First Contact

Do your best to hold your composure. Do not appear awkward; do not show a sign of discomfort or unease as you approach the bench. It’s merely an airport gate and you’re not a terrorist. Wait right there, clasp your balmy palms into the warm canyon of your thighs. Not forgetting to pull the hood of the thick cotton sweater over your head, MCO is freezing and flip-flops, though important for Florida, are stupid in central air-conditioning. You’re roommate is about to land, and so is reality. You are leaving. You are leaving the comfort and confides of your home.

It’s only 30 miles to see mommy and daddy when things swelter from stress and agitation.

It’s only 25 minutes in heavy traffic to a steady job where everyone knows, and loves you. There is a steady paycheck. A steady stream of interactions with beautiful people.

It’s only 15 minutes to your favorite bar. They know what you like. And they keep a week long tab for you, because they know, you’re struggling.

It’s only 10 steps to the small open rooms of your best friends. Every worry, left at the inviting doors, and every care tossed out the window as you toke up and vaporize your concerns into a minuscule smaller than oblivion.
This is your home. You love to hate it.

Yet you’re taking one giant leap. You’re strapped into a mechanical nightmare. At liftoff, every stretching inch of your feeble skin will wear off as your shaking bones remain. You are launching to the moon. You are making one small step, but is it that giant leap you desire?

Think you’re clever? Think posting pictures of the lines of your favorite authors will motivate you? Follow the feng shui of a career-driven energy and hang scenic views of the two most beautiful cities for achievement: Los Angeles & New York.

But your door is cracking. The splinters are fine, invisible to the naked eye. Felt only once your vision is pierced. No ghostly light or aura flows through the seams, but a vast darkness of fear pulls you in. Now you’re floating endlessly in the depths of space, begging for some primordial object to bump you in the right direction. Suddenly the realization sets over the sun and the light of hope extinguishes in a cool breath.

In twenty days, you’ll wake up and take a step you never imagined taking. Will you be able to come back down to earth; or will you find yourself running off a lunar crater and swimming towards an asteroid belt?

***

I’m leaving for L.A. in a few weeks. I’m waiting for Justin to walk off his arriving flight from Denver and I start counting the days I have until I takeoff from MCO, and start a new chapter of my life. I almost want to put the book on the shelf, make a note of where I left off, promise I’ll finish it this weekend. But then ultimately I’ll throw the book away while moving, regretting the toss and having to buy it again. I look sketchy sitting on a polished wood bench. I don’t look like who I emulate in writing, nor do I look like the talented individual I dream I am. I look like every average individual walking off that plane; a mere tourist of the waking life.

I spot Justin at the tail end of the herd and flag him down.

“Dude, I did not want to come back to Florida.”

He tells me this. No “hello” or “hey man;” a complete statement. I feel this is how any person returning home may feel though at some point. We walk to get his luggage and he starts telling me about the beauties of the Rockies, the warmth of a city in the cold, and the nature of an urban dream come true.

I fear I’ll go to L.A. and be 3,000 miles away from everything I define as home. Yet when I board the plane, I’ll want to strap a rocket to back of the engine and ignite my way into the stars.

I fear I’ll try so hard, I’ll skip the moon, forgetting about an extra step. I’ll get out there and I’ll never come down. Floating aimlessly like salt in the sea, then sink to an unimaginable depth.

I fear I won’t come home. I’ll love it so much, I’ll hate it.

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Memorial Day and the Mexicans

Sugar Skull Vader. Whoever designed this, rules.

It’s Memorial Day, and the good, freedom enduring nation America (also known as ‘Merica, Uh’Merica, & Freedom Cock Fighters) is doing what is does best—taking a massive vacation from white collar tasks and enlarging their beer bellies while near some body of water. Even the folks of Nebraska have found some way to dislodge their flyover communities from Tornado Ally, and cruise on down the Pacific Coast.

“What we do is just pray to our nation’s freedom loving Lord, God, and he builds us a sea to float our Bud Light cans in. We feel very blessed,” said Omaha native Jim. Not to be confused with any other Jim, Jimmy’s, James, Jamies, or Teds from the area.

However, Jim is not too pleased when rumors started to announce that neighboring nations, Canada and Mexico were also partaking in the festivities as well.

“This is ‘Merica’s day. We are supposed to remember and memorialize being a patriot! They didn’t fight the good wars we fought.”

When asked what the Good Wars were, Jim fell into an epileptic fit, while foaming at the mouth and repeating the word “terror” in seven different tongues. The pastor of his local church, who also happens to be his nieghbor proceeded to keep the demons at bay while trying to help calm the rabid local from seccumbing to what is known as a freedom shock; or when an individual is full of so much patriotism, their mind shuts down from the stress of having to comprehend an opposing viewpoint. His pastor comforted, and while gracefully petting his head, state that “All wars are bad warsm, unless we win. Then it’s just God’s work, and God is Good.” Ergo, Good War.

