I Don’t Really Want You

I DON’T really want you.

Yes, you’re pretty, and sure, you may be talented, but I don’t really want you.

The thing is, I want you the way a kid wants a toy when she’s at a toy store. I want you the way a New Yorker wants a taxi cab. And I want you the way someone on Wall Street wants a promotion.

You see where I’m going with this? You don’t want me wanting you this way. Because in my eyes, you’re no different than the scarf that I wear when it’s cold outside or the like the string on our lamp that I flick on when it’s too dark to see. Basically, you’re way too convenient and accessible to me.

We were never meant to be together; you’re wild and free and I’m tamed and isolated. What we need is something that looks nothing like the two of us. Go! Run far away from here. Don’t look back. There’s nothing here for you to see.

I can’t even tell you the last time I felt something real. Was it yesterday? Was it way back when I was on the public transportation staring out of the window? Or was it that time when I saw two gay couple caressing each other’s faces on the subway? I can’t remember. Is this really the type of person that you want to be with?

You don’t need me falling in love with you because if I do you will never know what my true feelings are. I would hide my emotions from you the way a guilty child hides from her parents. I would run emotional circles around you until you tire out.

You don’t need someone like me. I’m too scared to open up. What you need is someone who is full of oxygen, someone who’s nostrils can open up wide to smell your scent from miles away. You need someone who is full of life and who’s not afraid to dance like no ones’ watching.

Are you still listening? No, no, no! you’re making a mistake—–

“Excuse me, buddy, but your wife is waiting outside. She want’s to know if you’re finished with your vows.”

Photo by Gilles Lambert on Unsplash

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“An American In Paris” At Shea’s Theater

an-american-in-paris-poster

THE MOST ROMANTIC,” “The best musical,” and “A triumph;” were just some of the descriptions about the musical that kept flashing on a mounted television screen inside the prodigious theater. The weather outside was brisk—-while the polyphonic theater goers partially waited inside the theater for their tickets to be scanned. For the ones who did not fully make it into the theater to get their tickets scanned first, they, and although it was windy outside of the theater, were at least being dazzled by the dancing of dead fall leaves in the streets.

As I stood idly behind the “Coat-Check” area, I happily observed one of the usher captains chiming the golden dinner bells—-signaling that the show was about to begin and that it was okay to start scanning the tickets of the theater goers. And here they come! Like impatient children awaiting their turn, the massive crowd of theater goers rushed to get their tickets scanned by the security guards. And as the security guards rapidly scanned their tickets, all I kept hearing was Beep! Beep! Beep!

Inside the theater was warm and cozy. More than once, I gayfully observed the chandelier swirling gently from to and fro. And there, on the top balcony, majestic red curtains veiled our high-end members from what seemed like debauchery happening below them; the distant and inaudible chattering of newcomers, with their tall, skinny glasses of champaine, gathering around each other like wolve packs pretending to have class and discussing their theatrical expectations.

Something is different about these massive crowds of people but I can’t quite figure it out—-Ah, that’s it! they are not all well-dressed. A majority of them were wearing jackets with plain trousers and plain shoes. Only a handful of the ladies were wearing their high hills and gorgeous dresses; coupled with their male counterparts whom wore their best suits and fancy ties—-but, unfortunately, they were outnumbered by the majority of under-dressed theater goers. Gone, I tell you, are the days when people dressed their best to see a play/or musical.

While in the theater, and although what we were watching was visually appealing, I must say, that sometimes the loud musical renditions of George Gershwin was a little annoying because it kept drowning out the beautiful, angelic voices of the performers. Also, the irritably weak French accents of the performers made me want to look for the nearest exit doors and shout out angrily, “Pourquoi?!” In addition to the terrible French accents, the stage kept changing too rapidly and the plot was too hard to follow sometimes. Around this time, I remembered one performer saying to another performer, “I want everything to stop changing so often and so swiftly,” and I quietly said to myself, “yes, me too!”

