Constellation

I don't need you to complete me, because I am not comprised of individual parts that can be removed and reassembled at will. I am a whole entity, an existing body that isn't missing any vital piece. You do not hold the final piece of the puzzle, for I am not a fragile, irregularly shaped hole without you.

I am a mass of stars that shines with its own intensity, I burn with my own incandescence and I am bright even without you. But I need you. I need you to point out the constellations within me, to show me what's beautiful in me, that which even I do not see. I need you to make sense of the mess that I can be, the mess that another would see, but no, not you. You make sense of the senseless and with your fingers, you trace beautiful patterns of warriors and heroes. You are not another star that completes me, you have to be more than that - you have to be the one that truly sees me.

My Hatred of New Year's Eve (A Loony-Cuckoo's Rant)

We place so much emphasis on celebrating those last few moments of a year. That last final day is so important, because this year will never come again. The past is behind us, let us look forward into this brand new year that we have yet to screw up! A fresh slate, finally, the stink of 2011 was getting unbearable to be around. 

But what makes the 31st of December that magical? If the Mayans had decided to finish the Calendar a day early, or to give February a few extra days (those stingy bastards), the New Year's would come a day later, or a day early. This essentially makes celebrating New Year's Eve completely arbitrary, because a calendar is based on the assumption that one can effectively quantify time. Time isn't a moving river, flowing on a linear scale, as people would have you believe. Clocks give us 24 hours in a day, and broken down into a second with every tick. But isn't the measure of a "second" really man-made? How can we define time as a ticking, moving entity when it has existed long before our planet has? Time isn't the thing that is passing, we are. Time doesn't exist in clocks or calenders, time exists in the growth of a child, in the wrinkles of a grandmother, in the changing leaves of a tree. We cannot celebrate the end of a cycle of "time", because it has never moved to begin with. As William Faulkner said, "Time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stop does time come to life."

To me, the belief in the the flow of time is the same as believing in religion. The Bible and the clock, both handiwork of men, created to explain what we did not understand. You might argue that the existence of day and night time surely means that time has to be moving in order for there to be a difference in the amount of time we receive sunlight. But the difference between day and night, of course, is simply caused by the rotation of the Earth; once again, we are the ones that are moving - not time. The very fact that we can simply declare Daylight Saving Time, to casually shift an hour forward or backwards, shows us the fickleness and flimsy nature of "time". If time can truly be measured, like a length or a weight could, we wouldn't be able to just announce that we'd take an extra hour here and there. Time zones present another issue for the argument for time. Two people standing on opposite sides of the globe are speaking on the telephone. They are in the exact same moment, and the guy in China has arrived in the new year, but the guy in America is physically denied from entering it, just because he's standing somewhere else? It was, once again, arbitrarily decided that US follows Asia as far as time zones go, so if once upon a time we decided that US should lead, then Americans would enter the new year first. Of course, quantifying time is a very essential tool, it gives us a reference point as we plan our days. However, to base our whole lives around the concept that a new calendar year means anything is just silly.

But people do celebrate New Year's Eve, that's irrefutable. I believe they celebrate it because they need to. They need to believe that next year will be different, that all their promises to themselves will materialize and come to fruition through no effort of their own. They need to look forward after miserably screwing up everything they had in the previous years. People want to believe that this would be the year everything gets better, this will be the year they lose some weight, this will be the year they find true love, this year just has to be the year of all years. And then a year later, we're at another lame, noisy party, drunk. We're back where we started, making the same empty promises for our same empty lives.

Countdown! ... 4, 3, 2, 1 *Happy New Year!* And ... you're still a screw up. 

This isn't meant to discourage people from trying to make a change in their lives. All I'm saying is, it's pointless to wait till a completely random date that ancient civilizations came up with to do it. Every moment brings new opportunities and challenges, it is only human laziness and procrastination, dabbled with naive hope, that makes us believe in the magic of a New Year. Go out there and make that change, don't let some silly Mayans stop you.

Pop, Six, Squish, Uh-huh, Cicero, Lipschitz! (NYC Day 2)

The absolute best way to start a morning off is to talk a walk in Central Park and let the pungent aroma of horse droppings smack you awake. Sidestepping horse-drawn carriages, my local tour-guide Alex, whom I recruited off the streets of NYC (who says New Yorkers aren't nice?), took me on a hour-long guided tour around the most celebrated park in the world. Everything in the park is planned, he says, from every curve in the path to each unique tunnel, from every contour of the lakes to the positions of each stone. "No shit Sherlock," I reply. "You mean a park didn't naturally confine itself into a perfect rectangular smack in the middle of a city?" What a dumbass. Should have sprang for a real trained guide. 

As I walked along the man-made forests of Central Park, I couldn't help but feel oppressed. Everything was beautiful, for sure, with all the gazebos and terraces, but everywhere you looked, buildings obstructed the fringes of the park. I suppose the beauty of this park was that you could escape the bustling city-life for a quick dip into nature, and you could just as easily get back into the city if need be. What I felt, however, was this sense of confinement and restriction, as if some higher government power had set regulations on how much nature we could have, which of course, was exactly what the early settlers of NY did. The buildings framed the park so perfectly that even though you were surrounded by nature-y things, you can't really bring yourself to feel like you've been immersed in it. Surprisingly, the only place where I felt a sense of claustrophobia wasn't in the city, but felt it instead in the park where one's supposed to be able to escape from it. It's amazing what you notice when you're looking at it again with adult eyes. 

But of course, I'm letting my neurosis get in the way of a perfectly beautiful experience. I saw where Charlotte and Miranda went jogging, where Carrie fell into the lake after a heated argument with Big, where that guy proposed to his girlfriend on a bridge with a 4-piece band in that viral video, where Joseph Gordon Levitt did a big dance number in 500 Days of Summer. It was idyllic and restful, yet architecturally stunning and classy, the kind of place where young passionate romantics as well as old wrinkled lovebirds can both enjoy equally.

