Memories of innocence

Ever since then I’ve wanted to experience that feeling all over again, that feeling of being complete. I thought I had it with Ashley, and for a while, I did. Then, for the longest time now, I haven’t.

Okay, this is going to be something.
Actually, no, let’s just jump right the fuck in, no dancing around the topic, no farting around, we’re doing this shit and DAMNED BE THE CONSEQUENCES!
We’re talking love, romance, flirting, and all things I find to be either incredibly easy, or just down right hard depending on how long I hesitate before actually speaking and that just causes a cascade effect where the thoughts just fucking flip out on me like,
“Hey, you’re actually kind of-“
“LOOK AT THE PENGUIN!”
At that level.
I’m not sure th reason for the hesitancy, I know for certain that it feels like the words are there, but my mouth won’t form the words.
Or maybe it’s something simpler:
Fear of rejection.
If rejected twice already, then the probability of being rejected a third time is pretty high, or maybe on a subconscious level I’m reading the social cues being put out.
Or maybe it’s the cues I think are happening but in reality it’s not.
All I can know for sure is that it’s really hard guessing intention just based on eyes, and eyebrows alone.
Which SUUUUUUCKS.
But, at the same time, affords some practice in noticing the details.
Kind of.
black women are absolutely stunning to me for some reason, maybe it’s just that I’m looking for a change of pace, or maybe dating someone outside my skin tone of splotchy peach mixed with sunburnt tomato has been appealing to me for the longest time?
I dunno why it is.

I guess my earliest exposure to the idea of dating a black gal (This is normal thinking for me on the regular. Sometimes you just have to let it out.) was back in middle school, back in San Jose, not middle school, High School?
Yeah, high School.

Okay, so there was this bomb ass BBQ place just smack dab between my house and Oak Grove high School, no… wait, Davis Minor Intermediate School… Was it OGHS? Hard to recall specific details.
Anyways, this place was AMAZING, it was Black owned (do I capitalize Black? Do I not? well, no squiggly red line, so I guess so.) run by this elderly dude… What was his name!?
Gus? Stanley? Pete? Paul? Robert? Dan? David? It was probably Gus… We’re going with Gus.
So, Gus was similar height to Nigel, but the dude was fucking stacked, try to imagine four body builders sharing one of those full one body suits at the same time, and you’ve got Gus.
Anyways, Gus made THE BEST FUCKING RIBS imaginable.
He also had a daughter, named Bridgette, I was… what, 5’9 in middle school? So she was a few inches shorter then me.
But, my bois, my awesome lads?
She was gorgeous, I imagine she still is to this day. Wish I had kept up with her.
Anyways, she had this wild hair that wouldn’t stay combed down, so she just let it do its own thing, and it was a unique experience to watch what it decided to do from the day to day.
Coil factor on a scale of one to ten?
Between a 3 to 4. There was a bit of a twist to it, but for the most part, it looked like it was always going after a few birds.
Skin tone? Best way to describe it… Her tone was as if a glass of chocolate milk were made with a mix ratio of 40% chocolate syrup, with a dash of caramel.
Her eyes a really deep brown, almost black. Her irises had a ring of grey right around the pupil, which I was always curious about, never got around to asking.
Her build was average, nothing too fancy.
She was kind of dorky, which I had a thing for back then, so it fit pretty well.

Anyways, almost everyday, after school I’d walk her back to the store (I think it was high school… Not sure of the year, BUT I do remember that it was during the either Fall or Spring.) and we’d just talk about random things, I had no clue about flirting back then, I was just friends with someone.

So, whenever dances came around, I’d always go by myself since I could never really get up the courage to ask someone to go with me, so it was just a common thing for me to go to the school dances by myself and just do my own thing.
It became something of offline meme.
This one dance those, winter formal, I did the same thing, and Bridgette was at the dance as well.
It was during one of the slower dances that a group of her friends asked me to dance with her, and I said sure, why not?
She was wearing a pink dress, not too puffy shoulders, her hair was still wild, but she had it in a pony tail which worked in her favor.
Can’t remember the perfume, but I remember the scent perfectly, it was sweet, sugary, tropical, with a hint of Lilac and rose. It was amazing!
So, I ended up dancing with her the rest of the night, it was almost like I felt this pull towards her.
During…. what was the song playing at the time!? DAMN IT.
Boyz to Men, I can never remember the song…there was this one line, “I’ll be there for you”
But she pulled me in close, and rested her head on my shoulder and I remember feeling her heartbeat against my chest.
I didn’t think about it for the longest time, but looking back, knowing what I know now, I must have made her night. Even when the music stopped, we just kept on dancing, every once in a while she’d look into my eyes, just simply smiling, she had a gorgeous smile, it completely lit up the room.
Her eyes were bright, scary bright, as if they weren’t even real, but I felt her warmth, there was mass, weight, presence!
She must’ve been the happiest girl at the dance, because she didn’t let go of me for a full three seconds after I had of her to get to the bathroom, kind of funny.

