Some people might say life sucks
or life is full of shit
While other people say life is beautiful
or life is full of surprises
I must say, I agree with all those
Life is whatever you think of it..and everything you think of it
Life is what you make it of it and what you say of it.
Life is about sadness
Life is about happiness
Life is about pain
Life is miserable
Life is about loss
Life is about smiling
Life is about crying
Life is about love
Life is about laughter
Life is about learning from your mistakes
Life is horrible
Life is dumb
Life is awesome
Life is depression
Life is tears
Life is sorrow
Life is anxiety
Life is Bullshit
Life stinks
Life sucks
I could go on and on and tell you all about life
But I'm not here to sort this out for you
cuz..
Life is all about you and how you treat it
You criticizes it...well, you're actually criticizing yourself
You like it, you hate it..well, its all up to you
Life is you so be careful how you describe it
Monday, November 30, 2009
I kno ya'll remember this
THIS WAS SO SKOOL,OHHHHH THE DAZE
Kissing Is A Habit
Fucking Is A Game
Guys Get All The Pleasure
Girls Get All The Pain
10 Minutes Of Pleasure
9 Months Of Pain
3 Days In The Hospital
A Baby Without A Name
The Baby Is A Bastard
The Mother Is A Whore
This Woulda Never Happend If The Rubber Hadn't
Tore!!
Sex is like math
You subtract the clothes
Add the bed
Divide the legs
And Pray to god
You dont multiply
Roses are red
Grass is green
Open your legs
And I'll fill you with cream
Hickory dickory dock
This bitch was suckin my cock
The clock struck two
I dumped my goo
And dumped her to the end of the block
Sex is good
Sex is fine
Doggy Style & 69
Just for fun
Or gettin paid
Everyone likes gettin laid
Sex is evil
Sex is a sin
Sins are forgiven
So stick it in!!!
roses are nice
violets are fine.
ill be the six
if you be the nine.
Kissing Is A Habit
Fucking Is A Game
Guys Get All The Pleasure
Girls Get All The Pain
10 Minutes Of Pleasure
9 Months Of Pain
3 Days In The Hospital
A Baby Without A Name
The Baby Is A Bastard
The Mother Is A Whore
This Woulda Never Happend If The Rubber Hadn't
Tore!!
Sex is like math
You subtract the clothes
Add the bed
Divide the legs
And Pray to god
You dont multiply
Roses are red
Grass is green
Open your legs
And I'll fill you with cream
Hickory dickory dock
This bitch was suckin my cock
The clock struck two
I dumped my goo
And dumped her to the end of the block
Sex is good
Sex is fine
Doggy Style & 69
Just for fun
Or gettin paid
Everyone likes gettin laid
Sex is evil
Sex is a sin
Sins are forgiven
So stick it in!!!
roses are nice
violets are fine.
ill be the six
if you be the nine.
Sex writing can be sublime in poetry
When looking for good sex in literature, it’s safest to stick with the poets, perhaps because poems are existential, not empirical; they capture the experience, not the deed.
Postscript | Lakshmi Chaudhry
Email Print
del.icio.us
digg
newsVine
font size
Let’s write about sex, baby...all the good things and the bad things that may be. If only it was that easy to write about the ultimate deed. The best writers have faltered at the altar of Eros. Nominees for the annual Bad Sex in Fiction Award include Norman Mailer, Ian McEwan, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel García Márquez and our home-grown Tarun Tejpal. The best of the worst, however, is John Updike, who received a lifetime achievement award last year for making the shortlist four years in a row.
The bad sex award: Márquez was a nominee. Foto Pool / Clasos.com
How odd then that the new owner of Britain’s The Erotic Review lays the blame squarely on us gals. Kate Copstick claims women are simply not up to the job of writing good sex “because they have an agenda, they complicate sex, they make layers, it’s conditional. And they lie as well”. Ouch! Yes, it’s ironic that Copstick is a woman, and more so that she is a woman who has made a career writing, what else, instruction manuals about sex.
Her claim is not just fact-free but also wrong-headed in its assumption about what makes for good sex writing. Under her aegis, Copstick promises, the Review will be entirely about “Sex. Not love, not relationships. It’s for people who have a genuine, visceral appreciation of sex qua sex”. Yet what gives sex its power is all that complicating stuff she can’t abide: the multiple, overlapping, conflicting “layers” of feelings, thoughts and sensations that make up the experience of sex.
It is why handing out Bad Sex awards in fiction is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. Prose is a slave to description. Its natural impulse is to narrate, detail, document an experience, and therein lies the literary rub. Sex, when described, veers far too easily to either the pornographic or the absurd.
Those in greatest peril are writers such as Updike, whose talent for crisp, plain, unflinching prose is far more likely to make him look foolish when he ventures into the bedroom. As in this nominated passage from The Widows of Eastwick: “She said nothing then, her lovely mouth otherwise engaged, until he came, all over her face. She had gagged, and moved him outside her lips, rubbing his spurting glans across her cheeks and chin.” Now that’s both pornographic and absurd.