The main event for that night was Chicago, the Broadway show I've been dying to see. Now Chicago holds a very special place in my heart. From the first time I saw the movie, back when I was 10 and my sis was forced to bring me on her date, I was hooked The full story is that she lied to our mom about where she was really going, but my mom, being a mom, figured it out and used me to ruin sis' plans. Yup, I've been a pawn in my family's mind games since I was born, my manipulative personality is a product of their actions. Just a little note to the future judge who'd be trying my case. 

So anyways, there I was, ten years ago, on a date with my sis and her schmuck of a boyfriend - and I was completely enthralled by the glamorous, murderous vaudevillians. Apart from The Sound of Music, this was one of the first musicals I've seen, and my perception of a musical was that it was supposed to be all cheerful and Switzerland-ish. People were supposed to sing about how their favorite things consisted of kittens and mittens, not how much their exes deserved ten stabs in the chest! My ten-year-old mind was completely blown by Chicago's dark satire of our society's tendency to glamorize crime, although of course back then I didn't have such pretentious thoughts. I was just simply enchanted.

My seat was 5th from the stage and an excellent view of all the gratuitous skin that was on display. I was a tad disappointed with the almost non-existent props - I had been so spoiled by the movie version's elaborate sets that I forgot that Broadway shows simply don't use such detailed devices. A lot of it is implied, a little like how in the Shakespearean plays the audience is invited to imagine their own sets. For two and a half hours, I was living and loving the sexy, gritty world of glamorous danger, set to witty lyrics and impeccable footwork. I'd be so happy up there, I thought. That was my world. 

Times Square (NYC Day 1)

As it turns out, it is completely possible to plan a ludicrous Christmas vacation just one week in advance. The insignificant detail that the planning occurred in the midst of my finals did little to hamper my efforts. I don't think I can stress enough how little philosophical musings and key journalistic standards mean to me when there are Broadway shows to be booked and itineraries to be compiled. Minute details like budgets are petty annoyances and must never be taken into account for crazy-fun holidays. A five night stay at the Hilton? Yes please. Best seats for the Phantom of the Opera and Chicago? God you're turning me on. A sex-filled extravaganza in the greatest city in the world, getting swept away by the bustling energy of famously jaded New Yorkers, all while having tongue-related pleasure-spasms from NY chilli dogs? Hell to the yes.

After a three hour flight behind a guy who's two decades too old to have a multi-colored, dangling, flaccid mohawk, I was whisked into a shuttle cab that drove me into the heart of Manhattan, dodging bluetooth-wearing businessmen that enjoy weaving in-between cars on the road. I stepped into the lobby of the Hilton with my prepared shades and leather duffel (Coach and Fossil, in case you're wondering how impossibly classy I looked and wanted to emulate it for yourself). I was in the metropolis that gave us Sex and the City, I must do Carrie proud. (This is only the beginning of many, many SATC references, toss back a cosmo and brace yourselves.) 

Times Square was the subject of my hunt that night. The genius thing about NYC's streets, of course, is in the grid-like numbering. You could never get lost, simply follow the numbers as you would a grid. Each street intersects with a perpendicular avenue, and as long as you knew the intersection you can navigate the streets like a pro. That is, unless, you manage to untangle yourself from the surprising number of Elmo furries on the streets coaxing guileless children into taking photos with them. 

People in mascot costumes always freaked me out. Just the thought of knowing that some poor sonofabitch is in there, humiliating himself for a few tips from boisterous tourists while putting on a creepily cheerful disposition is enough to turn my stomach. What are they thinking as they put their furry arms around our children and wave at the camera? God I hate kids, if these paw-hands weren't obstructing my fingers I would snap each and every one of their necks ... Or worse, what if they were sweaty pedophiles with their greasy hair plastered onto creepy grinning faces? Who knows what kinda psychos lurk beneath the innocent mask-face of stupid, slow Elmo.

I didn't stumble upon Times Square as much as it sprang upon me and ejaculated its load of insane energy, lights, crowd, smoke and noise on my face. You don't walk onto Times Square, you get thrust into it. Billboards, giant screens, bright, flashy lights. Every time you turn your head it only gets wilder, every step brings you to something even cooler. The huge smiling face of Janet Jackson looks down upon me as I float about in a daze, soaking in the sizzling atmosphere of it all.

Partaking in a very new yorkish tradition, I purchased my dinner from one of the Halal street vendors. Apparently, there's a world famous one right by the Hilton, where people would wait ridiculously long for some silly chicken over rice. I, instead, went for the cart right next to it with much fewer people. This is the ugly sibling effect. It's not as famous, probably because it's just not hyped up by some food journalist who has never really had authentic Muslim food from an Asian country anyways, but still tries hard to please its customers because of the pressure of its much more popular sibling. In any case, it was still delicious and definitely still over-priced. 

Coffee

Lower that cup of coffee right now. You were going to just drink it all up right away, weren't you? The hasty way most men skip foreplay and just dive into the sex. No. That's not how we do things around here. 

Hold it in your hands. Feel its warmth in your fingers, just knowing it's close. Now, close your eyes and think about tasting it. Think about its earthy aroma swishing around your tongue. Picture the eclectic bite, the comforting familiarity. 

Now smell it. Just a little. 

Mmm. 

Pull it away. Just tease yourself a little. Let the aroma of coffeebeans go through your nose and straight into your head. Up, and down. Up, and down. Take a longer sniff. Don't rush it. 

See that foam? Lick it off and roll it around your tongue. Feel your heart pounding for it. Edge yourself till your hands are trembling from the anticipation. Now bring it up slow. Real slow. Put it up against your lips. 

