Sapiosexual

I love your mind
The thoughts flitting from your lips to my ears
A most fascinating mechanism-
The logic processing-
Enthralled by the calculations
The outcome, astronomical.

Shinier than any diamond
More precious than any luxury
The wit as sharp as a blade
The humor snapping like a whip
Leaps of vulgarity in innocent consequence
Each word a gold doubloon.

They ask me if I’m an ass man
Ass man? Ask man,
Are you not a breast man?
Thigh man? Hips, legs and curves man?
Wingman?
Nah, man.

Challenge and debate
Philosophy not pontificate
Fantasy and desire
I can light your world on fire
Let me make love to your brain
Leave behind the sex, if it’s all the same…

 

 

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)*

*Minimal Spoilers

So, I’m fresh from the theater and can hardly wait to deconstruct this film. After tumbling through the latest films (see upcoming reviews on F8 of Furious and xXx), I had no high expectations, especially after viewing the titillating trailer featuring all the fighting highlights in the entire film in a teaser style that video game trailers love to over-utilize.

That being said, I’m not exactly coming from the perspective of one who has watched all that cinema has to offer on the topic of King Arthur, Merlin, the Pendragons, or anything of the sort. While I am generally familiar with the story of Arthur’s ascension to the throne, the only film I’ve watched in this vein was Monty Python’s: The Holy Grail. Consequently, my perception of this film is not impacted by the apparently disgraceful and inaccurate slant on the story.

So, onward to the good and the bad of this film. As usual, I’m focusing on:

  • Plot
  • Action
  • Characters / MC vs Antagonist
  • Cinematic Techniques

Continue reading King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)*

Listings via Craig

She says she’s looking for companionship,
Quite possibly a friend;
She says she wants to cuddle
And maybe, hold hands.

She says she’s looking for somebody,
That just might be the one.
She says, she’s open for conversation,
But not for sordid fun.

She knows what she’s looking for,
She knows just what to get;
Ain’t looking for a bummer,
Just trains that stay on track.

She has a slew of hobbies,
That tick off all the boxes;
She has a string of commands,
There ain’t no compromise -yet.

She isn’t very lonely,
But she sure could use a hand;
She’s looking for somebody,
Who knows just what to get.

She says she wants to take her time
And make this mission work;
She says she’s looking for relationships
Not just someone to hurt.

She says she’s willing to take the time
Give her own fair chance;
She’ll measure twice and cut once
Don’t count the steps, just dance.

She whispers to weakness
Beguiles the unbeloved;
She tempts the sullen bride
To leave her veil uncovered.

She beckons to the broader world
With open unlost reveal;
Does she mean to be this open
And expose all that she feels?

She spoke the words that rattled cages
Lit hope in darkened mists;
Remembering just in time
That this is just a written list.

Whether she is real or not
I know my limitations
Imagined or realistic
My confidence is mere imitations.

Hampered by my own demise
How could I extend candidacy?
A life going nowhere, a body abhorred
This dream is naught but idiocy.

So close the window, escape her words
And shake loose the thoughts of desire;
Tell Craig to leave us be
Lest she learns that we are liars.

Real or not, rattled in my cage
For once I wondered whether
I could be less detestable;
If only I could lose my tethers…

Coffee #27: Question mark? Semicolon; Zer0

( ? ) Question Mark:

I question everything and know nothing. I look in the mirror and see a stranger of unimportance and delusion.

Questions haunt me so much more beyond the simplistic -“what’s that?” or “google it?”- moments. When a definition provided clarity and answers completed the quest.

But words don’t mean anything, and words are just syllables and latin phrases derived and bastardized with blunt force trauma. Like a buffet, we can shop for words to define the undefinable, to label the unmentionable, to describe what is with empty words that mean absolutely nothing.

Is it a competition to collect the labels to define ourselves and others?

Is it asexual or demisexual? Is it heterosexual or homosexual or pansexual? Is it minority or person of color or the alphabet soup of checking twelve boxes on a college application form? Is it gender queer or transgendered or gender neutral?

Does it even matter when you are alone anyway? Does the starving individual worry about such trifles when trapped on a desert island, struggling to survive and maintain hope of rescue? At what point is it good to ask such questions? Is it just selfishness or spoiled indulgence to ponder and wonder instead of being grateful for breath and life and prosperity?

If there were any sense of clarity, perhaps I would ask these questions for the hope of enlightenment, to seek a deeper truth or a hidden meaning to it all. I don’t just want to know, I want to understand and with understanding gain some measure of peace. The rough sea of questions with no answers are an insufferable plague; couldn’t there be a final “aha!” moment to crown the months of struggle and analysis? To close the chapters of confusion with some measure of resolution?

Will I forever be tormented by these questions and uncertainties?

( ; )  Semicolon:

“How could I be sure, that you won’t walk away?
Angel of deception, let me live this way.”

