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Blue Moon b Stamatisgr

Seeking means : to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal – Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Early last October, I was given a glimpse of utopia. Tales of birth and lust and love intermingled with a complete release of the body and a bond formed with the universe. Tales of conversations between bodies and souls that seem to have known each other even before a meeting of the minds; tales that forever puncture the fabric of space & time. I have seen the possibilities that life can hold for me. I say this in the midst of some of the darkest days of my life because I know what is possible for me now. I wish I knew more. I long to. So that when the possibility of the potential for that kind of infinite joy comes within reach, I’ll know to grab onto it instantly and let it take me on the ride of my life. I thought I was having it this year and it startled me to realize it. But maybe what happened these past few months was merely meant to be the catalyst for it. I hadn’t realized or maybe I had just forgotten the fact that within the lost crevices of my soul, I could hold the potential for much more. Until then I had merely been mundane. I had foolishly come to terms with the fact that there could possibly be more for me than the decisions I had made or what I thought was a raw deal that life had decided to hand me. That I was just meant to endure much and come out stronger. And live to tell stories and be a tower of strength for others. I had completely lost the plot. Submitting to the naive expectations of the heart and the tales the world tends to tell you. No wonder I have constantly been so dissatisfied during what could have been the most joyous moments of my life.

Why listen to the likes of Jim Morrison (random example) and in my case Nick Drake these days, if we’re just going to put them on play & take off into a weed or drug induced stupor only to come out of it and go on with everyday as though what they saw and promised us about meant nothing? I told a friend recently that I thought the last big revolution of humankind already began and ended before our time. I saw a glimpse of its possibility during Lasantha’s funeral. But maybe that was merely a show of solidarity. I’m not saying the hippies had got it all worked out. But maybe they were onto something. Something that would have at least made the institution we’re so comfortable with worthwhile living in. There are far too many dissatisfied, restless souls in this world for you to disagree with me on that.

I don’t care who becomes the next president because of what he can do for the price of potatoes anymore. I don’t care if I have enough money to pay the rent and drink enough so that it temporarily numbs the constant pain that I have come to acknowledge is my life. These are all just means to survival that I have placed too much faith and hope in over the years. Necessary evils that beget more necessary evils. I’ve welcomed this way of living and kept it comfortably within me for too long now. It’s not about having an opinion about things or learning things and passing them on or living out mundane expectations. It’s not about learning some epic path to wisdom. It’s about what finding out what your own personal happiness is and where it lies. At the end of the day, if we’re not happy, then what’s the point of it all? It sounds like a simple enough statement, but it has been the furthest thing from my reach for far too long now.

I turned 30 a few days ago and I have come to realize that each one of those years have been a waste, save a few precious moments that most people would kill to have. Moments of complete clarity that I have swallowed back when they would surface. Maybe out of fear that the feeling won’t last, maybe out of some sickened desire to have those feelings dwell in a way of life that they weren’t meant for. Hearts break far too often and too many times have I seen a world full of saddened people without a reason to go on. And I have been those people during many junctures in my own life too many times to let it continue. I can’t, I won’t, I refuse to let the next 30 be defined by the same way meaningless existence.

On the night of the Blue Moon I sent a wish out into the great universe that has shown me the potential of myself when I am open to be a constant receptacle, receptive of anything and everything, come what may.

I have written too often about my own simplified philosophy of the missing sandwich. Aiyo! How wrong I have been to think of life in those terms. Of just one missing element that completes us. There is so much more to me and those I love to think of it in such belittling terms. I won’t close this blog down but I will stop blogging here. It will be kept open should I or another soul come by here someday it and find some solace or recognition in what I have written over the years. I am no longer the missing sandwich. This part of my journey is over. It is time to shed the old so that I have enough room to take in the new life, the real one I am meant to live.

I am not preaching or passing on because I sincerely have nothing of worth to tell you. I am just giving you my personal reasons for the decisions I am beginning to make for myself. If I leave you with anything, it will be a plea to find your own personal happy place and stay there. I haven’t found mine in its entirety yet, I have merely seen the potential for it, like I said. But having received a glimpse of it, how can I proceed without it now?

