Talking to Shadows #4

Why is it that the only time you feel like writing is when you’re hurting? In its own way, writing is a lot like prayer. It’s stuff in your head that you need to let out, that the universe needs to hear. Thoughts are things, right? Then why is it that the only things you ask of the universe are answers, answers, and even more answers? Sometimes, you’re not even asking the right questions. So, when was the last time you really, really talked to yourself–a meaningful conversation with every being you’ve ever been, ever life you’ve ever lived, and just enjoy your own company?

When was the last time you weren’t being selfish when you paid yourself a visit? Like visiting an old, rich uncle but only because you wanted tea and not because you needed to borrow money?

I’m not saying the answers are simple, really. What I’m saying is that its not always about the answers. Sometimes, you just really need to be with yourself and not be trapped in your head–to do something because it felt right and wholesome and not because you’ve prepared and planned for every possible outcome?

When was the last time you trusted yourself?

You have the urge to write, not to complain and bitch at how hard it is to find the right words to say to the right person, but to fill the world with words, honest meaning, to tell honest stories and sing honest songs.

Maybe those weren’t the promises you’ve made before–maybe that’s why you hurt, cos you’ve made and kept the wrong promises. Well, be the villain then–go break some promises.

Read what you’re written, read your life, and figure out where you went wrong. This isn’t about regret at all, though. This is about you looking back and being aware of what you’ve got here and now. Questions simply lead to more questions, but that’s all right. This time it’ll be you looking at old photo albums with your grandmother rather than paying for insight by the hour at your local shrink (by the pint, actually, cos you don’t have a shrink).

This is why this little journal exists, right?

Take a minute. Be with yourself. Keep your own company for a while. Enjoy it. No questions. No answers. Just get to know yourself better.

Smile 🙂


Talking to Shadows #3

Is it wrong to say there’s fire inside you? Of course not. You’ll recognize the lightness of it, as if the sun was given its corner in your heart and all things around you are set ablaze. Fire is how you build the universe. Fire is the stuff of stars. Fire, of it, the world knew light. Feel it, this glowing, sharp, vivid radiance emanate from within and infect those you love. Fire is inexorable. Fire is joy. Fire burns with savage grace. You are halo itself fallen onto earth to brighten all days. It takes but a smile, a face, a simple burst of laughter, knowing that others have been set alight.

8 Things Entitled Dudes Do On The Subway

Before anyone freaks out about the title of this article, let me say that I absolutely know that being an entitled jerk on the NYC subway is not only the territory of dudes. I have seen other people being douchebags on subway, too. Lots of them. But if I had to do a quick tabulation in my head, I’d say the odds are at least ten to one (and that’s extremely generous) that if I see someone engaging in any of the behaviors listed below… it is a male-identified, male-bodied individual. I’ve lived here, on and off, for over ten years now, and this ratio has stayed pretty much a constant.

I also want to point out, lest I appear to despise all dudes, that the vast majority of men do not do things that make me want to gouge somebody’s eyes out with sporks on the public transit system…

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Seeking Arrangement: On My Brief & Failed Attempt at Becoming a Sugar Baby

Last week, The Daily Beast profiled Seeking Arrangement, a website that connects potential “sugar babies” with sugar daddies and mamas. The site has been around since 2006, but about once a year some enterprising reporter seems to discover it anew, thus provoking another round of incredulous blog posts and Tweets.

I signed up with Seeking Arrangement in 2010, when I was living in Brooklyn, NY and—due to rent, road trips and too many visits from the weed delivery service—somewhat cash-strapped. But more than that, I was curious. Single for more-or-less the first time since age 17, this was the same time period when I first began blushingly perusing the Craigslist casual encounters ads. I wanted adventure. I wanted money. This seemed like a good way to satisfy both needs.

So I created a profile, carefully crafting my image as a young writer eager to rely on the kindness…

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Are Blowjobs The New Bitcoin?


Thought Catalog

Valley girls giving blowjobs for Louboutins. What you call that? Head over heels. – Iggy Azalea

It seems pontificating over the future of online currency is all the rage at the moment. Speculation about bitcoin, litecoin or whatever the hell else the anarchist basement dwellers have dreamed up this week, has become a cyclically task for the feckless journalists staffing the technology pages of national newspapers. Well, I use the internet too and I think I’ve spotted the next big online currency trend: blowjobs.

Ukrainian Blowjob Girl

With the reach of one’s online social influence becoming an increasing concern for those serious about their place in a fast-moving social paradigm, it will come as no surprise that people have been trading blowjobs for likes. A Ukrainian called Anastasiya Milanovich caused a bit of a stir on the social network Vkontakte last year when she promised to give a blowjob…

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Of Post Modern Poetry

Wuji Seshat


The poem of the mind begins
from imitation, the sufficient finding
of ourselves in others, of language in mind

the poetry of the heart begins
from adoration, the theater of possession
when all the scripts repeat

the scenes shift with insatiable actors
I slowly construct my new stage
the poem begins with delicate listening

a repetition of silence between each vowel
with an invisible audience that cares
the poem of the mind beings after modern poetry

ended with a souvenir of free-verse
when everyone became a sufficient poet
confessing to learn the speech of themselves

now I will never know exactly how to write myself
though it is fun to make metaphysics my business
and in sudden righteousness, pretend I’m more than a spark.

Photo Courtesy:

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“Remember this: a thief is a man in need, a liar is a man in fear, the hunter who is hunted by the watchman of your night is also hunted by the watchmen of his own darkness.

“I would have you pity them all.

“Should they seek your house, see that you open your door and bid them sit at your board. If you do not accept them you shall not be free from whatever they have commited.”
–Khalil Gibran, Jesus the Son of Man

I, once and forever, am sinner
I lie, I steal, I kill
with my heart and with my mind.

My soul is sinner, my soul is ravenous.
I seek in others where I would lack.
I seek in riches where mine is empty.
I seek in love, where none is in me,
and take from others what others find dear,
to take as I want from those whose trust
I have built like a castle,
whose walls are mortared to fall
and fall completely on the heads of none
who are innocent, for none are innocent.

I would ask only that I be saved,
yet I must fail, for my longing is black.

My heart is not pure. My mind is not still.

I only ask that I would save myself, but
I would fall, and fall completely I will,
upon my own head and my own bones
that will break, and break completely,
for I am brittle and I am weak,
for I am unforgiving, as unforgiving is,
in the face of the sun, and the sun is unforgiving.

Yes, I am sinner, for I would be saved.
I will not be saved, myself, by myself,
but I must be saved, and if not by you


I will not, cannot, save myself,
so we might as well save each other.