When looking for good sex in literature, it’s safest to stick with the poets, perhaps because poems are existential, not empirical; they capture the experience, not the deed. Like sex itself, poetry is about sensation: Poems evoke a feeling, a sensation, a mood. Unlike poets, authors are weighed down by the requirements of narrative, mainly the burden of creating context, character, milieu.
After the strenuous work of setting the scene, so to speak, comes the business of describing the act itself, which inevitably involves a string of unfortunate, giggle-inducing metaphors. In Shire Hell, the 2008 winner of the Bad Sex award, poor Rachel Johnson is reduced to describing her hero’s “light fingers” to “a moth caught inside a lampshade”, and his tongue to “a cat lapping up a dish of cream so as not to miss a single drop”.
Poems can instead be wholly, delightfully metaphorical, as is E.E. Cummings’ she being Brand: “i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her/ up,slipped the/ clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she/ kicked what/ the hell)next/ minute i was back in neutral tried and/ again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing ...”
Conflate driving with sex in fiction, all you get is tacky. Do it well in a poem, and reach for the sublime.
Postscript | Lakshmi Chaudhry
Email Print
del.icio.us
digg
newsVine
font size
Let’s write about sex, baby...all the good things and the bad things that may be. If only it was that easy to write about the ultimate deed. The best writers have faltered at the altar of Eros. Nominees for the annual Bad Sex in Fiction Award include Norman Mailer, Ian McEwan, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel García Márquez and our home-grown Tarun Tejpal. The best of the worst, however, is John Updike, who received a lifetime achievement award last year for making the shortlist four years in a row.
The bad sex award: Márquez was a nominee. Foto Pool / Clasos.com
How odd then that the new owner of Britain’s The Erotic Review lays the blame squarely on us gals. Kate Copstick claims women are simply not up to the job of writing good sex “because they have an agenda, they complicate sex, they make layers, it’s conditional. And they lie as well”. Ouch! Yes, it’s ironic that Copstick is a woman, and more so that she is a woman who has made a career writing, what else, instruction manuals about sex.
Her claim is not just fact-free but also wrong-headed in its assumption about what makes for good sex writing. Under her aegis, Copstick promises, the Review will be entirely about “Sex. Not love, not relationships. It’s for people who have a genuine, visceral appreciation of sex qua sex”. Yet what gives sex its power is all that complicating stuff she can’t abide: the multiple, overlapping, conflicting “layers” of feelings, thoughts and sensations that make up the experience of sex.
It is why handing out Bad Sex awards in fiction is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. Prose is a slave to description. Its natural impulse is to narrate, detail, document an experience, and therein lies the literary rub. Sex, when described, veers far too easily to either the pornographic or the absurd.
Those in greatest peril are writers such as Updike, whose talent for crisp, plain, unflinching prose is far more likely to make him look foolish when he ventures into the bedroom. As in this nominated passage from The Widows of Eastwick: “She said nothing then, her lovely mouth otherwise engaged, until he came, all over her face. She had gagged, and moved him outside her lips, rubbing his spurting glans across her cheeks and chin.” Now that’s both pornographic and absurd.
When looking for good sex in literature, it’s safest to stick with the poets, perhaps because poems are existential, not empirical; they capture the experience, not the deed. Like sex itself, poetry is about sensation: Poems evoke a feeling, a sensation, a mood. Unlike poets, authors are weighed down by the requirements of narrative, mainly the burden of creating context, character, milieu.
After the strenuous work of setting the scene, so to speak, comes the business of describing the act itself, which inevitably involves a string of unfortunate, giggle-inducing metaphors. In Shire Hell, the 2008 winner of the Bad Sex award, poor Rachel Johnson is reduced to describing her hero’s “light fingers” to “a moth caught inside a lampshade”, and his tongue to “a cat lapping up a dish of cream so as not to miss a single drop”.
Poems can instead be wholly, delightfully metaphorical, as is E.E. Cummings’ she being Brand: “i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her/ up,slipped the/ clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she/ kicked what/ the hell)next/ minute i was back in neutral tried and/ again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing ...”
Conflate driving with sex in fiction, all you get is tacky. Do it well in a poem, and reach for the sublime.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Love Does Separate Us
Through all time, love has strung beautiful art,
Does love now weave this vision in my heart?
Have two stars been taken straight from the sky,
Do they look back at me as I look into your eyes?
Love does separate us in lands so far,
Love does make this a trial so hard.
May I ask for one night to shrink this land,
May I have you just one night, just to reach your hand?
If my wish I may have not, let us kiss with our minds,
Let our words carry us together on winds of divine.
Love does separate us in lands far away,
But if love does ring true, I'll get to you some way.
Does love now weave this vision in my heart?
Have two stars been taken straight from the sky,
Do they look back at me as I look into your eyes?
Love does separate us in lands so far,
Love does make this a trial so hard.
May I ask for one night to shrink this land,
May I have you just one night, just to reach your hand?