~ How Can I Be Sure by Anomie Belle

Here I stand on the crumbling edges of the excavation
Peering into the depths of another conclusion
-Finally- a gasp from the back of my mind
At last, this morbid phase comes to a close
Just a few more inches, just a few more days
Just another adventure to cure this malaise
Let us finally close this chapter, petty one
Let us finally go our separate ways, lead on
Shutting the lid on this final viewing
We commend your past to the depths
This body isn’t yours to give and burn
But this memory is yours to do with what you will…

Time to pack, time to move, and time to find boxes and store items from each room. What can I live without? Everything…

My contract is ending, this period draws to a close and I am excited for the new opportunities available, the new doors that I can reach out and grasp, firmly, with both hands. I can achieve the goals burning in my soul, I can finally do what I’ve always wanted.

I can finally escape the madness! And what worse madness is there, than to see the insane and assume it a daily norm?

But I digress.

It’s never too late to start a new life. After staring into the mirror wondering “If this were my last day, would I want to do what I’ll do today?” I can finally respond with a solid resounding “YES”.

Raising a glass to the next step of the journey-

( 0 ) Zero:

Zero is often seen as a negative number. Nothing, without, and other negative connotations.

Mathematically, the number zero is neither positive nor negative -except for French mathematics which holds that zero is both positive and negative.

Zero isn’t nothing. Zero is both all and none -like a version of infinity.

So when I say that I am Zero, it is neither positive nor negative in its connotation. It simply “is”. It simply exists. I simply exist, without justifications or associations, without condemnations or hallucinations.

Just there.

Just alive and being, and thinking and existing.

I think therefore I am; if I think about the construct of nothing I still am. Existence isn’t determined by quantity but quality.

Zero is calculated by adding positive and negative numbers that cancel each other out in perfect balance and equality. Life in balance encapsulates the good and bad -nothing wrong with that.

Zero brings with it a zen construct of balance and possibility. Add or subtract, multiply and divide, all or none. Harmony and equality.

Neutrality at its finest…

In a society that emphasizes quantity and accumulation, zero is frightening and horrific. Zero balance = panic attacks. Zero tolerance = freak-the-fuck-out.

Yes, zero gets a bad rap.

But it doesn’t have to be negative. It can be positive. It can be neutral.

It can be what it is without explanation.

And, by extension, so can I.

(?) (;) (0)

So, what’s with the three symbols?

Nothing much, just punctuation.

Enunciation.

A declaration of independence.

Life as He Knows it

He wakes up, head throbbing with pain
Barely questioning the why of feelings obtained;
Brain checks out of the morning routine
Just get out the door, sight unseen.

Get to a place he can truly despise
Do all he can to not close his eyes;
Hope for a better change of pace
Knowing he’ll never leave this place.

Glaze through it all, abide by the rules
Unique to him, enforced by the fools;
Staring out the window of his prison
Giving up hope than anyone will ever listen.

Is it time yet to go? No, not even close
Sit back and try to just make it the most;
Exhaustion creeps in, slowing the run
Regardless of wind, rain or sun.

And when he finally is free, finally home
Weariness drags, he just wants to be alone;
Pass out in bed, wake up at night
Try to make do with the boredom in sight.

He makes do with the empty dial tones
Of strangers hanging up their telephones;
Candles flickering with an anemic glow,
Somewhere in the darkness, a bell tolls.

He shivers –here –with his empty arms
A vagabond bereft of all his charms;
He knows how it ends, he knows how it goes
He knows how this story comes to a close.

It ends in the morning when the sun comes up
After midmorning showers and chipped teacups;
It ends with him walking out the door
Taking a flight, to never return anymore.

It ends on the shores of a silvery day,
When crustaceans and dolphins come out to play;
It ends, not with an echoing scream or a bang-
But the drawn out silence after the last bell rang.

 

Hoarding

To work on letting go of items, not people
Is an exercise in thoughtful deliberation
We value people but possessions are so comforting
In a strangely satisfactory way.

Constant review and edit
Like a book that will never publish,
We continue to sort, and sort, and sort again;
To trash, to donate, to give away.

“Maybe I will use this tomorrow
Maybe I will use this never
I have never used this, but may-
Sometime very soon.”

A nest of intention, surrounded by degradation
What coulda, shoulda, woulda been
Potential wasted, rotted, decayed
A world lost to time and indecision.

He worries that without her
You will regress to this state
Of holding on to things
To block out the reality of your loss.

In the damp and dark
Rust and decay
All the pieces of the past
Simply pass away….

Choking and Can’t Stop

Oh, the words!!

The words constantly floating in the back of my throat.
Don’t choke
Screams and shouts and anger and goats
Legit, goats, and men that stare at them

 

This has nothing to do with you. You are extra.

Fodder.

 

It feels like I’m drowning.
Bubbles for words
Swim past my lips
As you stare back at me
Through the glass walls
In my prison of silence.