Ever since then I’ve wanted to experience that feeling all over again, that feeling of being complete. I thought I had it with Ashley, and for a while, I did. Then, for the longest time now, I haven’t.

It’s not something common, like I look into a gals eyes and just instantly fall for them, there has to be a real connection in order for me to get worked up about a gal. A visceral and thorough understanding and almost magnetic pull towards her that subconsciously drives me towards her, as if the warmth of a campfire were just underneath my heart whenever she’s around!
There has to be a look in her eyes, that one look. Not something that screams “Fuck me”, but it’s the subtelest of tells, something that I can only pick up on if she’s close enough to where I can see the iris pattern.
A look in her eyes that silently asks, “If we could be together, would you want to?”
That “If” part. The almighty heartbreaking hypothetical question.
It’s her way of letting me know that “yeah, there’s interest, but you’ve got to meet me halfway. you’ve got to let me know what’s going on at your end, what are you looking for? Will you let me know? I might not be available now, but I will be eventually, so please remember this moment.”
That’s the look that snags my attention, that’s the look that strikes a chord on the strings of my heart.
For that woman, I’d gladly face a thousand armies, I’d conquer any obstacle I could to make her happy.

If there’s one thing I’ll never regret, it’s dancing with Bridgette and seeing those beautiful brown eyes with the ring of grey, how they shown so bright, even in the darkness of that gym and the occasional flash of the DJ’s lighting rig.
That look is universal.
So, single women, if you catch me looking into your eyes, just know I’m reading your irises, trying to find that one specific look, the slight growth in your pupil, the way the light dances off the lens, the flare of silver on the outer edges.
Love is love, regardless of the situations we find ourselves, and though societal norms may prevent us from acting upon the natural subconscious impulses we’ve learned to tame, just know it’s alright, whatever situation you’re in, everything will work itself out eventually.

Getting my attention is easy, keeping it is easy, but firing up the kiln of my creativity? That’s extremely hard, and keeping those fires lit, even if indirectly? Damn near impossible.
After all, all you have to do is reach out, and I’ll be there.

Those eyes, how they do hypnotize.

Looking into them, see how they spark
Like getting lost in a hurricane of feeling
Love, loss, joy, confusion, happiness, apathy, lust
Overbounding with love like instant sparks
A flare of joy rocketing into the sky

Nazi Beer Pong, R. Kelly Crying, and Erasing Michael Jackson… What the fuck.

So, normally, or rather lately I don’t bother with the stronger stuff, I just don’t, there’s already enough examples of me getting pissed about dumb ass things that really… I shouldn’t get mad at.
Still, the Miss America Pageant can go fuck itself, I have my reasons.
So, what’s the new rager today?
I mean, if you have to ask that, ya’ didn’t read the title of this, did ya?
So let’s tackle the biggest fucker here, shall we?
Nazi beer pong. Teens who recently learned about the Holocaust, and saw the angry Austrian dude flinging hands around, who blamed Germany’s defeat on the Jewish annnnd subsequently decided, “AWRIGHT, LETS PARTAY!” first off, fuck em. fuck those idiots for thinking this was such a GREAT FUCKING IDEA in the first place,
Yes, I get it, they’re sorry, but y’know what? That’s the beauty of getting older, you start to give less of a fuck about the fact they’re sorry AFTER THE FACT and more pissed about the fact they did this shit in the first place.
Not to mention, y’know, the great sentient cheesy poof with a habit of flicking the word Fake News everywhere failed to condemn Nazis, and said there were great people on both sides… Yeah, I’m guessing that had a shit ton to do with why they thought this was a great theme for a party, which, HA, underage drinking and the usual dumbassery of thinking they’d get away with this was fucking brilliant.
Also, kudos to the dumbass that thought up the brilliant plan of flooding the principal with emails so he wouldn’t be able to expel them from school. yeah, no. If I were the principal of that place, I’d have thrown a fucking rally, invite the little bastards to the center of the auditorium, give a big ol speech, and hand them the expulsion papers, and yeah, while that’d be quick to solve the riddle of “Hurdur, can’t expel us if we’re gunna flood his emails!” and quick to piss a few parents off, I’d kindly remind the little shits that our school has no room, absolutely none whatsoever for that kind of bullshit.
And yes, the parents would have their opinions about “WE PAID SO MUCH MONEY SO OUR DARLING LITTLE ANGEL COULD HAVE THE BEST EDUCATION!”
I would have mine, “We sent good young men to their graves by the thousands to kill the Nazi sumbitch that was killing over 6 million Jewish practitioners, and the last thing we need is another rise of the Nazi, get your kid the fuck off my campus.”
My initial gut reaction over with… Let’s dial it back a little.