Jim is right about this though. Mexico fights their own drug war while holding our economy hostage by taking American Jobs. And Canada only supplies bacon and maple syrup to American troops fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, so they’re really only fighting to feed hungry mouths. Because of this, many individuals are finding offense to the news that our neighbors are inviting themselves over to our barbeques and drinking all the beer that was on sale.

May is a wonderful month in this nation, and if not for Roman mythology, many Americans would have changed this to Hangover Month, or Hungtember. However the homosexual community found this to be confusing because Disney’s Gay Day’s usually occurs in the begining of June. Many Gay communities state that this will become too confusing, but they wish not to be anal about it. May however is still littered with holidays such as Memorial Day, Mother’s Day, Cinco De Mayo, Graduation Day—and has recently added two new holidays; May the Fourth and Revenge of the Sixth. These two days share the weekend with the long honored American made Mexican themed holiday to honor the great Sith Lord, Darth Vader.

The month originally was just a way to continue to boost floral sales after Valentine’s Day in February, all the birthdays in March, and then Easter in April. Mother’s Day was instituted and spring floral arranging has become quite the steady career choice, even allowing executives to give their employees Memorial Day off with paid time off. A collective in this nation however decided that the best way to honor Mothers even more was to honor their dead sons and daughters who served their country, promoting freedom with every eagle engraving fist punch.

“We forgot that this Great Nation originally instituted this day in remembrance of all the soldiers who died fighting their brethren in the Civil War, and of course all their distant global cousins in the wars to follow; and we decided that something should be done,” says Congressional Representative Paul Ryan, who earlier last year thought he could be Vice President.

“We don’t really take off for Mother’s day, and seeing as we don’t really have a federal day off in May yet, we decided that dead soldier would justify this decision. It’s truly a wonderful way to give our citizens a day off, while honoring something cool at the same time,” Ryan went on to add as he clicked out of Wikipedia during the interview.

Although the reasons Ryan stated are shared across the nation, except in liberal loving areas like Portland, Brooklyn, and Austin; civilians of this nation aren’t very contempt on the idea of Guacamole being mixed with our hot dogs and burgers.

“What the hell is an Avahcahdough?” stated Dallas native Billy Roberts. “Last time I checked the only thing green on a burger is lettuce and pickles, and freedom.”

When asked if he knew about the California burger, he was shocked to learn that southern California wasn’t actually a part of Mexico or the parking lot of Home Depot. Billy however did not suffer a freedom shock.

Jimmy, Paul, and Billy however all share a general consensus about American values. It’s safe to argue that no one is really pleased to hear that the Mexican nation, along with Canada, has taken the holiday known as Memorial Day, and turned it into an excuse to party holiday. Many Americans are convinced that the original intentions of the holiday will get convoluted amongst the empty red plastic cups, once full of hope, liquor, and beer.

Mexican native and American citizen, Pedro had this to say when asked why he celebrates Memorial Day:

“Well my brother served in Afghanistan. He was in the Army and was going to serve so he could pay for college when he gets out. He thought risking his life was a good trade off for free tuition.”

Unfortunately the trade off didn’t pay off and his brother, Jorge was killed last summer by a malfunctioning drone attack. Pedro goes on to add:

“Yeah he was killed by a freak insurgent attack. No one’s really sure what happened. They saw a seagull in the desert, thought it was weird, and then I think they saw their coffins. Either way, we all knew he wasn’t really cut out for homework or tests anyways.”

Pedro’s mother sits at the family dinner table and prepares her son’s favorite dish—spaghetti, in honor of his memory. The family gathers, says a prayer, and discusses all the memories that have of their lost family member.

When asked if he knew what his brother fought for (freedom, of course) Pedro had this to say:
“You know, I’m not really sure.”

Answers like this outrage true patriots like Paul Ryan, and Billy Roberts of Dallas, Texas who had this to say. Worries overcame the staff that more freedom shock would occur, but no such happened as Ryan responded while flipping a burger patty in Billabong Swim trunks:

“How dare a citizen of this nation take a holiday completely out of context and not understand its original intentions. It sickens me to think that these individuals, who did nothing to earn such heritage or freedom, could make a mockery of it and enjoy the benefits of eight hours paid time off, Miller Genuine Draft, and a chlorine cleaned pool. That is just pathetic.”