Now sip. 

Oh yes. 

-Adapted from Ally McBeal's Drawing The Line

December

I wished for you as the days got colder

Specks of white hail the dawn of winter

To Santa and his band of reindeer

I send a carefully crafted letter

Every night of every hour

Let me still remember

Your sweet laughter

This silver

December

The Apartment

His apartment is a cute little thing, very nicely dolled out, with bold colors dashed across the room. It's organized but not coolly so - he's careful to project a sense of welcoming and comfort. Neatly arranged rows of shoes are offset by cushions that are carelessly tossed about. He doesn't want the militaristic neatness to seem oppressive to anyone, lest it force them away. There's a 'warm lighting' policy that forbids harsh, florescent glares from intruding into private moments. Warm, dim glows illuminates the living quarters and throws flattering shadows onto Marilyn Monroe's coy smiling posters. An asymmetrical glass-and-steel coffee table hints at his modernistic and stylish flair, while framed posters of classic movie stars give us glimpses of his secretly old soul. The living room is inviting and hospitable - many guests have told him so - and he takes a lot of pride in making people feel comfortable and welcome.

The bedroom, however, tells a vastly different story. Everything is minimalistic here - none of that indulgence that was so apparent in the living room. If the theme of the living room is 'indulgence', then the bedroom must be 'spartan'. Only the bare essentials are apparent there: There is a bed - rather, two mattresses pushed together on the floor - and there is a desk and there is half a closet. The only evidence of any excessivity is found in the closet without a door, where jackets, blazers, suits and shirts are organized based on occasion, material, color and season. Apart from that, the room is barren with beige walls and a solitary and lonely James Dean poster. The odd hugeness of the room, uncommon for a bedroom, only makes it seem even more hollow. The only source of light comes from a cheap Target floor lamp that overexerts itself as it feebly tries to brighten up the room. 

The apartment has unconsciously became a reflection of his self. His public personna, the side he reveals to guests, is warm and welcoming, stylish and exuberant. His truer side, however, where he sleeps and is most vulnerable, is left unattended to. As long as he keeps it inside and place all his efforts into keeping up appearances, no one, except those that have been in his bed, will know the real state of his being. Besides, he doesn't spend much time in there, not while awake anyways. He doesn't like remembering how he bawled his eyes out in on the first night he ever slept in that very bed.

In many ways this an apartment for two. For reasons unknown to him, his bathroom was made with two sinks, but he always sticks to one. Perhaps he's saving that one for someone he's yet to met, who would claim that sink as their own. Some couples give each other drawers, he gives out sinks. Everything he buys he buys in twos, evidenced by his matching sets of two bowls, two plates, two mugs and two glasses. Exactly two. He doesn't know why - he only ever uses one, but like it is with the sink, maybe he's getting himself prepared. Maybe sometime the other set will get some action.

J'aime ... je n'aime pas

I like gifts when they're sentimental and small, something I can hold in my hands and feel the memories pulsating within. I like attaching too much emotional value to inanimate objects because the real value of anything only comes to life with the thought we put into it. I don't like gifts when they come with an expectation, like a gift of money to a prostitute implies that she's now obligated to give you sex. I don't like expensive gifts that make you tread carefully with the giver from that moment on, because you don't want to offend him after he's done something so nice for you. You end up second guessing your actions and words around him, as if internally judging if your cheap shots live up to his weighty gift.

I don't like labels when it's describing the internal. I don't like how every label comes with its own host of stereotypes that we end up unconsciously trying to fit just because we know the people around us expect us to. I like labels when it's describing the external, like clothes and statuses and relationships. Armani. Baller. Boyfriend. I like how it gives us a safe zone to function in, how they let us know what to expect, without really defining the limits of our boundaries. They make me feel safe, secure, and even if its an illusion of security I'll take it for what it is.

I like chocolates when I'm drinking it out of a chocolate martini, and when I'm blindly picking it out of an assorted candy box. I like chocolates that come with Christmas and all the well-wishing cheer behind it, like tasting their joyous spirit in each cocoa-filled bite. I don't like chocolate when it comes with tears, like out of a sob-fest ice-cream binge. I don't like chocolates that comes with fruit-fillings, because stop trying to help us deceive ourselves - we're eating chocolate, lets stop pretending it's healthy.

I don't like you when you're ignoring me for work, when I'm reminded that time with me doesn't provide you with a paycheck - therefore time not spent working is time wasted. I don't like you when you make decisions for the both of us, then accuse me of only thinking of myself when your supposedly selfless decisions were centered around you. I don't like you when you thoughtlessly waste my efforts. But each time I turn to look at you and see you already staring at me, I like you a little bit more.

Morning

The brightest rays of the morning

Comes not from the sun

Through the blinds it shines

The sweetest sounds I hear

Comes not from the lark

Whose songs find these ears of mine

That which makes me feel alive

Comes not from my first breath

As I open my eyes

It is your face, exhale, and presence

By my side as I awake

In which I find the most exquisite surprise

Therapists Are Wrong

My therapist said,

“What you think are your flaws

should in no way give you pause,

cause every insecurity there ever was

must be embraced because

- you see,

what we think is wrong in us;

the way you address stress and obsess

to impress and profess some finesse

you think you possess,

the way you cuss and mess

when you play love like it's chess

- it's no flaw, it's a strength!

You're not needy, you're passionate!

You obsess because you don't give in to fate!

No, no – it's not a debate.

I hate seeing you in this state,

You pay me an hourly rate to set you straight.

Your words merely don't translate,

it's him that can't appreciate.”

When I was younger

I was a victim of this exact delusion.

I lived under an illusion

That love has to be the conclusion

to any story – so imagine my confusion -

My shock when heartbreak would knock;

When I realized the only way to block

any hurt was to lock myself up, round the clock.