Happy New Year everyone & I wish you all your personal epiphany in 2010, if you haven’t had it yet. Thank you for all you have done and been to me over the years. Thank you for stopping by here when you have. Thank you for becoming my friends and staying that way. You will always hold a place in my heart for that is the one part of me that is already infinite in its ability to welcome and embrace.

May all our dark days be erased, someday.

Goodbye.

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep & suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life and not when I have come to die discover that I have not lived – Henry David Thoreau

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Obligations | by an3n

Obligations | by an3n

You know I think there’s something grammatically wrong with saying “I feel obligated”. An obligation is not a human emotion. I feel sadness, joy, love, anger. But how can I feel an obligation?

Too much of the world seems to run on it and not on real emotions. I’ve been quiet for a while because I’ve been hibernating. Off from work for a few days. When you’re in the thick of things sometimes it’s too difficult to see what’s going on. When you stand outside of it and look in, it’s easier to see how twisted things are. How twisted even you become as a person without even realizing that you’ve got there.

My question to myself and the world at large, is why we let a word like obligation rule so many things in our life without stopping to realize it. For some of us we’re so far into doing things and being certain types of people based on how obligated we are that it may cause too much damage to try to rectify things. People get married out of obligation. For instance, some people do it when they get a girl pregnant. The wedding becomes a big cover-up, the story goes to say that the baby came early and eventually mom and dad settle down into a pseudo life of parenthood and picket fences. None of it has to do with how the guy really feels about the girl. It has to do with obligation.Doing the right thing. By the world at large, by other people. Never by yourself or your heart.

I made a friend recently in the process of him being 2 months away from marriage. In a few weeks of me knowing him, he called his wedding off. And I have never been prouder of a person for standing by their heart. The getting to know him was purely coincidental, so please bring back those wondering minds to the topic at hand and let’s move on…

He loved her in his own way, he smiled at her innocence and naiveté but somewhere deep inside he knew that she wasn’t the woman who stirred his soul. Eventhough he knew being with the one who did do so wouldn’t be a sure thing, he opted not to settle. He opted not to go through with things that would change his life as he knew it just because of some obligation. He realized that he was not only doing himself long-term harm, but also damaging the life of someone he cared about deeply. He knew breaking her heart now would be better that breaking her soul later. And trust me I know what it is to have a broken soul. Disillusionment will only be on the 3rd page of the glossary if you want me to write Oprah’s book club, best-seller, pseudo ‘self-help’ book on it.

His soul is intact. And so is his optimism. I don’t think I would have been able to say that about him if he didn’t change his mind. I’m not being a psychic when I say that, merely someone who has seen too many people not live by the light they see at the eleventh hour. Simply because of OBLIGATION. Some of them are brave enough to say fuck it to the “what will people think” attitude, but it doesn’t mean that they don’t still follow through with things because of obligation.

They don’t feel obligated. They ARE obligated because they are subconsciously brought up on a false sense of what life is meant to be. We’re taught to be selfless. True. And I have no issues with that. But it’s more about how you live between those lines that give the next generation the perspectives that they tend to live by and pass on to the next. That vicious, vicious cycle has cheated too many generations to let it continue noh?

The woods are lovely, dark & deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep

– Robert Frost, Stopping by woods on a snowy evening

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I have a new friend you see. New in the sense that most of my really close ones have known me for at least a decade. I have a best friend who’s been a part of my life for 20 years or more in fact. But this one & I are different. We met maybe 4 years ago and because of something he said one random night at a gathering of friends, I looked him in the eye and said “let’s talk”. It turned out to be a night laced with half a bottle of brilliant tequila gold. We finished the bottle and in the process emptied our tear ducts as well I think. In just one night, we realized that we were kindred spirits.

And to date we have still had those random nights, a play in which we acted in together, a few vacations, one overseas and the others to Unawatuna. And many, many nights of sleepovers with soul music, excellent intoxicants, DVDs galore and conversation that feed on the inner workings of our twisted minds.

Our friendship has progressed from depressing tequila teardrops to joyous Long Island laughs as we both acknowledge how far we have come in such a short span of time. We get happily high on copious amounts of Long Island Iced Tea and chortle about the years gone by. How different we are from the people we first met each other as, and how we can still relate to the new, grown-up versions of our former selves.

