The Romantics

Libertine lost souls

Seeking always the muse,

Affections falsely proclaimed

To share, to wallow

In glory and in fame,

A heart is a jewel once known,

Treasured, taken, and bartered,

Abandoned for hope

Of another distant jewel;

Another unknown treasure.

Libertine lost souls

These Romantics,

Trust them not

Love them not,

Predators on a silk sheet

They take what you give

They give what you want,

So long as the blood runs cool,

For in heat,

As the passions of dreams

Boil the blood

They rise,

They walk,

They leave,

And blameless is no one.

Why Poets Should Not Write Erotic Fiction (Porn)

By: A Libertine 

I was greeted by an open gate as I pulled up to the estate. Being as how I was invited I assumed the gate had been opened for me and with self assurance walked down the gravel path that cut through the impeccably manicured lawn to the grand house. There at the door I was welcomed in by the butler. He said that the lady of the house was expecting me and motioned to the elegant staircase just beyond the foyer. Nodding simply, I ascended the stairs and made my way to the master bedroom where I knew she would be waiting.

I pushed open the door and there she stood in the middle of the room. The curtains were down but they were translucent enough that the light passing through them created an otherworldly effect transforming the fiery temptress before me into a benevolent and pure angel. Casting off this momentary effect on the mind I smiled and said simply, “Hello.”

“That’s it?” She demanded. “Just `hello’?”

I gathered myself, instantly recognizing my mistake.

“Oh vision of Venus,

There in light cradled,

Angelic in form,

Perfection realized,

You burn through

This mortal man’s senses,

As the sun clears the fog.

Stunned as your curves,

Contained now

Threaten to spill

And drive me fully mad.”

She started off like this...

That seemed to satisfy her for the time being. She wore a dark green corset with black lace trim and black barely-there stockings. She beckoned with her hand and bid that I approach her. I did with the slightest bit of hesitation. My mind was going in a thousand directions and my heart beating ever faster, but she did not see it so. The hesitation she saw as reluctance. I intercepted her frown with a verse:

“Let not the stumbling clodding Scaramouche

Be odious to your Helen,

He seeks not injury,

But simple is he,

Yours is the face,

Beyond in beauty than that queen

Men fall at your whim,

Frozen, waiting for your will.”

Smiling she told me that she had missed me and was saddened at my extended absence. The war had me constantly running around the country; sometimes on official business, at other times, not quite so official. Smiling sadly, she said she understood and expressed her sadness and concern for me. Citing the glory she still worried over the carnage she read daily in the papers and the gossip her friends shared.

“Go not my valiant Cincinnatus,

Though Nike be yours,

I grieve at the mere thought,

That the price of her company,

Be so high and eternal.

Stay here, in these airy chambers,

Take this my kiss,

Far gentler than steel.”

She had moved herself to tears in my embrace. I held her close and whispered tender words confirming my desire to stay with her forever. I then began to unlace her. She kissed me deeper and more passionately. Hungry for each other we soon found ourselves on the majestic bed. Soft and perfect she lay naked beneath me:

“Oh joyous choir of angels,

Sing and avert your eyes,

For here the devils take hold,

Naked and perfect she is,

Michael, take thy armor,

For battle must wait,

Here the war is won

Love is made,

Upon her porcelain skin

Dance the shadows we make,

A thrust here does not kill,

Satan you fool,

Soul and flesh steels resolve,

Though steel may cut the flesh,

Eternal is this moment.”

And so it went, moment after moment, all night… 

Operation Leonidas - Day 0

So it is technically Thanksgiving here as I write this tonight. The turkey is enjoying its brine bath and everything else is set and prepped for a day of culinary madness followed by a relatively guilt-free bout of gluttonous consumption. Delicious!!

I am thankful for so much. Perhaps at another time where it is not felt imperative to do so I will enumerate some of those things I feel myself blessed with. Not today. Too much pressure.

I will however say that I am incredibly grateful to be alive. It seems that though I am not yet currently in mortal danger there is a bit of concern regarding my health. My blood pressure in particular. It seems to be in a current, borderline dangerous, spike. Many factors that contribute to high blood pressure I partake in, mainly an unbalanced diet high in sodium and a lack of exercise. These two things I have the power to change almost immediately and change them I will.

I have always believed in goals. Though my tendency has been to aim very high and be content in not reaching them. This must change. I aim high still, but now the motivation will drive the effort. Today is November 22, 2012. This is the goal to be reached in one year's time:

Well that is the outward appearance at least. I aim to lower my blood pressure, drop 20 or so lbs, cut the body fat, and increase the miles run and/or cycled. To that end I enlist you my friends to help me in the way of motivation and accountability. I will post updates every month with updated pictures and stats. Thanks for following and helping me in this endeavor.