I can't even walk a few blocks

without having my heart crushed like chalk

by some cocky jock from Bangkok.

All along,

I thought they were in the wrong.

I told myself to bear the pain, to be strong,

sing another 'Fighter'-esq boy-bashing song.

A lifelong throng of 'run along', 'so long'

'One day I'll find someone with whom I belong',

But it wasn't long

Before I started turning introspective.

Who am I from their perspective?

Behind a facade deemed attractive

Were there native qualities so repulsive

that if they told me, I wouldn't even believe.

Am I supposed to keep going on,

basing all my dreams upon

some fantasy I've drawn with crayon,

that I'm in fact not some moron

with every shred of common sense foregone.

It finally dawned

That fawning over any brawn

Killed my ability to differentiate interest from a yawn.

Maybe it's my problem for blinding my own reason

with the weight of expectation,

for wanting heaven before date number seven,

for desiring so much that I completely lost touch

of the reality - that we live in a world

where things aren't just handed to us.

Where we're harassed in this circus

of vicious strangeness,

navigating without a compass

through this wondrous darkness.

When did life become a pursuit of ice-cream and orgasms,

where freedom gives way to outcomes of threesomes.

When we learn words like scrotum and condoms,

Does sex become the anthem we parade in our kingdoms?

I've heard it said that 'you deserve better',

but who's left behind, or does that even matter -

aren't we're all just picking up pieces the previous shattered?

It's not you, but it's also not all me,

we're all fucked up in ways we can't even see.

You're a dick of the highest degree

Yet I'm a dick for being your devotee.

Maybe one day we'd both agree

to cease this self inflicted murderous spree.

INFJ Dating Bible or: How to Date an INFJ

Source: Modalities of Existence 

INFJs are, by definition, rare, reserved, and unlikely to initiate anything, which means that many of them can end up alone and misunderstood. To help with things, I’ve compiled a list of points which I think would be of great use to anyone considering dating someone who identifies as an INFJ.

• For most INFJs, omitting or distorting information is equivalent to lying, and at the very least will rouse their suspicion. INFJs have an acute sensitivity for stories which don’t quite fit. At the same time, INFJs also like to assume the best and can be extremely gullible.
• INFJs are adept at nonverbal communication (eye gaze, touching, body language, etc.). Just because they’re not speaking doesn’t mean they’re not saying something.
• INFJs have an extremely complex internal value system. An INFJ will see if you ‘fit’ into their world, and they’ll bend their own rules if they really like you. INFJs tend to have very high standards, but are also very accepting once they trust you and know you’re safe.
• INFJs can be pretty intense emotionally. This isn’t to say that they can get into a heated argument, in fact INFJs avoid conflict, however they are easily hurt and feel very deeply. It’s not uncommon for INFJs to cry if they feel something very deeply.
• INFJs are weird / odd / strange / extremely rare and they very much know it. They yearn to be understood and want to be accepted as they are (as most people do, of course). An INFJ is incredibly complex, so complex they confuse even themselves. They almost always feel misunderstood and ‘hidden’. They will be offended if you pass them off as ‘simple’ or ‘average’. Getting to know an INFJ takes work, so be prepared for that. A lot of gentle enquiry is required.
• INFJs can often mimic other types.
• INFJs are typically better in writing than in verbal communication. If you want to know an INFJ’s true feelings, ask them to write out what they think and feel.
• INFJs don’t typically engage in casual relationships. Most of them will become too attached for it to be possible. If your intentions aren’t serious then you should probably steer clear of an INFJ unless it’s very obvious beforehand that they aren’t interested in a serious relationship.
• An INFJ’s allegiance is no trifle. If an INFJ wants to stick by you, it means they really like you. Do not violate that gift.
• INFJs consciously choose the people that are close to them. They would rather have a few very close friendships as opposed to numerous superficial ones.
• They open up at a dinosauric pace. They typically hold themselves back and consider that behaviour to be part of their nature. They’ve been described as having ‘layers’ which only a select few people are privy to, the closer the layer to their heart, the fewer people are granted access. Do not expect to find yourself in the ‘top tier’ overnight. It often takes months or years to access the deepest recesses.
• INFJs, like other idealists, love harmony. While an INFJ is relatively adept at conflict resolution, they do not appreciate the unneeded creation of conflict. An INFJ will strive for harmony.
• The ‘N’ combined with the ‘J’ in INFJ means that they are future oriented. Do everything you can to make yourself seem like a long-term option. If you become destructively impulsive, an INFJ will lose the ability to see you as a long-term mate, and will become unhappy as a result. INFJs are future-oriented and have powerful imaginations and superb insight.
• INFJs are extremely sensitive. Make sure that criticism is handed as lightly as possible and constructively. At the same time, INFJs love to please their partner, and will work on an issue if presented in the right way. When to be blunt with an INFJ: never. Be honest and direct, but there’s a fine line between direct and insensitive.
• INFJs love helping people. If you’re bad at accepting help (yes, accepting help is a skill), then get ready to have problems. To reject an INFJ’s help is to reject their love, and one of the things they hold nearest to their hearts.
• An INFJ’s ability to help people goes hand-in-hand with their ability to destroy people. Their keen knowledge of people’s weaknessess means they can either help you incredibly or destroy you, however the latter is extremely rare and is only reserved for people they believe have done serious harm to them or others.
• They need patience but they give patience in return.
• They’re curious about other people. To their friends, they are very accepting. However, the closer one gets to an INFJ’s heart, the more their standards will apply to the other person, which can sometimes create issues.
• They often have darker periods where they close up. They can become monk-like and reclusive. It doesn’t mean they don’t like you, it just means they need to recharge.
• They can be stubborn once they believe they’re in the right, especially if it has to do with their values.
• INFJs hardly ever initiate anything. They like it when the other person initiates a conversation, contact, etc.
• INFJs need 2 things to thrive: trust and safety. Trusting you is about knowing that you’re ethically and morally upstanding (or at least in accordance with their values), and feeling safe is knowing that you’ll stick by them. INFJs don’t want to open up to people who might disappear overnight. If an INFJ feels they can trust you and feels safe with you, they’ll be very happy. The only added bonus is to tell them how much you appreciate them.
• Their energy drains when around others. They will need time alone to ‘feel like themselves’.
• Your energy will easily affect them. If you seem unstable, etc., it will seep into them and poison them. It has often been said that an INFJ’s partner has to be strong, and this is generally true.
• INFJs live in a world of fantasy. They can have problems consolidating their idealism with the reality of the world.