We have come a long way from the multitudinous obstacles that life has insisted must be thrown in our path. We have come through the fire, so to speak and we are both better people for it. The obstacles still keep coming, but we jump over them or even use them like stepping stones now. It’s good to have people you can hurt with, because when the laughter comes, it is so much sweeter. In a very recent conversation we had in fact we realized that the strongest of human bonds are forged as a result of shared pain and not joy.

We have evolved from lonely children to confident lovers of ourselves and found it to be the utterly selfish path to our happiness at last. We both share many things in common like our shared passion for Wicca and theatrics. But we also share a common thread of faith. We have both been stripped both voluntarily and forcefully of our childish notions of religion and church. We talked the other day of how we have nothing left but one tiny thread that connects us with our god. But stripped of all the man made notions, we realized that it is the one thing that no one can take from us. Because it is the way we have built our own personal beliefs and relationships with the great one.

We’ve taken our raincoats off and are ready for our days in the sun and even ready to dance in the rain when the downpours come. For, there is a time for everything. Now maybe our time to laugh with Long Island’s but we know a time to cry again with sad, sad tequila tears will come again. It’s the cycle we have come to accept and expect. But we’re grown now, and we’re ready for the unknown.

Everyone should be blessed with a friend like this, I think. Someone who doesn’t need to necessarily share all of your history or years of knowing you, someone who you don’t need to be in constant contact with for reassurances, but simply someone who can see into your soul & find a kindred there.

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Closing Time | by Mr Izalcs

Closing Time | by Mr Izalcs

The last box in the hallway is almost full. Just a few more love letters to add and bank statements to throw away. The sorting is almost done. How could a sticky note with a corny one liner decide to hold such weighty memories within? She fears the very last of them, finally thrown carelessly into the box would make it too heavy for even the burly movers when they finally came to move her memories. She couldn’t bear to carry them out herself along with her already laden heart.

And yet the sadness is not for the memories. As good as they were. Made in moments of purposeful desire and unexpected connectivity. In the most unlikely of places. Many in a dark hole, somewhere in a lost corner off Galle Road with an Iron Maiden album cover painted on the ceiling. Others in a red brick building that housed their coming together in the midst of early morning chats, his mum’s pol sambol & egg sandwiches and countless sticky notes. One that convinced the child in her to take an adult plunge into what she still debates was love. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. He writes it out neatly and places it in front of her as though he had come up with all by himself and reading it, she instantly knows that come what may, she would succumb to the butterfly kisses he would place on her nose and the quiet conversations late into the night over countless glasses of arrack and coke. Being able to share yourself so completely with a cocky stranger shouldn’t be so easy because it makes you believe more than you should. And years later it finally hits you. The distance you go, the heights you reach, all ultimately leave you with very little to take away with you. Like T.S. Eliot said, these were just the burned out ends of smoky days.

The real sadness is for the person who she used to be. The little girl who was so brutally murdered. The dreams she was able to dream. The chase that was so charged that it would almost set off sparks, leaving hairs on edge, crackling with electricity. The days when she thought she knew what would make her happy. The knowledge that she had never felt more at home with the most unlikely person and how she luxuriated in the feel of it, even during their dark days together. The countless arguments should have taught them both a lesson instead of fueling them into thinking that it was just as a result of an overdose of passion.

The sadness is for the children she brought up as though they had been birthed of her. And in a way they were. They shared her soul and she shared theirs. The sadness is for the teardrops shed over their silky coats as they cling to her in confusion, knowing their mother is sad and not knowing how to ease her pain for the first time in their lives.

She tapes the last box shut, wondering if she’ll ever be able to find herself again, if the childlike optimism would ever return. Or if she was to finally accept that all of this had turned her too bitter to be able to awaken that dormant ability for infinite joy again. Death must also feel like this. The inability to cry, the lump in the throat, the urge to scream. Hope. Such a dirty little word for grown ups.

Unpacking the old memories would be difficult in a new home. Maybe she would just keep some of the boxes unpacked. Opening them, only when she was on the edge of falling again, if it was even possible. Opening them to remind her of what would await her. Like a warning. God forbid that it fuel her on into thinking that it was possible to reach those heights again. Silly girl that she was, she knew the possibility of hope being able to escape through the cracks in her heart. That frightening ability to once more let someone else that far into those darkened spaces and places within.