Here are the starting stats:

November 22, 2012
Day: 0
Weight: 200 lbs
Miles Run: 0
Miles Cycled/etc: 0
Calories Burned: 0

On Being American - By A Post-Modern "Revolutionary"

“I was born in Mexico and raised in the United States. My family has been in the Italian restaurant business for nearly 4 decades. In my 28 years I have been mistaken for dozens of different nationalities and ethnicities. I happen to love Mariachi music as much as I love honky tonks. I listen to musicals and am as die-hard a college football fan as my living in the Deep South would have you believe. I have liberal friends and conservative friends, atheists, agnostics, and evangelical proselytizers (and everyone in between). I feel equally at home with corporate climbers as I do with true bohemians. Artists of every stripe I call friend as well. Yet, to which community do I belong?

I fancy myself a writer and admire such libertines as Shelley and Byron while also citing great influences by those brave souls with ascetic tendencies such as Gandhi and Thoreau. Who am I then? My philosophy takes as much from Nietzsche as it does from Thomas Aquinas. What are my beliefs?

Am I bundling of contradictions? Paradox to what purpose?

When I sat down to write this post my intention was to express my joy and pride at being Latino; of being part of a culture so colorful and so diverse. The more I thought about it the more I realized that embracing one part of what makes me who I am would be, at least, a tacit rejection of another part. Why does that other culture not elicit the same pride? Is the Anglo-American any less loving toward his family and friends? Their music? Is it less important because it is not mine?

I can sit and pass judgment. I can delude myself in declaring that my pride is my own and does not demean others. Though in truth the intentions can be pure the reality is that in embracing differences as exclusionary traits of community we ostracize, either directly or indirectly, those outside and without those traits. Pride sets before us a dangerous path albeit a necessary one. My family goes back hundreds of years in Mexico and I inherited the Mexican enchantment with the land. I feel my heart swell in joyous rhythms as I remember the past, bask in the present, and work for the future of that particular place and people.  That pride fuels thought, words and action. The shame of the Conquest tempers that pride. The diversity of the United Stated opens the eyes to a greater possibility for fulfillment of potential.

Imperialist tendencies aside, the American Experiment, as this nation was conceived is the idea that mankind can embrace those differences and somehow incorporate them as part of a larger whole to promote freedom, peace, and prosperity. So much has gone wrong to demean this idyllic dream, yet it perseveres. So many have attempted to oppress one new immigrant group after another and yet the Irish are still here, the Germans, the Mexicans, Cubans, Chinese, and so many others. Yet though we recall that heritage fondly we embrace that dream as well. Not of the green lawn and the white picket fence, but that here in this corner of the world we can all participate in the world’s greatest, most difficult and important experiment: that community is ours as we make it not as it is given at birth by geography. I am Latino, Mexican, Seminole, and so many other names that indicate birth, race, education and other characteristics and endeavors. Yet the only way I know to enjoy my Mariachis, honky tonks, college football, and Chinese cuisine is by living in these United States where despite our best efforts to defile we somehow paradoxically keep alive the dream that enables these differences to be enjoyed and to not matter at all in the making of friends and family. The American founders borrowed heavily from the philosophies of the world. This is the gift they gave, perfect in its ideal, putrid now in its execution. Let us all work to save this gift worth saving.” Spoke the dreamer…

So much meaning, good and bad, in this flag. Let us not forget the bad, but always work for the good.

Perfect Staff - Pirates of the Caribbean Edition

More than a year ago I posted The Perfect Staff - Haunted Mansion Edition. I took the Haunted Mansion cast list position by position and chose a mythological god or hero appropriate to each particular role. It has since become a very popular read. Recently I crossed lands and began work at another attraction within the Magic Kingdom; Pirates of the Caribbean. I took the same concept I did with the Haunted Mansion and chose a set of heroes and gods from various pantheons to fill the positions needed to operate the attraction. Some of these gods and heroes are less well known than others so in an effort to inform as well as entertain I have linked the caption in the picture of each mythological figure to its respective Wikipedia page. Feel free to click and learn more. On to Pirates!!

Stroller Parking - The Fir Bolg

Having just enjoyed a legendary Dole Whip you and the rest of your intrepid party agree to continue on through Adventureland to ride Pirates of the Caribbean. As you near the entrance of the attraction you clearly see a large mast somehow impossibly buried in the ground without the rest of the ship nearby. Atop the crow’s nest is a skeleton of a sailor far more unfortunate than you. So you think.


As you wonder at this marvel and the fate that befell that now eternal lookout you are momentarily distracted by a small group of rugged-looking individuals. They are wearing old tattered clothing with their eyes down cast moving constantly between that mast and a place across the street. Strollers! That is what they are moving; a constant, never-ending stream of strollers is being moved from the chaotic cluster around the mast to a slightly less chaotic cluster across the street. Not one directs a word at you leaving you with the distinct impression that they do not even see you there. You shrug it off and head to the entrance.