His sunglasses almost fell off, but luckily they were strapped to a piece of cloth suburban white men found popular in 1986. We’re still not sure how such an artifact was preserved in such fine quality.

We asked Pedro if this sounded contradictory in regards to Cinco De Mayo and the tequila shots lining the streets of all American bar strips alongside Coronas and he had this say:

“We don’t really celebrate Cinco De Mayo. Mexican Independence Day is September 16th, but I think we’re just going to change it to July 4th for less of a hassle.”

Men can’t be whores, right? Part 1

I read this purity blog post and I felt very, indifferent.  Not only was she outstandingly bias in some cases, it made me think more of how an individual should approach some fire igniting topics.  I started writing a rebuttal and soon realized this piece had more reflection than point.

Before I even begin, I want to proclaim a few statements first.  I want to declare that I am for equal sexual rights, I empathize with gender confusion, and that romance only exists in Antarctica.  Yet I am a man, and I want to fulfill my role as a man.  But how the fuck do I do that?  What essentially constructs the definition of a man?  How can I be labeled a man and not something else?

I am a male (go figure).  I am almost twenty seven years old and I have come to a crossroads in my life; fifty years ago societal standards expressed that I should be at least married, in the process of establishing a nuclear family, and have made steps to securing a time worthy career.  Guess what— I’m reaching thirty with no intentions of getting married or having children.  Oh, my career?  Forget it.  I still have to finish my undergrad then bounce off to a graduate program.  I’m really in no rush.  So then, what is the role of a male when the roles of society are ever changing?  Who am I essentially meant to be?

This isn’t because I want to enjoy my bachelor youth by living out the ideals of a sexually dominate god on the continuous prowl for action I know all men secretly wish to be; I couldn’t be that lucky.  Hell, I consider myself moderately attractive.  I’m less than six foot, awkwardly skinny, and not as clever as I hope to be.  I’m humble in nature, arrogant, and I float responsibility with a thick layer of charm.  I get by, I’m not happy about it, and I’m sure if women threw themselves on me I wouldn’t hesitate to dig right in.  Waking up alone enough can be worse than waking up with regrets, at least that vindicates living.

I am in a very confusing point in my life.  I should have been doing this college thing when I first graduated high school but I’ve always been a late bloomer.  Cliché, but the truth.  Now I sit in classrooms full of “peers” who just started buying their first legal drinks.  It distances me farther than the moon.  Here is a playground of socializing at my fingertips.  A world I can get down and dirty with whoever is willing to join me.  I’m outnumbered by females in my degree; it’s awesome, yet very intimidating.  Biologically every glance spurs off a chain reaction of carnal thoughts and desires for every distinct woman in my classes.  I kid you not—every male will have this creep and consume their mind.  I am not unique.  Society did not tell me to think like this.  When that chromosome decided to change and those balls decided to fall, so did the blood in my brain when the ovaries walked through that door.  The tall blond with glasses gets a finger banging at the top of the lecture hall.  The brunette busting at the seams takes me to her dorm room and none of her roommates are home.  The creamy pale redhead knows a quiet place in the park where she can scream.  Then I zone back to reality and realize were still talking about character development.

So let’s say all this does happen.  I level the playing field with my seed.  I’m glowing I’m so fucking desirable and women are throwing themselves at me without hesitation, without once questioning my sexual history, health, mental state, or consenting commitment.  I replay these stories and my gender declares me powerful, dominating, while secretly loathing my success.  The shame is not that society has built this up, but because men are hardwired to think like this.  We have an unlimited supply of semen and we are not afraid to spill it.  Our cups are always refilling.  The more women a man conquers, the more locks his key opens, the higher his chance at reproducing and passing on his genes.  This is how he survives.

Whatever you may believe to be the purpose of life—God, love, wealth, power, wisdom; it’s all trivial compared to a human beings basic concept of existence; to fornicate and instill the continued survival of the species.  Only the strongest genes will survive.  Still I find myself unsure of my purpose.  This is my basic setup and I should embrace it, right?  Pull that phallic hammer out and start building a future son.  Sculpt society with your seed and seduce the weakening knees with your shear physical structure.  Monogamy is only a recent invention amongst human beings given our long history and our similar behavioral standards like apes.  So the way males and females are engineered for sexual reproduction is completely opposite.  Ironic considering all humans start off as females in the womb.  So in reality, should I not embrace this standard?  Is this why men can never be frowned upon for being promiscuous in a vast array?  Society claims higher conscious existence must embrace culture to ensure survival in a savage world, but sex?  Who cares, he’s just doing what a man was supposed to do.  What the fuck, I’m so confused and I feel guilty for not calling her back.  But Saturday night is more promising and wearing a shorter dress, so I’ll soon forget.  Can you blame me?