Useful quotes from the internet about INFJs:

On truth:

“INFJs are all about deeds, not words. Don’t fuck up anything when you are granted a stage by an INFJ. It may take a long time before they give you that stage. Remember that they are intently testing you at that point. Talk all you want after that audition, providing you pass the test. The conversation will be most pleasant forever after … until you fuck up.

Eight years of marriage to a textbook INFJ has taught me the power of truth. I have seen what happens to people who deceive an INFJ. They are dropped like a hot pan.”

On vengeance:

“I do think that’s one of the main features of the INFJ type, vital even: a strong sense of right and wrong; they can’t tolerate wrongdoings of any kind. But at the same time, I’ve observed that INFJ’s attitude over their sense of morals comes in two variants; Jesus-like ones that say “turn the other cheek”, and the badass Kenshin ones that punish wrongdoers.”
—
“I have an INFJ friend, who is someone I would never EVER want to piss off, I’ve seen him angry only once in my life, and he goes all out then, lashing out to the point that it’s fearsome and it takes nearly an hour for him to cool down… it would start with him just suddenly becoming quiet and very isolated and then bam!

If ever in a war, that dude is on my side as a general!”
—
“We go through great efforts to keep everything civil, friendly, and harmonious, and we even allow people a certain amount of “buffer space”. But once you’ve overstepped that boundary or pushed things too far, then BAM! Tactical. Nuclear. Strike.”

On holding back:

“My tendency to hold back IS who I am, and I am okay with that. I embrace that.

Because I am here and my friends know it. I am at my maximum potential when I am taking care of my family, yes, but I have many close friendships I nurture on a regular (every few weeks) basis, and they are almost as important to me.”
—
“INFJs take time to open up. They are slow burners. I find I can’t really get to know them until after many prolonged conversations. But after you enter their realm of trust they are the sweetest, most genuine people.”

On Sex:

“If I pursued a lot of meaningless sexual relationships, I can guarantee you I would be miserable in the end. It’s not in my nature. I am 100% aware that I’m someone who has to have a certain level of emotional bonding and trust to have sex with someone, and while I’ve had friends give me a hard time for it in the past, I accept this about myself. I can’t turn that off, and I know it. So, instead of living in denial, trying to be “the tough chick who can have sex like a man,” I hold out for someone who actually values my true nature. If I didn’t do that, I’d only be hurting myself over and over again. Denying your true nature in an effort to be “fashionable” or “modern” or “independent,” in my opinion, really comes back to bite you in the ass.”
—
“I can’t see the appeal of casual sex, for me I have to be in a relationship with someone before I’d consider sex with them. Sexual intimacy is much more valued and emotional to me and I do not want to waste that on people I don’t know or do not have a special bond with.”

On Feeling Different:

“I have always felt extremely different from others. I know when people are sick, even sometimes right down to what is bothering them. I am automatically drawn to people in pain and instinctively help people through hard times with out even knowing I am doing it.”

On Love:

“INFJs are more “for the cause”, not free-love.”
—
“INFJs look scary love-wise.”

Exclusivity

I do admit that I try to keep control of my life through possessing stuff. I need to be able to say for certain what I have, the things I own tell me what I'm able to secure. At a time where nothing much in my life stays constant, I long to be able to just hold on to some things with no fear of it being ruthlessly taken from me. 

Loss is a part of life. It is a concept everyone is aware of but not one that is easy to swallow. In times following great loss. we scramble to recover what we can, to scour and gather up the little pieces of our fragmented lives. We hoard and we jealously defend what's left of us, and we build up even more barriers to keep the people around us at bay. They are thieves, just waiting for our guards to be let down before sneaking in and taking what little we have left.

I pity the people who desire to live lives of blurry encounters and hour-long commitments. I pity the people whom the word 'commitment' burns their psyches like holy-water on a demon. Maybe players who go home with different people every night feel secure in their own right, maybe they feel content with sporadic bursts of alcohol-aided intimacy. But I can't go through life like that. I need security and constant reassurance that the one I love wants me as much. 

I'm hardwired for exclusivity, and I naturally expect the same from anyone who expects to date me. My off-the-charts possessiveness literally makes me physically sick to imagine my dates with other guys. You can't have it all, expecting me to hang around while you enjoy non-exclusive playtimes with someone else. It's not easy getting someone like me to open up again after someone elses' actions forces me to back away, and squandering my trust doesn't end well for either of us.

Emotional and physical fidelity is not something that I will ever even entertain the possibility of questioning, and wanting me to explain that is like asking me to explain why sharks have a taste for walruses. Nature dictated it, deal. 

Samhain Reading

The Celtic Cross 

1. You now - Four of Swords

The past prevents you from moving on. You feel stuck, paralyzed by your fears and self-doubt generated by pain and heartbreaks from the past. 

2. Obstacle - The Star

Your ideals and expectations are so high that no one, not even you, can live up to them. Freely giving yourself in love because you are idealizing the person.

3. Conscious goal - Ace of Cups

Early stages of love and romance is indicated. You may find that your feelings have intensified, that you are falling head over heels for someone. You can just as easily be infatuated by an idea as you are by a lover.

