“A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her
dreams wants to see her in an hour…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a youth she’s content to leave behind….
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a past juicy enough that she’s looking forward to
retelling it in her old age….
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …..
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
one friend who always makes her laugh… and one who
lets her cry…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a feeling of control over her destiny…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
how to fall in love without losing herself..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
when to try harder… and WHEN TO WALK AWAY…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
that she can’t change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
that her childhood may not have been perfect…but it’s over…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she would and wouldn’t do for love or more…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
how to live alone… even if she doesn’t like it…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
whom she can trust,
whom she can’t,
and why she shouldn’t
take it personally…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
where to go…
be it to her best friend’s kitchen table…
or a charming inn in the woods…
when her soul needs soothing…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she can and can’t accomplish in a day…
a month…and a year…”
— Pamela Redmond Satran
3:21 am • 21 January 2012 • 2 notes
Phew!!
That needed to be said.
Now, back to perving as scheduled.
7:06 am • 16 January 2012
“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
9:29 am • 15 January 2012
I yearn to transcend the plane of the physical.
And when I do, I will weave myself around you in ephemeral twists.
Constant but shifting…No pattern the same as the next one.
When you move I will cease and I will awaken when you crave respite.
I will let you bear me….wear me….tie yourself around me in knots of feeling.
And when you tire, I will hold you, twist you inside out and crawl into your murky depths to find my place.
~Obsidiana
9:24 am • 15 January 2012
He seems particularly hungry tonight, the beast rippling underneath his skin.
I smile, because now he knows how I feel. Every night. Every day.
I feel the answering snap of teeth as my hunger rises to tangle with his.
So, I loosen my hold on his reins a little; allow his animal to emerge roaring and thrashing.
And when he does…oh when he does, I feast on his unreastrained violence.
I let the storm clouds of desire build. I watch our mingled breath fog.
And then, I stake my claim. Tug on his leash. Fulfill him. And tame his raging heart.
~Obsidiana
11:43 am • 14 January 2012
All is fleeting.
Hold him close.
Tell him you love him the moment you feel it.
Kiss him goodnight and good morning.
Seduce him slow, hard and long.
Grab the moment while it is still in your palm.
Remember this.
All is fleeting.
~Me
11:27 am • 14 January 2012