Women only have so many eggs.  Men, well we all know how to fill up a cup on a daily basis.  Therefor it logically makes sense to understand why certain connotations and titles designated to a gender based on their promiscuity have evolved in such a way.  Here’s the bigger kick too, science has evolved farther and beyond the capabilities of physical evolution in just the past 75 years.  Condoms, birth control, Plan B, and safer abortion techniques have allowed women to enter the playground with a whole new set of tools and identity.  It’s pissed off males beyond all control, and really helped to benefit some (me).  I can begin to take bat in this game of sexual intercourse without having to worry about the responsibilities of impregnating every girl I rest inside.  Am I cheating the concept of higher society by cheating the laws of nature?  What kind of loophole is this if any?  Is it even fair to be so selfish?  Even though a “whore” has the advantage is this day and age, can they ethically be justified when compared to monogamy?

So now we have a society that can simply just override patriarchal standards that have been in place since before the Bible and Christ himself and it’s the best thing to happen to the human race, period.  Yet, not only is monogamy safer, but psychologically better for both sides of the relationship, as well as the strongest tactic when raising children.  This is not an argument against homosexuals though; I should point this out now.  I want to argue monogamy for all, because it works.

What isn’t working is the idea of ‘smuttiness,’ but that’s a cry and shame because I know for a fact that I, as an intelligent man, will not just settle down with an extremely promiscuous woman without investigating her history first.  Not because they’re a whore, I’m sure I could fall in love with a porn star, but because I need an equal; a counterpart that is relatively as critical as I am and in which someone I can trust, well with trust.  Biologically I need a partner who resembles the traits I find strong for sexual reproduction and is healthy.  Psychologically, I need a partner whose understanding, responsible, and can critically think.  Now that sounds somewhat vague, and a bit too scientific, but when you get down to the details, I think this is what anyone wants on either side of the spectrum.

Where is the line drawn though?  Who is allowed to act like this and for what reasons?  What is their justification?  Why can a man?  Why can’t a woman?  Why can’t I look at her in a different light and not a red one?  Why do I believe this?  Her skin is glowing, yet if she were to shine as I should, then society would tear her limb from limb until she is nothing but pieces on the headrest she nicked a notch in.

So what if someone is a whore?  Male or Female.  They are experiencing their world sexually.  I personally find it tremendously tedious to spit game consistently and dating is just the most frustrating god damn thing in the world.  I think I’ve gone above the average goal for men when searching for partners, but that’s not the point, at least not in modern society, right?  Is that what makes a man superior?  Is this the modern man, or is this idea the appendix that still dwindles thousands of years later, serving no purpose but to eventually cause us more health problems.  But why not surpass this goal, after all you’re accomplishing a biological goal that’s engraved in your genetics; impossible to override.  Fuck it, double that goal, or even triple the average.  Hell, why not multiply that by 100?  That’s fine.  That’s terrific.  You’ve lain down with a hundred naked women and have left nothing but scared uteruses and bed stains in your wake.  If that is the world you as a person choose to exist in, then by all means, orgasm your way to the death bed.  But exploring sexuality is different and labeling sexually promiscuous individuals as whores is ignorant and wrong.  Whores get paid after all.

Logically you’re doing it wrong.  The idea of having sex with anyone and everyone is a great pleasure principle, but with the advances of technology, women can be the sexual conquerors just like men.  It’s great, there is nothing more promising then knowing that a woman can jump on the train without having to worry about whether or not she’s going to be lugging around a carry-on for nine months.

Example A:  Eddie if you grind your way through a sea of women, how many of these women do you think may wake up in the morning and think different about their lives after that day?  How many will become attached?  How many will just leave in the morning with no notes?  How many will declare it the best?  The worst?  It was so-so?  Who is clean?  Who was worth remembering?  Who was the mistake?  Who was the one that got away?  Who’s next? Who’s up for round two?  Who’s sober?  Who wasn’t in their right mind?  Who did you take advantage of?  Who scared you?  Who seduced you?  Who is that person underneath that stretch of skin?

Now imagine you’re one of those women consumed by any one of those questions.  How is your day to be affected by such?

Now to my point to the argument brought up in this semi-viral blog post: I don’t think anyone should be whores.  I think it defaming our society beyond a level of control and really doing nothing to progress people at all.

I think though that people should still be sexual, and by all means embrace your sexual nature.  Women should shave those legs and men shouldn’t shave their beards.  I think gender roles is a whole other argument, and I’ve exhausted myself on this topic.

Consider this part one while I contemplate gender roles and explore my thoughts about how a Man should be constructed in the light of a reign of women exploring sexual independence.