The boxes were ready to go and she could hear the movers scream orders at each other outside. She glares at her empty bedroom feeling a strange combination of numbness & borderline hysteria. One last shrug for all that was lost. She picks up a final package & walks out of the door into the morning sun with a brave smile now plastered on her face. If she ever came close to knowing love, this was probably it. If she ever permitted herself silly thoughts of babies and picket fences, it was with him.

Maybe he was right from the very beginning.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

She has no clue who she wants taking her home ever again. But after nearly a decade, it was finally closing time.

Closing Time | by Pedroza

Closing Time | by Pedroza

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Love | by Enragedinfliction

Love | by Enragedinfliction

Thanks for the tag DD & DQ. I spent so much time trying to figure out what to put in this post and then I thought what the heck and just started typing, letting it take me where it should. I don’t think I’ve quite got it down yet, but not figuring it out is half the adventure ya?

Love is waking up in the middle of the night to find Stitch curled up into your body like a child, wanting your warmth.

Love is something every poet and songwriter across the planet has tried to nail down unsuccessfully because love will never be the same for everyone. It’s as unique as a fingerprint.

Love is hearing the sound of Stitch & MoCuishle body slamming the gate and whimpering with joy that you’re home each day.

Love is a lonely place because the other person will never feel it the way you do and vice versa.

Love is finding a shoe-box of old love letters and being able to still cry even if the feelings are all gone because you can still remember that you were able to love so completely.

Love is 6 pm at Old Joes with Dhammika, Pahan, Paul, David, Bandu, Mahesh and the rest of the boys, singing Sinhala songs over old arrack and deviled pork served by Raja way back when.

Love is cleaning up someone’s puke without flinching and nursing their hangover when they finally wake up.

Love is Wy, writing a post to remind me that I am stronger than the world gives me credit for after the many cat-fights we’ve had.

Love is sitting on a lonely beach and singing ‘somewhere out there’, knowing deep in your heart that the words must be true.

Love is rolling on the floor with uncontainable laughter with your best friend as you read your teenage diaries to one another, knowing how far you’ve come and how much you’re still the same.

Love is crying at your own wedding when the choir sings ‘love is only for the lucky and the strong’ because you’re still wondering if you’re either one.

Love is two strangers who find themselves in a port on a lonely, stormy night and deciding to adventure the world together without questioning or analyzing what it’s all about

Love is Brandon holding you while you cry feeling that your life as amounted to nothing, and him proceeding to write a poem for you that means so much.

Love is Mirantha holding you in his parents’ water-bed at age 7 until you fall asleep and it’s holding onto his gravestone 2 decades later and hoping that he is at peace wherever he is

Love is when it is not acknowledged and you still know it when you look into eachothers’ eyes in the heat of passion and see a tear fighting to break lose

Love is breaking free from someone who hurts you and learning to find your way in the big bad world again.

Love is knowing that sometimes it is not returned and learning to live with it.

Love is Vimu never forgetting what you did for him even if he now rubs shoulders with the worlds’ greatest

Love is your moment on stage when you know you’ve got it right because you audience either gasps or sighs or cries or laughs with you, feeling it with you

Love is knowing that you are going to be let down by the very people you love most and still being able to love them

Love is what turns people cynical because the best of things aren’t meant to last simply because we think that chemistry is love and not the real connection that comes in between the heat

Love is still being able to take a risk with your heart when life has given you every reason not to

Happy now D? 😉

Anyone who wants to write a similar post, please tag yourselves.

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What Women Want

Men always want to be a woman’s first love. That’s their clumsy vanity. We women have a more subtle instinct about things. What we want is to be a man’s last romance – Oscar Wilde

I’ve always love that quote. Ever since I first fell in love. Or maybe even before that. It reminded me that some women are different from the norm. Not all of us want the picket fences and station wagon and twins. We do at some point with some people, but there are others who assume that we want it with every man that we’re with. I think we want it when we’re younger, but the older we grow a newer, better version of a relationship or non-relationship starts to form in our heads.We don’t want to take you home and introduce you to our mama’s and papa’s and we don’t want you to do it either.

Some of us have been through the mill and realized that our little girl notions are just a big set up for heartbreak and disappointment. And we’re sick and tired of being let down by our own ridiculous build ups of what makes us happy. One day we all wake up and start to really rethink what makes us happy in terms of a significant other.

