The Pyramid Shaking

Growing up in the nineties, it was easy to miss how Americans were all trained to be assholes. That’s not what media and the government said in the open, as we had a ton of talk about “moral majorities” and so many social programs that sought to “reform” society’s ills of promiscuity and drug use and socialism and other things. Those programs were hilariously ineffective, and the duality presented by growing up American was either “be nice yet ineffective” or “get shit done and be an ass” with very few gray areas accounted for. This was all going on before 9/11, so when that wakeup call bit America in the ass, we assumed that we had to be dicks.

Remember the 2000s in America? Republicans were in power, and they were very much about being asses so it was natural that the country followed suit. I’ll be going into further detail about this in future posts, but I wanted to point out here that there is really no unifying American cultural system, so whenever the government presses an agenda there is no control on how that trickles down into the 300 million people living in the US. At the same time, the internet as a social tool was coming into its own, and now people had access to an ocean of resources outside of the control of those politicians who laughably call themselves leaders of the free world. Louder, more extroverted assholes jumped at the chance to make themselves known, grim-dark took over film and TV screens, and if anybody ever heard a 2000s Republican politician speak they’d agree that this was the perfect party for that decade’s mood.

America’s identity crisis didn’t end with the decade. Some good people came into power and tried telling everybody else to play nice. We were told that we weren’t allowed to be the assholes we have always been, and had to treat everyone with respect. That maybe if we weren’t assholes to other countries, we may not have to worry as much about terrorist attacks on our soil. Maybe we could even help a little.

These were all very simple changes that were sought, but the “good” leaders didn’t sit well with the America system. The US was a country in the barest sense in its first decade, and it hasn’t changed enough from those humble beginnings; the amount of work put into the betterment of the country as a whole is still minimal compared to the pursuit of regional and vanity agendas. In its 250~ year existence, the United States of America has been a pyramid of assholes instead of just your standard 18th century caste-based pyramids. You played the game and if you were an asshole the right way you could move up, and if you lost you fell down. It was a remix of the ole time rule of “might makes right” but with a combination of social skills and money instead of firepower. You work with the pyramid, or the pyramid casts you down and crushes you.

The 2000s and the leaders who lovingly improved and remodeled the pyramid are gone, and so are the leaders who tried to disregard the pyramid after them. Nobody has tried to knock it down, and nobody has been supervising it. The world still spins and things still happen, and the pyramid is shaking. It has gone through worse before, but the pyramid can’t sustain itself with just plain stupidity. The trick may have worked in the nineties, but the nineties are gone. The veil is torn, the emperor has no clothes, and what people thought was a gorgeous mountain turned out to be a mount of shit, where those at the top can only live with their shittiness by laughing at the shittiness of those below them. It felt nice when we could lie to ourselves and say that we could be assholes because so was everybody else, and all that has gotten us are this decade which was already bad enough after 2012.

Maybe the pyramid will find people to fix it and keep it running. I think we’re seeing the beginning of the end for this system and am curious to see on what our next pyramid will be based.


We’re Standing On The Edge Of A Precipice

In the past few months the world has seen a marked increase in extremism, from all sides of the field. International tensions are peaking, and each of the countries involved have internal issues that fail to be resolved. Even in a country like the United States, random shootings have become a despairingly common occurrence. Religious institutions have moderated themselves a lot in recent years, but other fringes of society have popped up to feed into a neo conservative frenzy that threatens to become militant at any moment.

All around, we see that people want to be proud, and the first thing that comes up to many is national identity. Patriotism is a commendable trait, but history has multiple examples of what happens when the patriotic fires are left to burn for too long. And yet, despite having perfect examples of nationalism gone wrong as common knowledge, people still fall into choosing loyalty over practicality. Just because you love something, doesn’t mean it’s flawless. Patriotism means wanting your country to be great because you and your compatriots will make it great; it’s not because you’ll be imposing that greatness upon others.

