Hidden Poetry

There is a poem hidden in each person
waiting for that word which will unleash
the flowering and override the incessant
internal chatter of what shall I get for dinner?
Where did I leave my glasses?
Danny needs new shoes, he grows so fast.

All these things need poems of their own:
we had fish yesterday, tomorrow’s
soup and dumplings. Today? Let’s raid
the Bank and all go to the chippy.
My glasses are where I left them
and Danny’s shoes will wait another week.

I’ll stir sestinas in the sauces and evoke
an ode or two with tins of beans.

Edna Eglinton

weird shit underneath the surface: what makes you cum?

Last night was so great, and then it happened again: the undeniable letdown of a night full of promise with no release. I had high hopes for this one; I mean we’d been flirting all week. Hell, I even masturbated thinking about our pending love-fest! But, alas, when it came time to do the deed, I was drier than the Sahara. There was no lead-up, no cute banter, and definitely no foreplay (at least on his end). I wanted to tell him to go down on me for a bit, give this girl a warm-up before thrusting (literally) the main act upon me, but I was so worried about being rude. What if he’s one of “those guys” that doesn’t eat pussy? Funny how there’s never one of “those girls” that doesn’t suck cock, right? So, he starts driving into me and there’s no sense of rhythm or skill. Quite frankly, I could’ve been any girl that he was pile driving. And he didn’t even look at me. Not once. I mean, we don’t have to be making googly eyes at each other the whole time, but a little eye-intimacy while you’re inside of me doesn’t hurt. I’m not even going to complain about the fact that it lasted all of two minutes because quite honestly, when I’m in my zone, it can be as long or as short as it needs to be. I’m not one of those girls that require a marathon sex session. In fact, the less sweat and body smacking against each other, the better. But, there wasn’t even a courtesy cuddle afterwards. He merely patted my thigh as if I just told an endearing joke, and then he rolled over to his side of the bed. And so it goes. Another dude, another lack of orgasm for me
.
But here’s the thing: if I’m being really honest (and since this is the place to do it, why shouldn’t I be, right?), I think the extra bit of attention in bed isn’t the real reason I can’t cum. It’s not like sex doesn’t feel good to me. I mean, I feel stuff. I feel good stuff. I even sometimes feel really fucking great stuff. No, the real reason I think I can’t get off is the control I’d have to relinquish to get there. On my own, it’s fine… I know what it takes, no matter how fucked up and kinky and strange it may be. There’s no one there to judge me, except for the random occurrence when I accidentally leave the door open and the dog walks in. To get me to cum requires giving up control and letting someone see past the many layers to the real me. And let me tell you, there’s some weird shit underneath the surface. If a guy knew the things that got me off, I think he’d run for the hills. How do you explain to someone that I like it rough and fast, but still want someone to hold me after and call me pretty? How do you really let someone in, and not just physically? Sure, I can explain the logistics of my sex organs, but I don’t know if I can explain the inner-workings of my brain.

It’s only until I can be vulnerable and honest with someone that I can actually orgasm from sex, or really anything sexual. It’s almost as though my clit, vagina, g-spot, and all the “usual suspects” that provide an orgasm aren’t even a factor: it’s my brain that needs to be “stimulated” to get me off. Until I feel safe enough with a person, I simply can’t give into an orgasm because I’m so scared of losing control in front of someone I don’t trust. So, I settle for lack of orgasms during hook-ups of any nature because to tell someone what I really want and need to get me off and to expose my darkest secrets and desires, well… that’s real intimacy and that takes time. Plus, sex can be quite fun, even without the orgasm. Besides, that’s why vibrators were invented, right?

Source: How to Make Me Come

witchcraft

No one can define exactly what witchcraft is, because for each us, it is different. You cannot dictate whether or not someone’s practice is “real witchcraft”, just as no one can tell you whether or not your craft is “real”. When I began on my pagan path, my teacher told me, on my very first day in her class, “No two pagans will give you the same answer to a question.” Our practices are as individual as we are.

See HERE

A very basic truth

Masturbation feels the way chocolate tastes…

Wounds

There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.

Laurell K. Hamilton
Mistral’s Kiss

likeness to a god

It sounds like a fairy-tale, but not only that; this story of what man by his science and practical inventions has achieved on this earth, where he first appeared as a weakly member of the animal kingdom, and on which each individual of his species must ever again appear as a helpless infant…is a direct fulfilment of all, or of most, of the dearest wishes in his fairy-tales. All these possessions he has acquired through culture. Long ago he formed an ideal conception of omnipotence and omniscience which he embodied in his gods. Whatever seemed unattainable to his desires – or forbidden to him – he attributed to these gods. One may say, therefore, that these gods were the ideals of his culture. Now he has himself approached very near to realizing this ideal, he has nearly become a god himself. But only, it is true, in the way that ideals are usually realized in the general experience of humanity. Not completely; in some respects not at all, in others only by halves. Man has become a god by means of artificial limbs, so to speak, quite magnificent when equipped with all his accessory organs; but they do not grow on him and they still give him trouble at times… Future ages will produce further great advances in this realm of culture, probably inconceivable now, and will increase man’s likeness to a god still more.

Sigmund Freud
Civilization and Its Discontents

Demons from hell

During the later fifteenth and early sixteenth century, it was believed that each demon of hell had more influence during a particular month of the year. Consequently people born during those months could easily be influenced by the power of that particular demon. The list of months and corresponding demons follows below:

Belial in January

Leviathan in February

Satan in March

Belphegor in April

Lucifer in May

Berith in June

Beelzebub in July

Astaroth in August

Thammuz in September

Baal in October

Asmodai in November

Moloch in December