It’s not the picket fences or the over-planned day of saccharine nuptials that have nothing to really do with the relationships we’re in, in the first place. And we also realize that the best things we get out of a marriage can also be got without being in one. If we’re in something with someone we have a mutual understanding with, the marriage part, if it comes or not is irrelevant and may even cause more complications to a perfect situation that necessary. If it works out for the best, then it’s just a bonus.

For me it’s someone who is first and foremost a friend. A good one with whom I can share the deepest, darkest parts of my soul interspersed with anecdotes about my day. It’s someone who I can call when I am down and who’ll do the same with me. It’s someone I can just shoot the shit with or ask to stand next to me and see the world through my eyes and see their world through theirs.

Next it’s someone who takes my breath away, with little things. Who can sweep me off my feet without even realizing they’ve done it. Someone who can make me smile when I’m having the grumpiest of days. Someone who is spontaneous not because I want them to be, but simply because they are that way. Someone who’ll sent me a mix of silly and naughty messages in the middle of the day, just because. I don’t want the saccharinely sweet bullshit, because it’s far too much of a cliché and comes across as a bit insincere, to be frank.

It’s someone who’ll understand my need for space as I understand theirs. Its also someone who can sit with me and be quiet, just enjoying my company while they work, or ponder or read or just listen to music.

It’s honesty. Even if the truth hurts. Being able to tell each other things you can’t tell anyone else, being able to say what’s on your mind even if it is about the person you’re with, is an amazing feeling. Understanding that sometimes things don’t happen as planned, but that those spontaneous, unplanned moments make it all worthwhile.

It’s knowing where the other person is coming from to the point where you don’t need to spit venom at each other but still be able to discuss things to a point where everyone is happy. It’s meeting me and knowing that I am different to the others.

It meeting you and knowing that I’ve been through the mill for a reason. It’s a collective belief that this is ‘right’. It’s that instant connection where you know things feel like they haven’t before and you don’t question it or over analyze it.

And of course it’s someone who I have fantastic sex with in a way that makes me feel like our bodies have been waiting for each other all our lives. When every contour seems to fit and every kiss is heat. It’s about enjoying sex together because you also know what makes the other person tick since you’ve taken the time to get to know the person.

It’s a non-relationship. You don’t nag. You don’t let each other down because you honestly care for the other person. You’re comfortable to discuss other women/men with each other, even in the present tense. You want to be nice and make the other person happy because it makes you happy. Just like you’d do for your dearest friend. It’s a friendship on fire, for the lack of a better term.

I don’t want to plan a wedding with you. I don’t want to have your babies. I don’t want my parents to approve of you. I don’t need you to fall in love with me, just to love me as a friend, which is how I’d love you back anyways. You’re not my reason for being, but you become the person in my life I opt to have around. I want to enjoy my time with you and have you enjoy who I am, just the way the big guy up there made me.

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For those of you who follow my blog, you’ll know that I am actively involved with the LGBTIQ community in Sri Lanka. But this post has nothing to do with that. It has more to do with my subconscious observations of human choices and needs that started (the observations, I mean) way before I became an advocate/activist and continues to date. It’s not quite an analysis of why people do what they do but merely a stating of facts. It’s about what people do with their sexuality/sexual orientation. There maybe no right or wrong, just as being of any sexual orientation isn’t wrong. They are merely moments that have been stuck in my head like a diary that I think I need to put down…

Sexuality | by Laura Ashdown

Sexuality | by Laura Ashdown

Some people live the perfect external existence of heterosexuals. They marry, have children and live out all that is expected of them whilst they turn to multiple same sex lovers in darkened spaces and places in their lives.

Some very ‘straight’ individuals opt to ‘turn’ gay or bisexual for various reasons. They deem it palatable when they weigh it against the benefits. Some for money, some because it’s a convenient escape from bad memories with people of the opposite sex, some simply because they think people of the same sex relate to them better.

Some are proud to be different. It’s not that they chose to swim against the wave, but find themselves against a current and still opt fight it, with pride and conviction. They stand up to a world with a multitude of different voices and say “I’m gay”, “I’m lesbian” etc. And they are willing to fight the good fight until they are accepted for who they are… pretty much more normal than most of the apparent straight laced fellows on the planet.

