“The freedom of authentic masculinity is an amazing thing to see. It produces a “divine elasticity” in men. Finally they can lead with firmness, then submit with humility. They can challenge with a cutting edge, then encourage with enthusiasm. They can fight aggressively for just causes, then moments later weep over suffering.” ~Bill Hybels~
This week I was really moved by art and writing depicting masculinity. There are so many dimensions to a man and I regret that often times those layers get overlooked. They are our fathers, brothers, lovers, and friends. I feel that many cultures promote a misunderstood version of what ‘being a man’ means. It should allow for tenderness as well as toughness, knowing when to follow as well as leading, listening as well as talking. It can’t be easy to balance the yin and yang of life like that. This week was dedicated to our wonderful male artists, models, writers, and the men in our lives.
Scorpions Nest by Elox
Going Away by micmac
Come Together. Brown Sugar Story. by AndGoszcz
comfort kills by clancy214
Pebble on the Beach by Rebecca Tun
A Stroll Down Memory Lane by Berns
The Incubus is Inside the Room by Hector Encinas
Don’t open your eyes,
I have mine on my palms;
Nails that bare deep, and wide.
You fall into my words,
You fall into my mouth.
You find my refuge,
The ceiling of your mouth.
The bed that is your tongue.
The landscape of your body.
That I dominate with mine.
You find your empty soul.
The monster ate men’s children.
I do not.
I eat your core.
The stone in the lake,
The diamond in the desert;
And she gasps.
Hands clenched tight to the sheets.
Hands clenched tight to the sheets.
I find you here now,
I hope you find me,
As well as “I” can……….
Drown in my ocean.
In my water.
That I drain forever;
Ill eat you up..
Ill eat you…up
The pursuit of excellence
Has been replaced by the
Promotion and acceptance of mediocrity.
Now we have a world of:
Junk food, junk bonds, crap culture.
Media empires creating mediocre,
Mass produced crap masquerading as art!
Product designed to appeal to the
Lowest common denominator.
Penetration of demographics
To maximise profits.
No heart, no soul, no passion.
Throw away life-styles, gimmicks, hype
And bullshit fashion!
Smacked out, fucked up attitudes.
Psuedo-neo, post modern, new age platitudes!
Tabloid journo porno,
A world of arse-licking mediocrity!!
Fire breathing dragon in his eyes
myths revealed with each sip of
white rum swimming with milk
burning stories told from his lips
from the Jamaican mountains
his secrets given life
walking into daylight
they will hide when he is sober
he was the drunk of the avenue
liver playing death’s tune
begging to be rescued
but they slit open his wrist
and poured his lover down in him
watching her undress his heart
letting him smell her good parts
the parts that made him walk away
from his cross
she had convenient sex
whenever he needed it
they sold their integrity
their avenue clown
no crimes committed
the sun rest
he stumbled with the moon’s sympathy
leading him home
I could hear the corner baptist church
preparing the halls for his arrival
the undertaker writing his plot.
A story; somewhere fades.
Blue moon shines,
On the desert’s, wet plains.
Monsoons have come to wash the dirt away;
You lay by the wooden veranda;
I smoke my cigarette; you drink your tea.
The silence is a barren landscape in the mind.
To these untailored hours,
Its broken time where we remained;
It set our teeth to chatter.
Lightning strikes the distance, at the feet of a dark blue horizon.
The first light we’ve seen in the mounting stretch of storm.
Thunder roars; the deserts cry has spoken its word.
Monsoons have come;
To wash the dirt away.
the inner turmoil, the constant fights
sometimes “myself” and “i”
won’t let “me” sleep at night
for decades it seems i’ve tried to quell
the demons inside
that created the hell
that was my life ‘till not long ago
but slowly i’m winning
i think i can smell
the fear of a thousand ages lost
and i feel i can finally
bear the cost
of restitution to an almost lost soul
that wants it’s penance
before it opens the hole
where it keeps me locked with an evil grin
and kicks me and laughs
when i try to get in
to collect myself and maybe move on
to the life ahead
where those demons are gone
Brain tumor, he said
Fucking crazy, I’m 20, king of my world
Senior year starts in two weeks, solemn promise self to graduate in four
Mistake, I insisted
Sorry, tumor: is there anyone I can call for you, he asked
Call my mother
I’ll be home later
Immediate operation they argued
Christmas Break: my body, my choice
Will be wrapped around carotid artery by then: death would be upon you
Goddamn all of you and the Dog who made these rebellious cells
Also, premature breakdown of body, especially joints
500 times more HGH in your system: bad!
Probably ought to mention shortened lifespan
(Didn’t tell me I’d want it shortened!)
Right! King of the world, proven indestructible
Surgery: Wednesday, August 13
First day of senior year in a week
I’ll be there damn it
Watch and see! (However stupidly redundant such a thing is to say.)
Ten days, and hell on earth later, back at school
Never would have believed it, said surgeon
Don’t doubt a king, said I
So it was, I began my senior year a week and a half late
No longer quite the king I thought myself to be