4. Unconscious influence - Ten of Cups

You crave emotional fulfillment in a relationship. You search for happiness and the promise for more to come. You're looking for a safe haven.

5. Past influence - Queen of Wands

A figure who had came into your life exuding sex appeal and reminding you of your own sexual accomplishments. The person is charismatic and creative, attractive and magnetic.

6. Approaching influence - Knight of Cups

This card appears when we are not honest about our feelings. Do you desire a knight in shining armor to rescue you? It could be time to open up, be more sensitive, play a romantic game, indulge in the most fanciful and protean of love's experiences. Represents someone who is a great lover, full of emotions, charm and desire to please the other.

7. Inner resource or talent - The Chariot

This card is all about confidence, healthy ego and self-belief. You will have the self assurance and spirit to get what you want. Take care not to be too controlling, or let someone who only thinks of himself hamper you.

8. How other see you - Four of Pentacles

People find you mean, possessive, a control freak, stubborn and stagnant. You believe that your way is the only way, and controls others with materialism. You control others very subtly through your ego's need to possess and thereby maintain control. You relate to others by defining your territory, saying 'this is mine, not yours'.

9. Fears - Five of Wands

You fear not knowing where you truly stand with someone. You feel as if the world is against you, that anything that can go wrong has gone wrong.

10. Outcome - The Magician

This card signifies masculine sexual energy. Don't be so focused on yourself that you ignore your deeper needs and values. The Magician always represents an individual that you need to get to know before you hand your heart to him. Recognize that you have the power to create your own reality

The Relationship Right Now

1. Its energy - Temperance

In a sense, you have died and been reborn. The ego has failed you so you finally have the freedom to release it. You are left in total passivity, waiting for the new tools you will need to guide you in evaluating the world.

2. Its communication - Ten of Swords

Before you embark on a new journey, you must liberate yourself from old patterns of behavior, drop emotional baggage and say goodbye to the 'old you'. This is the turning point.

3. Its strength - The Lovers

You may find yourself being tested before you transition into a new phase of life. There may be a new relationship entering your life, one that will have significant impact. Lovers in an upright position indicates that you are emotionally and spiritually ready.

4. Its weakness - Two of Pentacles

You may be juggling too many things at once. Perhaps you need someone else to help balance the psychological books with you.

5. Its reality - Seven of Cups

You have high expectations and expect to get away with anything. You live a life of excess, do not overestimate what someone has to offer you.

6. Its passion - King of Swords

You are excited by a challenge of wits. He is often consumed by his work and has a love for knowledge. He tends to think abstractly and can distinguish truth from untruths. He has an attraction to idealism but may be inhibited by his rational thought processes. His temperament is calm, controlled and objective. He would prefer not to disclose his emotions for fear that it may make him vulnerable. He is cautious and careful as he would like to maintain control and order. He is not always at ease in relationships. Although he can be attentive and charming, he can lose interest quickly. He refrains from giving his emotions too much power. This can at times make him feel defensive and distant.

7. The key to its future - Six of Cups

Relationships may need to become more playful and innocent. Allow yourself to be vulnerable with your partner. Speak from the heart. The Six of Cups urges you to break from past obligations that are holding you back. You may need to let go of old ties and relationships. Be willing to try something new, live in the moment.

Graveyard Musings

Snarling gargoyles bow as I enter
Wintery breezes 
They flirt with my fingers
Sink my feet into burning ice
Conscience is numb
Yet it longs and cries
Cruelty fuels the flame
To ignite all blame
Burn me from the inside
So to you I do the same
Tell me a story, tell me a lie
Make me believe
There's good in goodbye
Carve a pumpkin from a face
Smile to face 
The scythe with grace
Show me longing rips you apart
Show me torn and damaged to start
In a graveyard I make my bed
People don't lie
Are people who're dead
Bouquets of wilted guilt
Sew patches of soul on a wretched quilt
Starlight winks through fog that blinds
Buttercup dew still clouds my mind
I prick my finger to write our names
On a headstone
Where it'll last for a day
A flame flickers with no candle in sight
Muted sorrow brings me a figure in white
My senses know not 
Be it angel or ghost
But kiss me gently
Where it hurts the most
Witches reign yet they bring no peace
Watch me scatter
Piece by piece
Lie with me on a night so still
Lie with me so I feel no chill

Losing Your Metaphorical Virginity, by Stephanie Georgopulos

Who knows when the desire to be someone’s “first” blooms? We decide early on that being the first means something. The first relationship, the first kiss, the first blow job, the first romp, the first love. We assign some heavy meaning to being a pioneer — an expert — in the person we care for. As we grow older, we become desperate for firsts to cling to – at a certain age, they become few and far between.

Logically, the longer our person of interest has been playing the field, the less likely it is that we’ll be their first anything. We know that. We also know, logically, that being first doesn’t strip being second or even third of its meaning. So what if you’re Version 3.0? It just means more thought and attention to detail went into curating your relationship. But love is anything but logical.

That’s why losing your virginity is strange. Most of us believe it’ll be this significant event. And it will be, for some people. But for the rest of us, losing our virginity was just the first time we learned that being “first” doesn’t necessarily mean being “best” or “only.”

It’s a little depressing; that this thing you counted on to add value to your life might eventually become just another stamp in your sexual history passport. Because one day you’ll meet someone who makes time stop and you’ll think maybe they would’ve been worth waiting for, you’ll want to give them one of your firsts. Instead of recognizing that maybe it’s unnecessary to inject our “firsts” with so much meaning, we clamor for new firsts to assign to our relationships.