The same issues are seen across the board in other fields, too. The religious right pitted against the secular left, but also fighting the religious moderates. Catholicism’s move towards the center was refreshing, but it also creates a power vacuum for those who relied on a storied institution to back their fundamentalist views, and the fight for who gets to fill that gap is drawing all sides to radicalize. Hyperbolic pronouncements that were the trade of banana republic personalities are now seen in the higher echelons, while everybody feels like their neighbor is persecuting them, bringing paranoia into the streets… It’s crazy out there.

This isn’t humanity’s first go round in the existentialist roulette game, and we can surely survive this one, stronger and fiercer than we currently are. But a lot of us are getting killed before such balance can be regained.


When we both tried to make shit castles in the pit to feel better about our decadency, we built them separately, with a wary eye towards the other, sometimes disdainful, other times seemingly uncaring, but always watching.

I never saw anything unusual in it. We are greedy hedonists of the highest order, and giving up on someone we may have possibly had goes against our core. Our core. Touching her, tracing her cheekbones down to her jawline, admiring at once each detail of her face, the slight curves of her nose, full lips that look pouty when resting, amber pools that make me want to dive in them… such beauty was beyond my own vivid imagination, and the person behind it all a woman who I could not believe was real. She could match passion for passion, and challenged me in ways no one else did. Always affectionate, and sometimes selfishly so, as a master to a pet. The other times are the affections of someone who wants your attention on her and nothing else at all, not even yourself. Such selfishness was beyond me, but it could draw you in if you weren’t careful.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve already been drawn in, and am just deluding myself into thinking that I can still walk away. 

Enough Fire Can Melt Anything

She has the most amazingly stunning green eyes, vivid emerald that glow with her moods, and when I first saw her I couldn’t help but notice that. I’ve loved green eyes, but since that pair all the other ones I’ve seen have been judged by their standard (completely unfair, but I couldn’t help it). She’s beautiful, a woman whose cheekbones I’m proud to say were inherited well, but her eyes have always held their own, even beside her considerable character.

That is because her eyes are always intense when she’s in a mood, and it’s impossible for me to describe any action of hers without noting how her eyes look at the moment. Her eyes are portals into one of the most intriguing minds I’ve encountered. I don’t think of them as calm eyes because their owner is anything but calm.

Charismatic as can be, it’s always baffled me how someone who holds such strong views on sensitive subjects can make people around her feel completely at ease in her presence. I try to mentally warn them, “She’ll skin you alive if you give her half a chance. That’s all she’d need. Run!” But when I’ve tried, all I get are condescending pats, and I’m left to watch this woman, hands over curvy hips and pouty lips doing what they do best, make the world her little playground. She’s a hunter, and yet even those she hunts are so charmed by her manner and how she just gets them, that suddenly they’re offering themselves to her wishes. Something that I’ve wanted to do effortlessly for so long, and to her it’s no different than breathing.

Fiery and focused, she is a force to be reckoned with. As my stumbles in life kept placing her in increasingly awkward situations, she never faltered in presenting herself as the perfect queen, commanding voice behind a smile that expressed empathy for the hassles caused but the only way something acceptable could be accomplished is by following her lead. Her courtesy, warm enough for others not to suspect just how coldly she felt about some of them, masked the passionate girl who wanted to do nothing more than to enjoy the world. She loves admiring things and experiencing all the wonders the world has to offer, but feels that she won’t be able to do so without taking charge and making sure no one around her is willing to screw her over. Part of that desire for enjoyment spills into a very nurturing woman who would care for those she watched over with unrivaled competence and a tenderness that warmed cold moods.

When she is by my side, I feel like I can accomplish anything. I may not get things right the first time, but that would just mean that my next attempt will be that much fiercer; we’re deeply competitive, and the only way a loss can be easily dealt with is if it comes right before a roaring victory. It’s not the safest policy, but when I’m beside a person who can be as determined as me if given the right motivation obstacles seem more like temporary inconveniences; enough fire can melt anything. It is definitely a risk, and I may end up worse than when I burned out before, but I couldn’t live with myself if I let a chance like this pass without giving it my all.

