Adonis Diaries

Archive for May 5th, 2016

 

Much effort to build a nest. (August 12, 2009)

I did finally create my Island;

Circumstances forced me in that direction.

You are no longer free to have your island;

You have got to wriggle among the living men;

Trying to move, not necessarily forward.

You are wearing a cheap wrist watch with compass,

Always pointing north

Where prosperity is waiting for fresh hungry slaves.

There are no longer fields of wheat to plough and saw;

There is no solitude in the clear and clean wide space of dirt and sun;

There are no majestic trees to find shelter under their soothing shadows;

To listen to birds’ singing and the rush of insects and reptiles.

Only rice growers are still working in the fields;

Splashing about knee-deep, in damp and humid climate.

You are no longer free to raise livestock

In the open air, buffeted by the wind and the drizzling rain.

I did create my island;

A room, my study room, barely any space left for any more books and papers.

Constantly battling to safeguard my study room from rental prospectors;

Lucky me they never liked it enough;

But it didn’t matter for the relatives:

They have always excuses to asking me to vacate my little corner.

They never were smart enough to dangled in front of me interesting incentives and attractive baits:

Imaginations have mostly lacked about.

I did create my island.

There was this window of opportunity to re-accumulate cards;

Credit, debit, driving license, ID,

Insurance (health, life, car accident, fire risks);

Identity Cards required by government, municipality, local officials,

Syndicates, associations, and universities vying for the little you saved.

For too long every slave wanted to tame me, frustrate me, vilify me,

Trample my dignity, harass me, and mock me.

I did create my island.

Every slave, claiming to toil for self-sufficiency and independence,

Wanted me to slave like the rest for stipends;

To own a TV, a car, an audio-visual system, like all the others;

To buy toys, gifts, flowers, concert tickets to socialize as regular guys do.

They want me to re-live the delusions of youth,

Purchasing more highly performing gizmos;

To increase profit in expensive audio-visual design businesses;

Equipment quickly becoming obsolete before recouping the investment.

Select clients of vegetarians

And environmentally friendly clients.

They want me to emulate the prematurely aged married couples,

The decrepit single people huffing after faked dreams.

They want me to work in fast changing jobs;

Jobs no longer performing and contracted out overseas;

Workaholics clutching on steady boring jobs.

Engineers for vacuuming carpets, dusting off chairs and sofas;

Engineers for waxing floors, for cleaning rooms, for sanitation tasks.

Engineers for maintaining water coolers, air conditioners,

For re-arranging furniture, re-designing cubicles,

For the fresh recruits, the newly promoted with a view

To a smog city, dirty rivers, and cloudy sun.

I don’t like driving no more:

Accidents occur close to destinations.

I don’t mind dying no more.

I refuse to die in a car, a train, a ship, or an airplane.

I refuse to die in a mining tunnel or an elevator.

I would very much love to end buried under the rubles of an earthquake,

Incinerated in the lava of volcanoes,

Swallowed whole by tidal waves.

Mass burials are far more solemn and less costly;

A mass burial is an equalizer, a reminder of the power of nature

And its equity; a fitting end;

Earth to earth; where are you man? Who are you man?

Mass wedding is also so far more solemn and less costly;

At least you got a proof that your wife has sense of humor.

I do need to sell my old car but there are no takers;

In a snob society were high school graduates expect new upscale cars;

Elevated 4-wheel for the girls and two-seater for boys,

To compensate their hard sloppy study years,

To corroborate the unlimited ego of sleazy parents;

Parents mourning their young kid, a week later,

For a lethal car accident of no fault of their “gorgeous” slightly tipsy kids.

Middle aged women patronizing every “charity” eating fiesta;

For breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The same old faces, same photographers, same magazines

Exhibiting our national pride.

Ladies complaining of the hard task of changing dresses three times a day

To honor their husbands as the most elegant and expensive ladies around.

One of those ladies was honest enough:

She claimed that the economy is turning over

On account of their beauty business demands.

I did create my island.

It doesn’t cost much;

A few borrowed books, recycled papers,

A functional word processing computer,

A USB that I called UBS for too long.

Recalling acronyms was never my forte:

I never joined an army or its strategic branches;

I never worked for a multinational or its strategic arms and legs.

It doesn’t cost much to be free;

A free internet access in a private library,

Walks in nature, working the garden, and growing salad ingredients.

Creating your island is not an easy process;

It does not cost much money to be free;

Unless you discount how much you could have earned.

The only exhausting expense is not financial;

I have none to create anxiety attacks and start worrying about my future.

It is fielding the neighbors’ innuendoes, sarcasms, mumblings, and calumnies;

I avoid like the devil to meeting one.

They flee their homes on the good excuse of going to work

They are busy bodies going nowhere.

Neighbors who flee homes early to read leisurely the dailies;

In their comfortable offices; drinking countless cups of Turkish coffee;

Sweating for nothing; returning home disheveled,

Emerging out of a battle in the survival of the fittest.