 

Iron Fist (2017): Cue Face Palm 

[Disclaimer: I haven’t read the comics, so I judge purely on the show as is without prior expectations based on the comics (I suspect reading the comics first would have made this so much more disappointing…)].

15 Days Ago

Currently at episode 3 and so far there is good and bad. Okay, mostly bad.

The subplots and the main plots are not well developed (as in, barely believable). A cliche spin on the typical greed and deception threads. All these characters add in, and during the first two episodes, it’s a pure hodgepodge.

My biggest beef is with the main character: a child trapped in an adult body. With all the power -literally- at his fingertips, he comes off as the typical all-brawn-no-brain character who bumbles around on the fringe of stupidity and angst. And, hint, doing the same thing multiple times will change nothing -except drive viewers to ensuing madness.

I mean, I thought you were raised by monks -who can be some wise folk- but I guess Danny Rand just wasn’t listening past the part of “I have power”. Plus he ran away from the monks for… no damn reason!?

Since I didn’t read the comic, I have no IDEA what the Asian woman he bumps into posting flyers had to do with the story or what purpose she served for the story. (Of course, a quick wiki read explains it, but without the “backstory”, Collean Wing doesn’t make sense to the show’s plot they way the wrote her in).

Can’t judge the acting beyond the fact that most of the characters come off one-dimensional (I-have-one-purpose-that-doesn’t-jive-with-this-scenario), but this may fade in time/ be the fault of the writers.

What really kills me is the choreography for the fight scenes: after Arrow, I can’t stand the slow-motion punches with no power behind them. If you aren’t going to hit -hard / for real- then at least Pretend to throw a strong punch. Otherwise, it looks damn stupid when people fall over from a punch thrown like a gently passing feather.

I’ll keep watching (maybe) and will give final ratings thereafter -after I finish screaming at the MC for being so damn naive…

3 Days Later

I couldn’t do it. It was so bad that I just wanted it off my Netflix watch page so I skipped to the final episode and fast forwarded through the whole thing.

I just can’t.

The writing was BAD. And I’m not sure how much of the bad writing resulted in bad acting…

Whatever they were going for -hell, I don’t know what they were going for (directors/writers) but this story turned out to be about a sheltered/stupid victim who reacted like a naive child to the mechanisms of betrayal, shady business, and disloyalty.

You know, the good things of life…

I think I’ll just hit some websites that will run me through the comic synapses for Iron Fist. I’ve seen some of the covers, and it looks so much cooler than whatever this show was going for.

Feel free to disagree, but this, like Arrow, is just another disappointment.

Rating: 1/10

P.S. Storywise, I couldn’t help but compare to the Batman trilogy- both lost their parents, both lost their companies (at some point), both trained by monks/ninjas, etc.. Really the main faultline difference is character -Danny just had no sense of self-preservation, dignity, or cunning in this show.

I Miss… I Crave-

The tease of the ivory keys caressing my fingers
Swaying to the lullaby of the notes so precious
And ever present -they take me away
To a magical realm of sight and sound and harmony;
I want to return to the space of silence and meditation,
The resonance of the chords, the light aria of the melodies,
The foundational left to the playful and free right;
Together, sound the partnership,
Play a perfection,
Bring the heavens of the sky closer;
Sight unseen, yet I can hear them sing,
My heart beats wildly, my breath -an afterthought
As all I can hear, all I can see is the sound of emotion
Pouring from my heart to those ivory keys.

The mystery: how can your notes still give meaning to my effort
And my emotion?
Written hundreds of years ago, what a gift!
So beautiful still, so relevant still,
Salvation in my darkest hours…still…

These hands are so rusty now
Like metal in the rain, they are misshapen
And slow, eeking out a painful melody
Echoing a memory of perfection and speed
Ahhh, how it torments me!
But I can’t stop.
Broken I may be, but in no less way talented
The memories of ear and muscle return
I just work twice as hard now.

I no longer curse the gifts I do not own
I now cherish the talents I have been bestown.
But now, am I the pianist or the swooner?
Does it matter? It is no risk to be beguiled by the arts,
To be drawn aloft by the emoted voices of the keys.
Keys? Yes, keys
They unlock this rusty soul and alight the musty rooms
With passion so palpable, the heart bursts
With color and taste so potent
Even the brain cannot put it into words…

Give me the eyes to see
The total count of fingers to play
The full scope of memory and technique
To bring it all to life
Again.

Once again, once again,
Grant me the privilege to grace your keys
With my fingers…
Once again allow me to be in your presence;
Let us renew our partnership
Let us be one -together- again…
Sweep aside the guilt and time
And let us renew our passions-
Let us dance as we once did
Let our desire fold us, each into one another,
Let us lose ourselves to the beauty of possession,
Twirl to the heights of rabid obsession
Just you and I…