A little attempt at free verse

I have a song in my mind,
and it serenades a fire in my chest that burns deep and warms my coldest nights.
My legs already itch to join the dance floor,
reminding me that I’ve danced to these tunes before,
back when my hair was fully dark and my eyes hadn’t witnessed as many storms.
Now that silver streaks decorate locks and scars snug intimately with flesh,
there is no guarantee that each step will go the same as with my last round.
Confidence from experience only does so much,
and I’m actually more hesitant to take steps that crushed my toes before.
Hesitation has no place on this dance floor,
and a man who hesitates is a man who will miss the crucial step.
The song serenading my fire still sings strong,
but a melody in my mind can’t ensure I do this right,
and there wouldn’t be a reason to make the effort if that couldn’t be the case.
Amber eyes blazing from behind prominent lashes,
pouty rouge lips set in a half smirk and burgundy braids
framing a pale face that hides steel under exquisite delicacy,
are all that I needed to remember that it wouldn’t matter if I missed a step,
so long as I could do so with her arms around me.

Be Careful Who You Follow Home

I felt her warm breath against my cheek as my hands went into their usual reconaissance mission around her body, feeling every uncovered part of skin there was to feel. She nibbled my ear, which made me squirm, and I answered my putting my mouth on her upper neck, my teeth touching her skin while my tongue zig-zagged around the area. She moaned at the feeling of my wet tongue against her skin; smirking to myself, I went for the kill by closing in on her neck, my teeth biting her slightly, at the same time that my right hand went around her thigh and squeezed.

Her response was just as I had expected it to be. In a matter of seconds, I was slammed to the bed, while she threw herself on top of me, wrapping both legs around my waist in the process, and letting a growl escape her throat. I looked up at her emerald eyes, hers vicious while mine smirking, I got you now against I don’t think so yet. She cocked her head to the side, as if to challenge my unspoken statement, and I raised my eyebrows to confirm it. That did it for her.

With another feline growl, my shirt went off, ripped buttons flying through the air; missiles in the battlefield that was this hotel bed. Before I could reach for her, she had my arms pinned to each side of the bed, her hands on my wrists, and squeezed. “Ow!” I protested, as I felt my hand about to lose circulation.

She looked at me, her green eyes once emerald, now radioactive. “You think this is rough?”

I smiled at her, defiant. “Please! This is nothing.”

She smirked back, and swooped down towards me. “I was hoping you’d think that”, she said in a tone that warned me that this was going to be one rough night… Before I could do anything about it, her lips were on mine, and I inmediately felt how my body became still, posing no resistance to her. I’m no cockcroach; without a head, my body wasn’t able to do anything.

And how could I possibly keep my head? All I could register was the sweet fragance of her perfume, which should be banned and only used with a written prescription, the silkiness of her long black hair brushing against my cheeks, the softness, oh what a marvel, of her lips as they slowly grinded along with mine, and the feel of her tongue as it danced a complicated, yet graceful, duet with mine, moving sometimes around my mouth, sometimes around hers…

It was too much. In a second’s notice, I regained my self-control, this time to do unto her what she has obviously been begging me to do to her through her actions. I growled, making her pull apart from our kiss and look at me quizzically, and moved up, intending to grab her, throw her against the mattress, and indulge her so much that she’d need a wheelchair for weeks. Instead of looking scared, however, she looked smug. In half a second, I noticed why:

As I tried to stand up, I realized I couldn’t. Looking around, I noticed that my hands were tied to the bedpost. Shit. She probably took advantage of my moment of subconsciousness and tied me here. “What the fuck!”

She smirked maliciously, as she stepped off the bed. “You thought I was going to be just an easy lay, huh?” She shook her head as she walked towards a black trunk across the room. She turned to me, and I could see the insane gleam in her eyes. “Or maybe that I’d try and play it a bit rough, but that you’ll eventually take control and put me down?” She barked a rough laugh, and turned back to her mysterious trunk. “You seriously had no idea what was coming to you, did you?” And with that, she opened it…

She walked towards me, with a cat o’ nine tails in her hands and a fierce determination in her eyes that, to my horror, had nothing to do with sexual pleasure. She pulled her lips back into a snarl, took a leap that landed her right on top of my tied-up body, and growled: “God, how long have I waited for this!”