Some see no difference at all. Sexuality shouldn’t be a differentiating factor just like other givens like race, nationality, hair colour etc. For them there is only one cry, one statement that holds true to the entire human race; the fact that we are ‘one’.

Some stay with their straight lovers for as long as they can, finding their experiences enjoyable but void of moments that take their breath away and a certain oomph that they know that they’ll only find when they’re ready to break free and venture into new territory.

Some go through a great deal of their lives thinking they’re straight only to wake up one day and realize that there is more to life than the mundane they’ve been experiencing and walk readily into a life that holds so much more.

Some have no choice. They love in secret because they have it ingrained in their souls that it they cannot hurt the ones they love. Because, in the process of discovering their sexualities, they are also reminded of the others in their lives, like family and friends whose hearts would be broken if they were to love as they need to, out in the open, just like everyone else. They are stuck between their lovers and everyone else they love.

Some who are born to the privilege of ‘normalcy’ don’t understand the hue and cry from those that are different to them. They don’t understand the very essence of the fact that there could be anything different to the way they think and feel in the first place.

Some have the conviction that every non heterosexual person should ‘come out of the closet’. There is no point hiding who you are. Irrespective of the big, bad world out there, within a community of people who are similar to you, there should be no need to hide who you are and opt for so called ‘better’ company instead.

Some go through life knowing that they aren’t heterosexual right from puberty. They experiment with the same sex but grow up opting not to talk about it. They believe that sex, in any form is personal and should be kept behind closed doors where it belongs. They have no need to ‘come out of the closet’ so-to-speak and don’t understand why some others try to force them to. They believe that the openness of ones sexuality should be a matter of choice. They way they are, suits them just fine after all.

Some opt to go through life pretending and denying themselves of the possibility of more than they have. They go through the motions of life, not knowing how much more is waiting out there for them.

Some rare few are born into families who have no issue with their sexualities or any other choices their children make. They have the opportunity to live their lives free of the prejudice that is an inevitability for most others.

Some dress different, which has no relation their sexuality but get tagged as a certain ‘type’ or sexuality. They don’t know how to let the world know that the outward expression has nothing to with their sexuality or gender*. (see below)

Some have the strong need to identify themselves and be known as one sexuality or the other. They believe that identification markers are an important part of one’s individuality and expression. They are proud to be gay, just as they are proud to be Sri Lankan.

Some people have fluctuating sexualities. They go through life being different sexualities at different points in their lives. They make statements like ‘I’m straight again’, much to the chagrin of their contemporaries although they don’t seem to find any choice in the matter.

Some don’t feel any need to tag themselves based on their sexual behaviour or the people they chose to love. They are in essence, people who don’t believe in the need for tags. They seem to be able love irrespective of a person’s gender* or sexuality.

Some have no clue what to tag themselves as, even if they wanted to. They know they are attracted to both sexes, have been involved with both as well, but can’t seem to pay any heed to a person’s sex or genitalia when it comes to matters of the heart. They wear their hearts on their sleeves, but find ‘bi-sexual’ too limiting a word to use when it comes to love.

Some are merely disgruntled with their relationships and turn towards a new direction hoping to find some peace and love and comfort there, without stopping to question if they belong there or not. Some do. Some don’t. Sometimes both situations work out, sometimes neither do.

Some identify their sexualities based on their sexual behaviour patterns and not by their feelings at all. They’ve not been exposed to the fact that one’s sexuality is not merely determined by having sex and has to do with a complete emotional, physical and spiritual attachment to one gender* or the other.

*Gender is an entirely different issue altogether which only my friend Skywalker can describe with such apt eloquence that I’ll never be able to find on my own, as he’s done here.

There are many more observations that you have probably made. Mine were in relation to people’s sexualities within the bounds of my observations and I thought I’d share them with you. And within those very limitations, I want to still bring back my initial point; nothing is wrong or right.

To round it all off, I’m reminded of a that I think is most apt. I’ve been listening to it while typing this post out but can’t seem to upload ot or find a proper video since youtube is bloody blocked at work. It’s an original by Seal, covered by Alanis Morisette by the name of “Crazy”. Try and give it a listen if you have the time. I’m sure you’ve all heard it. 😛

We’re never going to survive unless we get a little crazy

In a world full of people only some want to fly. Isn’t that crazy?

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