First, don’t get me wrong, I read the CNN article, and I’m happy that the Nazi Beer Pongers got a taste of reality, by way of Eva Schloss telling them about the horrors of the Holocaust, about how she and her Step sister, Anne Frank, hid from the Nazis in an apartment block, and survived the concentration camps while, unfortunately, Anne Frank passed away before her sixteenth birthday.
It’s refreshing to know that with the proper guidance and educational tools, as well as a little first person recounting of such horrifying events, the youth of today can become a better generation.
Seriously, Fuck Nazis.
I wanted to get that out of the way before heading into the second part.

R. Kelly crying… Just, okay, I don’t even know where to begin, so i’m going to start at the heaviest thing here:
The man’s accused of having relations with underage girls, imprisoning women in his house, being a controlling asshole, and… yeah, let’s zipline back to that first one, since, the other two pale in comparison:
R. Kelly is being accused of being a sexual predator.
Just… what the actual fuck. And when Gayle King interviewed him, and I love this part, because it shows that for a split second he premeditated and planned this shit out:
Robert asked if a particular camera was on him, and when it was confirmed, the dude purposefully flipped out, addressing the camera directly, screaming, punching his fist, flipping out, basically the god damned water works.

And I wasn’t focusing so much on the man baby being a dramatic asshole, I was much more focused on Gayle herself, she sat there, with poise, calmly trying to figure out a way to get everything under control, and she did just that.
He just continued pouring on the gas to the fire and went all out, and while I’m tempted to feel sorry for the guy, I can’t, I just can’t.
IF, for some reason, this was blackmail, or someone had kidnapped someone close to him, and he was freaking out about this, because they wanted something of his, but he’s like, “Nah motherfucker, my shit’s mine.” THEN and only then would I feel sorry for the guy. And if he’s proven innocent in the end of all of this, I will walk back my comments, but if he’s guilty of pedophilia, then all my fucks have simply run out and he deserves everything coming to him.
It’s sad to know that being a Celebrity comes with the known risk of someone destroying your life because of a fuck up, and yes, I am aware that nothing’s been proven yet, but Robert’s going to have to register as a sex offender, serve time in which he’ll get his ass handed to him many times over, his music’s getting pulled off the play lists the world over, and basically, his life’s work is over with.
Hopefully, the latter’s not the case, but if it is, fuck him. Never listened to his music that much anyways. And there will always be a dedicated fan base, no matter what. People, fans, that will listen to his music no matter what the hell is going on.

Which brings us to the final third of this: Because of a documentary aired on HBO, “Leaving Neverland”, basically the poison pill that kills the majority of love for the King of Pop, Michael Jackson is effectively and posthumously being erased from culture, why?
As stated above, there will always be die hard fans who’ve got eternal love for Michael Jackson, no matter what, but it will become more and more difficult to publicly show that appreciation for his musical genius, especially when there are parties out there, ever ready to continue their assault on his musical majesty.
The documentary has interviews from people claiming Michael molested them when they were kids, and I’m not going to lie when I ask the question, where the fuck were these assholes while he was alive?
Why did they only feel safe to come out of the woodwork ten years after he passed away, though there are people out there that say his doctor murdered him. And verdicts as well. Nother topic for another day, if I remember that.
What disturbs me the most is, that in this weird era we seem to be in, Which, hey, if it does the great deed of removing creepy fucks from positions of power, I’m all for it. But, if the movement assails the memory of the person after they’ve passed away, that’s just wrong.
Regardless of what the proof and verdict is, I will always enjoy michaels music, regardless of what the majority of die hard Celeb Status killers want to say.
Prove them guilty while they’re alive, while it has the most impact, don’t wait till their bodies have been cold in the ground for a decade to turn the cherished memory of the person into a pile of shit smelling ash.

So, in closing:
Nazi’s can go fuck themselves.
Robert Kelly needs to man the fuck up and stop pitching bitch fits at the camera.
Stop trying to kill the memory of his Musical Majesty, Michael Jackson, long may he moon walk over the haters.

Just needed to get this out of the way…

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