I just looked at her, prey to the snake’s charm as it bites its food to pieces…

She stared at me, and in her eyes I could see the meaning behind those words. She was…hungry; there was no other way to put it. She looked at me as if she’d been searching for me for a while, just to do whatever depraved thing she was going to do to me tonight.

She noticed my calculating stare and smiled. “Catching up here, aren’t we?” She rocked a little bit, grinding her crotch area, which was not covered by such mundane things as underwear, with mine, which made me shiver involuntarily. “Who knows?” she pretended to ponder, “While you try to figure this out”, she dropped down, laying on top of me, her face inches from mine; I felt something leathery around my throat this time as her eyes got that insane gleam again, “we can play some little games.”. She dropped her head by my side, so that her soft lips brushed againt my ear; as her left hand tickled my Adam’s apple slightly and her right hand nails pierced my back, she whispered seductively: “Who knows? You might enjoy them. I know I will…”.

I tried to get up, to make some sense of this before I fell too deep, but it was too late; when I moved, I felt the leather from the nine tails holding me down. She noticed this, too. “Now, we’re being a bad boy, aren’t we?” She shook her head in disapproval, and stepped back. “I guess we need to be disciplined, don’t we?”

I took a few deep breaths, mustering as much self-control as I could under these circumstances; it was hard, considering she was pretty much incapacitating me with her mind games. I managed enough to yell at her: “What the fuck is all this?! We don’t even have a safe word or anything!”

She looked at me, and I could’ve sworn I saw a red glint there. For a few seconds, there was no seductiveness, no sadistic playfulness; there was hate. Before I could make something of it, however, they had that sadistic gleam again, and she replied: “No safe word? But I was so sure there was one!” Her eyes narrowed, and I felt as if I was missing something. “Just strain your mind and remember; it shouldn’t be hard.”

Despite myself, I said: “I can barely manage to stay conscious with what you’re doing.”

She smiled, obviously complimented by what I said. “That’s the point, and that’s a good boy.” She walked towards where I was laying, and her hand lay between my legs. “Maybe we deserve a little reward, don’t we?”. Without saying anything else, she unzipped my fly, took my penis out, and in no time I was feeling like I was taking the express to heaven…or to a hell that I wouldn’t mind being a part of. The feel of her lips against my skin, her tongue doing figure eights around my foreskin, and of course the eventual feel of her pharynx against my one-eyed head…it was too much…

Then, something suddenly clicked into place…

The way she was doing it oddly matched a girl I knew…

Horrorstruck, I became painfully aware of the fact that I had been led into a trap by someone who already had a grudge on me. And the worst part of it was that right now she was blowing me in a way that didn’t let me think right, and before I knew it I slipped into one habit I could not afford to have right at this moment… “Massielle!”

Heaven stopped, the trip to the candy store got cancelled, and I was 100% back in this deranged hotel room that was my own personal hell. She had stopped playing her seductive games, as the sudden coldness in her tone let me know when she muttered “So you finally recognized the safe word, huh?”.

It hit me. For a split second, I knew it was going to happen. But there was nothing I could do to prevent it, nothing to move it or placate her; I felt like the most impotent being in the world…

And it happened. Simultaneously, taking advantage of the fact that her hand around my dick kept my erection steady, she bit through it, not enough to cut but enough to pierce, and with her free hand smashed my scrotum.


She jumped on top of me and, in no time at all, her hand was covering my mouth. She leaned into me and, her eyes like the Antartic Circle, whispered: “Does it hurt, Joseph? Does it?” After I uncosciously nodded, she slapped me, her face disgusted. “That’s nothing! NOTHING! Compared to what you did to me psychologically, this is a walk in the fucking park!”

With the last thread of conscience I had active, I agreed with her in the fact that whatever I did messed her mind up more than she messed my balls. Self-preservation made me keep that thought to myself.

But she wasn’t done yet. With her left hand, which contained a faux-diamond ring I had bought her, she punched the right side of my face, adding to the already excruciating pain I was enduring. “You thought it was cool to leave, asking me to wait for you, and just” another punch “forget-about-ME?!” Each of the last three words was punctuacted by a blow to my left side.