Mast - Jason

Mast - Sinbad the Sailor

The mast stands outside a wide plaza sheltering those inside from the heat of the Florida sun. And outside that plaza, standing near to each other are two massive men who seem quite at ease in the heat. While one speaks the other listens intently with the occasional disbelieving shake of the head or hearty laugh and slap on the back. They go back and forth for a bit as you stand rooted to your spot until one calls out, “khosh amadid!” He waves you over and repeats “khosh amadid!” He is wearing a long loose white tunic cinched with a belt of red cloth from which hangs a menacing scimitar. He introduces himself as Sinbad the Sailor and motions to his friend, introducing him as the Greek Jason, captain of the Argo. Jason is wearing a white robe in the Greek style, somewhat shorter than Sinbad’s. On his back, like a gaudy trophy he wears, like a cape, a golden fleece. Sinbad explains he was simply saying “welcome!” and to come in and enjoy a nautical adventure, but to be careful as it is often said and always believed that dead men tell no tales.

Photocells - Nuada Airgetlam

You move deeper into the plaza and finally reach two huge wooden doors. They are open as you approach but standing before them is a figure no less imposing than the two outside. He seems calm and at ease but he is armored in a hauberk of chain mail and a winged helm. He is carrying a massive greatsword that seems to emit its own dull light in the shadows of the plaza. It is an item of unmistakable power that you are content to stay well clear of. He has only one natural arm; the right one. His left arm he moves just as naturally yet is made entirely of silver. As you stare in stunned amazement he speaks. “I am Nuada Airgetlam, King of the Tuatha De Danann. I hope you have been properly welcomed by my companions outside. If you had any strollers my once-foes, the noble Firbolg, I trust have moved them to a proper place. Use either entrance ahead, but use caution always. Travel well friends.”

Port - The Ashvins, Nasatya and Dasra

You make a quick decision and enter the left doorway. Going down into the depths of a long-abandoned fort you pass abandoned weapons, casks of rum, cannon, and more than one skeleton among other even less desirable things. Eventually the passages open up to a small dock where boats seem to be coming and going. At this dock stand two identical twins who radiate a beautiful feeling of calm. Though they carry large whips at their sides and they move about comfortably with them you sense compassion and calm. They ask how many in your party and one prepares the boat as the other directs you to your seat. Across the dock and up ahead is another dock, but the figure manning that one is a dour-looking man. In a moment of bravery you ask one of the golden twins who that figure is across the dock and who they are as well.

“I am Nasatya and this is my twin Dasra. We are known as the Ashvin. Across the water is Charon. He loads his boats alone where we work together.” Just then another person dashes in and grabs a couple of wheelchairs you had not noticed until then, he winks at you and in an instant is gone.

Starboard - Charon

Dasra anticipates your question, “That was Hermes. He helps take the wheelchairs to the other side. Sit. Enjoy.” With that he cracks his whip and the boat moves into the inky darkness of the watery cave.

Wheelchair - Hermes

An eight-minute ride through a mermaid-filled grotto, down into a fierce naval battle and the subsequent ransacking, pillaging of a town ends as you pass a treasure room and find yourself in the bowels of the fort. The boat stops and you look to your side and there is Hermes leaving two wheelchairs in the far corner only to dash out and up moments later. At the other corner is a tall muscular being with the head of a crocodile that you are able to somehow understand perfectly. Sobek tells you to gather your belongings and exit the boat, which you promptly do. Up the ramp you go out and into a gift shop. This is the end of the tour at Pirates, yet you it will be a long time before you can shake the wonder you now feel at having experienced the ride and all those illuminating (sometimes literally) and astounding figures you met along the way.

Unload - Sobek

However what you did not see might be even more impressive. Manning an array of cameras and controls to keep everyone safe and accounted for is Argus Panoptes, the all-seeing. With his hundred eyes nothing escapes his view. He is ever vigilant for everything to run smoothly and for everyone to remain safe.

Tower - Argus Panoptes

Those who coordinate and lead the area are figures of heroic stature even among the rest of the cast. Rostam is an Iranian hero to whom no task is impossible; neither too small nor too large. He coordinates the everyday activities and is friend to the rest of the cast. Leading him and all others is Lao Tzu. This wise teacher guides the operation as only someone of his knowledge, forbearance, and patience could.

Coordinator - Rostam

Leader - Lao Tzu

Antler Bone Artifact Found - Innuendos Soon Follow

This country has come a long way from its Puritanical roots and sexuality is no longer as suppressed as it once was. Of course compared to say the ancient Greeks and Romans we are still closeted prudes. So progress is still being made. However perusing the interwebs recently I came across an article about a discovery in a Mesolithic site in Motala, Sweden that uncovered an interesting artifact. Go ahead and take a look at it below…

And here is another angle.