Instead of me doing a poor job of capturing the essence of the musical that I myself and the audiences were watching, I am going to allow someone else to describe the musical for you, Scott Renshaw, an art and entertainment editor; “Jerry Mulligan, a struggling American painter in Paris, is “discovered” by an influential heiress with an interest in more than Jerry’s art. Jerry in turn falls for Lise, a young French girl already engaged to a cabaret singer. Jerry jokes, sings and dances with his best friend, an acerbic would-be concert pianist, while romantic complications abound.”

Although on the surface that might have sounded like a perfect virtuoso of marveling delights and romantic gesticulations, below the surface, though it was not that dazzling. In fact, there were times when I was utterly bored and disgusted at the constant subtle reminders of romantic love. And I know Paris is the city of love and boundless passions, but honestly, the constant reminder and centering of the whole notion of love—as if to suggest that it was the only solution to the uncertainties of life—was just way over the top. It became like a cliché, almost.

Despite those minor and manageable observations, I found the transitions—from one scene or one choreography to the other—to be rather fluent. And the lighting on the performers coupled with the illuminations of the stage was just the perfect amount. In short, the musical score, the angelic vocals, and the breathtakingly stunning choreographies were not only perfect but they made the entire musical worth it. And I would suggest for you to go see the musical for yourself, but yesterday was the last day that it played at our Shea’s theater. And before I go, I must say, that Ballet, and those who make it look so easy, must be the mellifluous and elegant reincarnations of Gods.

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Why You Should Over-CUM Pornography

guy masterbating for intellectual crime scene article

If you’ve experienced some of these symptoms; problem getting or keeping an errection, decreased libido, depression, fatigue, experienced low energy levels and have no satisfaction in life after watching porn, then maybe you should consider over-cumming pornography.

According to the Coolidge Effect, a phenomenon in which male or females exhibit new sexual interests if introduced to new receptive sexual partners, even after they’ve experienced a cessation of sex with prior but still available sexual partners—which also explains why monogamy is DEAD, but, that’s neither here nor there—pornography then, can exaggerate this phenomenon to a point where addiction is irreversible and our reveries are distorted.

The human body doesn’t know the difference between masturbation and actual sex, therefore when you masturbate your body no longer needs to go out and find a mate for a while. It thinks it has done its job and planted it’s seed. And not only that but if you’re a compulsive pornography user, your brain activity will actually start to resemble someone who suffers from alcohol or drug-related addictions.

Not too long ago, I made the decision to cut back on my pornography intake because it was desensitizing me and making me less aroused by real women but more aroused to superficial and always-perfect-looking women on the internet. Also, I found it to be very degrading, neo-violent, patriarchal and misogynistic. For example, some of the porn I was watching only showed the women’s faces—and never the male’s. And, there were zero concern for the female’s satisfaction or orgasmic release—it was always the male using the female as a vehicle for his sexual gratification.

Furthermore, and unlike vintage porn—which is a little more realistic and resembles real life sex—the contemporary porn that I was watching had no plot, no music—just a matter of fact, straight-to-the-point type sex. As you can imagine, this type of consumption can become problematic after a while.

Is there a time and place for pornography? Yes, there is. Pornography as a profession provides jobs for people, puts food on the table for many others, and can make it possible to pay off college, miscellaneous debts, or just to simply become a successful individual. The danger, however, lies in the hardcore consumption of contemporary pornography, which can lead to all types of problems.

Now then, I guess the question is, why do we watch porn in the first place? Well, there are a lot of reasons, but to narrow it down, I think we watch it for instant gratification, to fill a void, and in a way, to love and become more closer with our sexual bodies. None of those things are bad—in moderation. Moreover, we must keep in mind that the more we watch porn over and over again, the lesser we become inerested in the real experience.

I’m no sexual moralist, and I’m not necessarily interested in giving up the activities that define my sexual tastes, all together, which are essentially the same things I’ve liked for twenty-five years now. What I would like to part with, and what I hope for you to consider as well, however, is the behavior that conditions me to be bored with those things and any other realistic sexual possibilities.

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