on, her lower half’s exposed;
as she wishes that her hands were my own…
she traces dual paths along naked thighs;
like they’re routes she imagines i would take…
‘til fingers reach the spot where pleasure lies,
of which she does voraciously partake…
driven over the edge of ecstasy,
again and again, her body spasms…
all the while fixed on images of me,
bringing her to multiple orgasms…
though she’s by herself, she’s never solo…
that’s something she and i will always know…”

sonnet 106

“i don’t really know any other way,
to show myself as a different kind…
i guess what it is i’m trying to say;
is that i tend to think what’s on my mind…
my thoughts are: my aim is understanding,
and not acceptance by men anymore…
so maybe i should be more demanding…
‘bout the relationship i’m looking for…
er, not “demanding”, as much as zealous…
in finding people who like me for me…
i’ll say “you ‘get’ me?” and they’ll say “hell yes!”;
“b, you’re as awesome as awesome can be”…
i agree, do people like arrogance,
enough to give knowing me a chance?”

sonnet 107

“having penned thoughts for those that admire,
the thoughts i pen, and everything i write…
i pay tribute to those that inspire,
as a composer of symphonies might;
if words could be forged together as notes,
and used to create an ode one can hear…
when one speaks of love, and using my quotes;
it’s something i’ve written that they hold dear…
thus, i’ll continue putting pen to page,
to author my heart in beautiful script…
exposure seems to be a lover’s wage,
because everything i write is me stripped…
a woman to you, proves a muse to me…
in expressing myself through poetry…”

sonnet 108

“sometimes i think love’s more thoughts in my head,
much less ‘bout any feelings from my heart;
i merely write of the idea instead,
‘cause i can create a piece written smart…
i often feel i philosophize;
in profound thoughts that produce deeper views,
from those who read my words with their own eyes,
as black and white truth, mixed with other hues…
but then i recall that i’ve loved before,
and that love hadn’t been accidental…
at times i’ve determined myself unsure,
feelings show me love isn’t all mental…
i’m a thinker, i’ll do what thinker’s do;
but allow my heart to influence too…”

sonnet 109

““victoria’s secret” dumped in a pile,
barely three hours after first meeting;
i loved a woman, only for a while,
the time fate provided us was fleeting…
i used eloquent speak to invoke lust;
desire from her for me and my prose…
with profound thoughts, i made thinking a must,
far more of a requirement than clothes…
and words aimed at her were meant to seduce,
the initial one established the start…
it didn’t take her much time to deduce;
i wanted her mind as well as her heart…
naked in my arms, an intimate tryst;
became a connection that has been missed…”

sonnet 110

“in the dialogue between me and you,
there is subtext contained in every line…
i say i want one thing; it’s really two:
i want a wife and a child that are mine…
but “i want my own” means quoting myself;
spoken ‘cause i want my own family…
my life, and my definition of wealth,
will be determined by my legacy…
we talk about realizing our dreams of:
committing to each other with a vow,
a baby: half-me, half-you; but all love;
with a happily ever after: now…
i say i want two things; it’s really four:
you by my side, with one kid and one more…”