We get to have a few firsts, but most don’t speak to the metaphorical definition of losing your virginity. Metaphorically, losing your virginity is losing your innocence. Your naivety. After you have sex for the first time, are you less innocent or naïve than you were before? I’d venture to guess that you’re not. I’d venture to guess that, after you’ve slept with someone for the first time, perhaps you’re at your most naïve. Perhaps you believe, “I have won her,” or “He is mine,” or “We are going to be together.” In that way, you haven’t lost your metaphorical virginity – you’ve reinforced it.

The first time you fall in love, and you commit to trusting someone with your secrets and your issues and most of all, your heart … it takes a certain purity to pull that off. That kind of belief is rare, reserved for the Tooth Fairy or religion. To experience it as an adult is sort of a miracle. Your innocence remains in tact.

So when do we lose our innocence? I propose that most of us lose it the first time our heart is broken, the one first we don’t sign up for. When we fall in love with someone, we don’t think, “I want this to ruin me.” We know it might, but we don’t have faith in that. We have faith in love. We are naive, naked, innocent. And when all of our childlike beliefs sit in the palm of someone else’s hand, whether we’ve given them our first time or our first “I love you,” or maybe our second “I love you” or our third “I love you,” they can ball up their fist and crush those beliefs, they can knock you unconscious with that fist (metaphorically speaking, of course). It’s a first beyond our control, the first that teaches us that there is no protecting the things we love, they can be destroyed. We learn to avoid naivety — because if we don’t, if we belligerently believe in love, we’ll be punished for it.

Although it’s likely you’ll lose your innocence to heartbreak, you can find it again. You find it in the eyes of someone new or in the pit of your stomach, thumping wildly like you’ve swallowed your heart whole. You regain your “virginity” every time you overcome the darkness betrayal can breed, every time you find yourself vulnerable in spite of your past, every time you walk around with a stupid grin on your face for no reason and every reason. You take ownership of your innocence when you learn that your first time doesn’t have to be your last time. When someone shows up armed and ready to fight your predilection for distrust, and you, in turn, let your guard down because you desperately want that person to wage war with your common sense, there’s nothing more innocent than that.

Source: Thought Catalogue

Platinum

Hanging Boat Bed

Some of us have dreams about world domination, mass robot slavery or simply to develop the powers of telekinesis. Most of my greatest aspirations, however, all involve beds. And I intended that to be every bit as nasty as you thought it was. Great painters require quality canvas onto which he can unleash his strokes of brilliance - likewise; a master sleeper such as myself require the utmostly sublime bed to rest upon. 

Presenting the hanging boat bed (made with 100% freshly-peeled boats):

 

Just imagine the possibilities. Playing pirate ship on my bed would be a hundred times more realistic when my bed's shaped like an actual nautical, sea-worthy boat!

A Letter To My Future Child

To my dearest darling Michelangelo, 

I would like to begin by addressing this issue: No, you are not named after one of the greatest Renaissance painters of Italy. You are named after an orange-bandana-wearing turtle with ninja abilities and a great love for pizza. Glad we got that out of the way. And no, I had no doubt you would be a son, for I mail-ordered you from Cambodia. All the big stars are doing it, just ask Angelina and Brad. You were in fact a complimentary gift that came along with her 15th purchase, auntie Jolie was nice enough to let me keep you. Apparently there's something about your extra limb that she didn't think 'fit in' with her current freak-show circus, but hey, yay for us, huh!

Now parents don't normally write letters to their imaginary gifted-program-valedictorian-multi-talented children unless they forsee a tragic accident in their futures that involves a treasure hunt and a search for the true murderer behind their mysterious deaths. Like baldy Nic Cage in National Treasure meets sexy Miss Marple. But alas, our circumstances are slightly less thrilling.

The main motivation behind this letter, I guess, is my stint at an After School Program. I know what you're thinking: Daddykins, the great and successful mind behind all the wealth and repute of our great familial empire, had the time to volunteer with children? Yes, it is all true, my sweet three-armed prince. Back in the days where I was ruling the college scene, I volunteered with a housing community for the under-privileged to help with their children's homework. We occasionally play games with them, make arts-and-crafts with them, basically give them the attention they're starving for but unable to obtain from their absent parents. 

That was unfair. Not ever parent can be as attentive and wonderful as I. Remember that when I'm too frail to wipe my own ass. 

Being exposed to all these kids really made me stop and think about what I would do if I had my own children. I'm sure all of their parents had good intentions, but the fact is, some of these children are what we in the grown-up community refer to as little dickheads. Not to be confused with actual small penises, those are referred to as 'failures of mankind'. I honestly have no idea what I would do if my child had grown up to become a racist, inattentive, insubordinate chump who drives volunteers crazy. It's too late for a vacuum-cleaning abortion to dismember his little body now! Do I know the necessary steps I have to take to ensure that my own child never becomes someone that a future blogger would write about? If those children are the future of our society, then we are all done for. I don't want to scare you, honeypuff, 'Gelo dear, but it's true.

By the way, remind me to stop calling you 'Gelo, maybe that's why you eat that much jello and grew so humungous. Maybe if you slimmed down daddy would let you go out in public again. 

Well of course there are just perfect angels at the program that makes everything worth it. Children that grew really attached to me, who would always come clamoring up on me and begging me to play basketball with them. Maybe they ask me because I'm so bad at it and they know they would win. But nevertheless, they're sweet delights to be around. The good ones are always younger, I realized. Would they grow up to lose that sweet disposition and instead take on the grouchiness of awkward pre-teens? That would almost be too much for me to bear. 

So I guess all I ask from you, future light-of-my-life, is for your forgiveness. Parents screw up in every way they can, in all manners whether they want to or not, in every position they can think of. Hang on, that's just for screwing. My point is, I would have given my all in raising you, and all I ask is that you not hold it against me. And to not become an asshole. 