If my wish I may have not, let us kiss with our minds,
Let our words carry us together on winds of divine.
Love does separate us in lands far away,
But if love does ring true, I'll get to you some way.
Beauty Beyond Memory
When memories cry
When memories fade and die
I'm going to grow old
My passion
My fiery passion
My flaming lust is going to grow cold
But my heart will always flow with a molten, love lava
In your name this lava flows through my veins
My heart beats for you
My heart will never cease to beat your name
When I lose my charm and my glamour
When I lose my physique and my game
When I'm old and wrinkly
When I cannot look myself in the mirror
I'll still stare at you
When memories fade
When I forget the days of the week
And the months of the year
When I mix names
And faces
The memory of you
Will always shine bright and clear
Your image
Has been burnt to my memory
I will never forget your radiance and beauty
I will die happy
With the image of your sweet smile
On my mind
And love
On my lips and in my heart
When memories fade and die
I'm going to grow old
My passion
My fiery passion
My flaming lust is going to grow cold
But my heart will always flow with a molten, love lava
In your name this lava flows through my veins
My heart beats for you
My heart will never cease to beat your name
When I lose my charm and my glamour
When I lose my physique and my game
When I'm old and wrinkly
When I cannot look myself in the mirror
I'll still stare at you
When memories fade
When I forget the days of the week
And the months of the year
When I mix names
And faces
The memory of you
Will always shine bright and clear
Your image
Has been burnt to my memory
I will never forget your radiance and beauty
I will die happy
With the image of your sweet smile
On my mind
And love
On my lips and in my heart
learning to love again.
I'm learning to love again ...
After yesterday’s dreams were shattered and destroyed beyond recognition by those who envisioned security ...
When there was nothing but self-doubt …
Safety...when there was only danger …
A straight path towards tomorrow ...
When that road was full of detours that moved me in directions I never expected to travel.
I'm learning to love again ... to start anew.
Exposing myself one more time for that incredible opportunity to live again ...
To imagine all the possibilities love might bring me for a while ...
A moment to soar far above cirrus clouds ...
A second to capture myself touching lips that will remain in my memory long after all else is forgotten
To feel the pain of too much love as it bursts beyond the confines of my soul ...
To shed tears of ecstasy as eyes meet and the knowledge of what moves between us brings awareness of the infinite ...
An instant when through her eyes I am in the sight of God ...
This I am prepared to do...because I'm learning to love again
After yesterday’s dreams were shattered and destroyed beyond recognition by those who envisioned security ...
When there was nothing but self-doubt …
Safety...when there was only danger …
A straight path towards tomorrow ...
When that road was full of detours that moved me in directions I never expected to travel.
I'm learning to love again ... to start anew.
Exposing myself one more time for that incredible opportunity to live again ...
To imagine all the possibilities love might bring me for a while ...
A moment to soar far above cirrus clouds ...
A second to capture myself touching lips that will remain in my memory long after all else is forgotten
To feel the pain of too much love as it bursts beyond the confines of my soul ...
To shed tears of ecstasy as eyes meet and the knowledge of what moves between us brings awareness of the infinite ...
An instant when through her eyes I am in the sight of God ...
This I am prepared to do...because I'm learning to love again
lonely
People all around me
Friends and family
Always there
But not quite here
Everyday I'm surrounded by people
But it's not always that simple
I may lose myself in the crowd
But it's not always that loud
When they leave
And I'm alone
A sigh i heave
'Cause I'm alone
The loneliness creeps onto me
Like the shadow of the night
And I'm afraid to see
That I'm alone again tonight
Though it only seems present when I'm alone
It's actually there evry time of day
Whether in a crowd or alone i lay
How do i get over this despair?
How do i stop feeling lonely?
I don't want this life of solitaire
I just want some company
Why do i feel this?
I Have you here
But why does my heart ache
When you are so near?
I know,
I need more than just an hour a day
More than just a 'hello' or a 'hey'
You are here but not really here
You don't listen you only hear
Please listen, Please see
Please know that it's you I need
This loneliness is killing me
Isn't it killing you too?
All I need is a conversation
With who? Why of course you!
Friends and family
Always there
But not quite here
Everyday I'm surrounded by people
But it's not always that simple
I may lose myself in the crowd
But it's not always that loud
When they leave
And I'm alone
A sigh i heave
'Cause I'm alone
The loneliness creeps onto me
Like the shadow of the night
And I'm afraid to see
That I'm alone again tonight
Though it only seems present when I'm alone
It's actually there evry time of day
Whether in a crowd or alone i lay
How do i get over this despair?
How do i stop feeling lonely?
I don't want this life of solitaire
I just want some company
Why do i feel this?
I Have you here
But why does my heart ache
When you are so near?
I know,
I need more than just an hour a day
More than just a 'hello' or a 'hey'
You are here but not really here
You don't listen you only hear
Please listen, Please see
Please know that it's you I need
This loneliness is killing me
Isn't it killing you too?
All I need is a conversation
With who? Why of course you!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