After I gave her no answer (I wasn’t able to think properly), she stood up and took her purse. “You disgust me, you son of a bitch.” Saying that, she spit on me and turned to leave.

Mustering the little strenght I had left, I mumbled. “So you’re leaving me like this?”

She turned around, and in her eyes I saw the sadistic glint that once attracted me to her; I felt now nothing but terror at it. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” she crooned. “You made me waste two years of my life; I’ll be sure to get them back from you now.”

And with that, she left.

Master Of None

My big obsession when I became a teenager was with finding a soul mate. I didn’t receive or understand true affection when I was a kid, and I loved the idea of having someone who would care about me as much as I cared about them. With that in mind, I tried to take any chance that came my way of fulfilling this.

Thirteen years and countless stories later, I can see how badly I overshot it.

I dated. A lot. I met numerous women, and tried my best to make things work with each one. I wanted each my relationships to work out, just like everybody who starts dating does, but I was so deathly scared of letting go of a girl who may have been that coveted soul mate that I stayed in relationships until they burned out and we hated each other. I began early, and worked my way up so quickly that I have a nice little four-element breakdown of my relationships; who else could claim that?

I even followed the standard hero’s path of adventure, with a twist. I began my journey, realized that I was way in over my head, dug deeper down the rabbit hole to gain the knowledge I was so severely lacking, realized I was really in over my head and was forced to the sidelines, came back a little wiser and stronger with a calmer disposition and ready to accept my place under the sun, and found what I wanted: a woman I loved so much that I’d be willing to give up the rest of my life to be around her. When the complications came, I faltered, because I was forced into a decision where I could either: do the right thing and let her go until things in our lives were sorted properly; or do the passionate thing, tell everybody else to go screw themselves, and went for broke. I’ve watched enough TV to know that nothing good comes from the hero deciding to give up his morals for personal gratification. I did the right thing for a while, until it became painfully obvious that life wasn’t a fairy tale of morals but a wild jungle where one has to do whatever one can to survive.

When I tried contacting her about this, I found out she had recently died. Had I done the ‘wrong’ thing, she may not have been in a situation where she’d lose her life the way she did. Boy…that sucked.

It’s been over three years since all that went down. I took a few years to myself, and I was able to move on. I had wonderful friends around me, and I learned to apply a lot of the information I had gained by senselessly dating around. I was even able to have a relatively fruitful relationship…and failed afterwards. Now the girl hates my guts. But I’m not as bad off as I used to be.

What bothers me the most about all this is how long it took me to grasp a very key concept in dating: no matter how much I know beforehand, the best odds I’ll have of a relationship working out is 50/50. Same as if I knew nothing about relationships. I feel like I wasted my life looking for some way to improve my chances in something where I can’t actually cheat. I’ve seem complete dunderheads have amazing relationships, and some of my most emotionally capable friends have the worst kind of luck with relationships.

Billions of dollars are spent trying to figure out how to hold down a happy marriage, or simply a content relationship. Horoscopes, therapy, vacation escapades… Massive industries are fueled by this desire to help improve them odds towards getting one’s ideal significant other, but it’s all bullshit. It doesn’t really help, and if it did chances are it was a case of “they always had the potential inside them, and just needed an outlet to share it”. If anything, all this brou ha ha makes it worse, because it convinces people that the tools are the reasons relationships work out or fail. Tools are tools, and the success (or lack thereof) of a relationship hinges solely and exclusively on the people involved in it.

Why do we keep trying to make this a big deal? I get that it’s an essential personal journey, and I am not giving up at all on finding a suitable partner for myself, but could we just finally say that the emperor has no clothes, and dethrone those who call themselves “relationship experts”? There’s no such thing.

I’ve dated numerous people. I have loved, been loved, hated, and been on the top of numerous hit lists. All the while, I kept a close eye on my actions and monitored everything that happened, taking time to compare notes every now and then with others. I could publish motherfucking studies on this shit. My conclusion to my own unpaid, completely voluntary research, is: good luck, buddy, brace for the pain, and enjoy every moment you can.