Your loving father,

Father

Kids dig me

Jon McLaughlin Concert

Let us just get one thing out of the way, so you can begin feeling surges of jealousy towards me immediately: I was right up against the stage and Jon did the whole concert looking deeply into my eyes. 

Half of that sentence is true. I actually sat on his lap.

So I heard about his tour back when I was still summer-ing in Singapore. I would have gotten tickets immediately, but of course my bank balance was broke and my credit cards were all cancelled. My checking account was still recuperating from the huge hit it took from the Vegas trip to see Celine. The first thing I bought with my credit card, as soon as I got them reinstated back in Madison, was a ticket to Jon's concert. 

It took place at the Majestic Theater, a really cozy, almost cabaret-esq hall with a moshpit before the stage and tables further back. The environment was really laid back, people were just chilling out, having a beer. Completely unlike any concert I've been to, where it's just overwhelmingly productions with totally focused, zealous fans. Being one of the first to arrive (I don't fuck around when it comes to Jon), I planted myself right by the stage. That walk to the stage was almost dreamlike. You know how in your dreams, everything around you sort of goes fuzzy, and you don't seem aware of what you're doing but you're just kinda floating to your destination? It was just like that. It's almost like my mind still isn't able to process the fact that I'm gonna be that close to Jon McLaughlin. 

He was everything I expected him to be, and then some. Watching him play the piano, with devastatingly quick and powerful bashes on the keys, was like being in the presence of a god. Hearing the songs I've been listening to for years brought to life not 3 feet in front of me by this prodigal genius was just wild. Most of the people there, I know, were there to see the next act, Stephen Kellogg, but I didn't care. I was totally in the zone, mouthing every lyric, grooving and jamming to the lyrics of my star. I drank in as much detail as I could, from the way he grimaces at the piano as if afraid of the keys he were pounding on, to the drops of sweat dripping onto his mic. I was in heaven. 

Some girls shouted "'Human! Play 'Human'!", and he thought about it for a while, and actually did it. I wish they had suggested 'So Close' or 'Beautiful Disaster' instead, and I totally would have made a suggestion but I was alone and mortified that he might actually notice me. 

When the Jon's segment was over, his bassist handed me the setlist they were using on stage. He probably saw how I was the most obvious fan in that section and went, 'Hey you want this?" Hell yeah I want it. 

The only thing that could have made that day even more perfect was if Damian was here. Concerts are infinitely more enjoyable when there's someone that you know would love it as much as you would, someone who's been listening and fanboying that music for as long as you have. Another reason why we should all just move to the US - to watch as many concerts as we can. 



And the setlist personally handed to me by the bassist: 

Berry'gasms

The first order of business is to dig out the insides of some strawberries with a small knife. I have always found this extremely therapeutic, for whatever reason. Maneuvering small knives and chanting out the names of the strawberries (that's right I name them before I gut them) gives me a lot of inner peace.

The next thing you'll wanna do is to fill a piping bag (or a ziplock back with a small hole cut out of a corner) with cheesecake filling and squeeze it into the holes you have just lovingly carved out. 

I like to then sprinkle graham crackers all over a square baking tray and arranging my stuffed strawberries in a 5x5 orientation. Any extras will be mercilessly eaten.

The delicate process of indiscriminately squirting chocolate sauce all over them comes next. Congratulations, you have just created something too beautiful to be eaten. Now step away from the calories and admire from afar, fat ass.

Innovation

My mother has a great mind for new inventions. One time she said to me, someone should invent a device that can shrink people to tiny, tiny objects. Then my dad can be shrunk and put in my pocket, and I can bring him to school with me and he would answer all my test questions and I wouldn't have to fail every single fucking test. Yup, my wonderful and disturbed mother. 

I do love those inventions that are so genius in their simplicity, or sometimes idiotically awesome. Common household items that are utilized in ways even better than its original function, and I am not just talking about carrot-dildos. The following details products I would love to have around the house.

 

Going down blind is a problem we have all faced. You desperately needed to please your partner's special place in that titillating way only a wriggling tongue can, but ended up randomly poking their belly button because you can't see a thing under the covers. Fear no more: The Oral Sex Light makes sure every none of your slurps and licks are wasted on non-erogenous zones. Guaranteed to spice up any dwindling sex-life. Also, if you get bored you could always do a sudoku puzzle down there and they'd never know.

 

If you've ever seen an adorable baby shuffling around on its short stubby legs, I know what must have crossed your mind - all that good effort spent on the floor and nothing is getting any cleaner! Why not stick the bottom of a mop on our darling little Ben here and let the fruit of our loins do some dusting for once? 

 

I don't know about you, but there were dark moments I faced with a runny nose, and I thought, 'I wish a toilet roll was on my head this very instant!" You just reach up and pull down some toilet paper, blow your nose, and keep on walking. Haters gonna hate.

 

The only bad thing about this invention is that the woman seems to be unable to walk forward. And the fact that neither of them seems to be looking at their 'sweat-heart'. Other than that, perfect invention. I can't wait to get it in hot-pink and wear it with my imaginary lover.

 

This is for anyone out there who have always wanted to point a gun at their heads and pull the trigger for a glamorous blow dry. The gun-shaped-blowdryer should be combined with the game of Russian Roulette for a thrilling, all rounded hair drying experience. One out of six chambers would contain a real bullet. So every time you blow-dry, there's a whopping 5/6 chance you'll end up with a gorgeous to-die-for blowout!

 

Isn't it just awful when you have noodle soup during a date, and the soup sauce just indiscriminately spills all over your face and body, as if that prick of a soup wanted you to not get laid or something? Well carry these handsome face guards out to a fancy restaurant - one for you and one for your lovely date - and you'll be guaranteed a clean, soup-free body. Oh and lots and lots of sex, for sure. That thing's hawt. Just look at that sexy sunflower enjoying her sexy noodles if you don't believe me.