It is a five or six inch phallic artifact made of antler-bone (10 inches if you hear it from the male discovers). What do YOU think it was used for? We can put on our science caps and maybe venture a guess that it was some sort of stone flaking tool; a tool to make other tools. Perhaps it was part of a mortar and pestle set used to mash and grind herbs, nuts and berries. Maybe it was a ritual object used in fertility cults. But hmm…take a look at it again…

There is a saying that often the simplest answer is the right answer. Though we may never conclusively know I like to think that our ancestors, who at this point in time were biologically identical to us, were just as prone to having a good time as we are. Of course their need for lube was probably much greater. 

To the Woman That Was

To the woman that was

Once but never more,

To the woman you were,

Once but never more,

I was the man you loved

Once but never more,

Worthy in a mirrored vision

Of that misty dream

Evergreen, lush, ever near,

You on a bed of memories lay

As the wind sighed its consent

And Time stopped to admire.

Burned by reality

The vision was gone

Lived in a moment

And gone.

Beyond reach, beyond sight,

Beyond the grasp of day or night,

Soul anchored to a memory;

The woman that was

Once, but never more.

To you that were,

But never more.

Not Quite the Atheist - Yet

With an admitted touch of irony, it is a leap of faith to disbelieve the ancient belief of Deity. It is a mark of courage to go forth in this world without the support of old dogmas and oft-repeated myths to guide and to reassure. Evil is as universal as good so long as there is a will to promote thought and exercise action. There is no hidden or apparent moral compass in religion that did not first find its creation in human thought. Why use the kaleidoscopic vision of a created divinity to filter back down what was ours always?

Religion might have once had its use. To unify and to create identities that allowed ancient peoples to understand and interact in their world with each other and various mysterious forces. Forces that have in that long march across history been explained, understood and re-understood time and again as we grow in knowledge, driven by our insatiable curiosity. As we have discovered much we have also realized there is much more that we do not know. That gap in knowledge no longer creates new myths that require strict adherence to some moral, civic, or social code. We carry around our inheritance of religion as ancient baggage that with each successive generation becomes heavier.

I am not yet brave enough nor strong enough in faith to jettison completely the millennia-old deities of my forebears, but I’m close. I look to the stars with the same wonder man did 5,000 years ago and before. The gods have changed, but that basic wonder never will. God may be out there, but I do not seek him out here. The universe is so vast it would be arrogance to limit what was created limitless. 

For another rant on the subject, check out Sorry John it Took Me So Long, But I'm a Dreamer Now

Gangnam Styles - The Sasquatch's Favorites

Unless you are living under a rock deep in a cave located far into a secluded forest chances are you have heard of the worldwide phenomenon that is Gangnam Style. The original video has collected hundreds of millions of views. Something does not become that popular and viral without spawning a host of parodies. That brings us to this post. I wanted to put in one place my favorite Gangnam Style parodies and share them with you here instead of spamming your Facebook or Twitter feeds. Lets start with my absolute favorite (then in no particular order).

Lo Pan Style

Big Trouble in Little China, Lo Pan, Jack Burton, Green-Eyed Women, Thunder, Lightning. This. Is. Amazing!

Mitt Romney/ Obama Style

The election just ended, but these two still make me laugh.

Pony Style

By no means can I be considered a Bronie. I actually hate those disgustingly cute little ponies. However seeing as how the original featured the "horse dance" this short little gem adds some poetic symmetry.

Jewish Style

"Hey sexy Rabbi!"

Todrick Hall's Ghetto Gangnam Style

A worthy successor to other Todrick hits such as Beauty and the Beat and Cinderfella

Deadpool Gangnam Style

The best part of this video is how many people Deadpool makes visibly uncomfortable.

Nerdy Style

So much rejection and too many personal flashbacks. Excellent.

Klingon Style

Completely in Klingon! majOa'

Baby Gangnam

The babies are cute, but lets be honest I'll say what you are all thinking. MILF!

M.I.T. Gangnam Chomsky Style

Leave it to the kids at MIT to make a hell of a video, but the best part is a cameo by Noam Chomsky!!!!

The Original

And don't forget, the video that started it all. What are your favorite parodies?

Death Dances False

Oh Death! Miser of souls

You collect in ceaseless industry.

Not a moment’s idleness

Slows your harvest.

Always upon your steed

With your scythe ready

You approach all who call

To tempt Fate.

Too late to regret, they,

Upon seeing your visage

That harbinger of loss

Marker of doom

Maker of sorrow,

Fall in convulsive despair.

Your eternal grin defies

The lies of life

As you take the reaching hand

And lift the weeping soul

To your dance

Step, swirl, step

You move the putrid flesh

Every faster

Onward to oblivion

As the spirit anchored

Stays your partner

In this macabre spectacle.

You steal what is not yours Death!

You possess in that Dance

What belongs to an Eternity

Not yours.