I created my island;

It does take much effort to build a nest.

A life time of effort, frustration, and ignominy.

I did it;

It feels good to me.

Note: This stupid nest didn’t last long enough. Have no nest anymore, nor a shed or a corner for my privacy.

It is our light,  power beyond measure. And Love…

Nuhad Sheikh shared Marianne Williamson post. April 24 at 6:44pm ·

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?

Actually, who are you Not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory (of the miracle of birth) within us.

It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same”
Marianne Williamson

Berlin ArtParasites's photo.

Berlin ArtParasites

You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again.

But if she loves you now, what else matters?

She’s not perfect—you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can.

She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart.

So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give.

Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.
Bob Marley

Photography by Maud Chalard

Christopher Pointdexter – “Grandfather”

It is supposed to hurt
my child.
That is why
There is water on your eyes
And blood in your veins.

If we knew no pain,
We would not know truth
And truth, my child,
Is the soul
Of the universe.

 

All the events you weren’t there to control…

Yesterday, thousands of people got married. Just about every one of these weddings went beautifully.

Amazingly, you weren’t there, on-site, making sure everything was perfect.

Last week, a letter to investors went out from the CFO of a hot public company. It was well received. Yes, it’s true, you didn’t review it first, but it still worked.

And just the other day, someone was talking about the product you created, but she didn’t ask you about it first. That’s okay, because the conversation went fine.

When we’re in the room, it’s really difficult to sit back and let other people do their work, because we know we can make it better, we know the stakes are incredibly high, we know that we care more than anyone else.

More often than not, we give in to temptation and wrest away control.

And often, we make things better. In the short run.

Caring matters.

Your contribution makes things better.

But when the need for control starts to get in the way of your people doing their best work, caring about their craft and scaling their efforts,

and when the need for control starts to make you crazy, it might be worth thinking about that wedding in Baton Rouge that went just fine without you.

 

“Grief sedated by orgasm, orgasm heightened by grief”: Beyoncé,

“Lemonade” and the new reality of infidelity

It’s time to change the way we talk about affairs

“Are you cheating on me?” Beyoncé asks in her visual album “Lemonade,” which premiered last weekend on HBO.

She throws open a door, and water gushes forth—an apt metaphor for the flood of emotions that her question, and its implied answer, unleashes.

"Grief sedated by orgasm, orgasm heightened by grief": Beyoncé, "Lemonade" and the new reality of infidelity 

EnlargeBeyoncé in “Lemonade

As a couples therapist, I’ve sat with hundreds of women, and men, in the turbulent aftermath of infidelity. For the past decade, I’ve been traveling the globe listening to tales of betrayal from every side. What struck me about Beyoncé’s album was both the universality of its themes and the unusual way in which it presented them. Whether autobiography or simply art, her multimedia treatise on unfaithful love represents a refreshing break with this country’s accepted narratives on the topic.

In the American backyard, adultery is sold with a mixture of condemnation and titillation. Magazine covers peddle smut while preaching sanctimony. While our society has become sexually open to the point of overflowing, when it comes to infidelity even the most liberal minds can remain intransigent. We may not be able to stop the fact that it happens, but we can all agree that it shouldn’t. (Why again?)

Another thing most Americans seem to agree on is that infidelity is among the worst things that can happen to a couple. The dialogue here is framed in terms borrowed from trauma, crime and religion: victims and perpetrators; injured parties and infidels; confession, repentance and redemption.

As a European, I can testify that in other cultures, the betrayal is no less painful, but the response is more philosophical and pragmatic. Americans do not cheat any less than the supposedly lascivious French; they just feel more guilty about it, because the experience here is framed in moral terms.

As Brazilian couples therapist Michele Scheinkman has pointed out, the notion of trauma provides a legitimizing framework for the pain of betrayal, but it limits the avenues for recovery.

This clinical approach denudes the pain of its romantic essence and its erotic energy—the very qualities that must be reignited if a relationship is to not only survive but thrive. Jealousy, rage, vengeance and lust are as central to the story as loss, pain and shattered trust—something European and Latin cultures will more readily admit than Americans. Infidelity is not just about broken contracts; it is about broken hearts.

These erotic aspects of the drama are unapologetically displayed in Beyoncé’s fierce performance. She does not present herself as victim, but as a woman invigorated and empowered by love.

She even voices one of the great unspoken truths about the aftermath of affairs: the hot sex that often ensues. “Grief sedated by orgasm,” she intones, “orgasm heightened by grief.” Perhaps most strikingly, she is unashamed to announce to the world that she intends to remain Mrs. Carter. “If we’re gonna heal, let it be glorious.”

Once upon a time, divorce carried all the shame. Today, choosing to stay when you can leave is the new shame.

That’s not to say we don’t do it—research indicates that most couples will stay together after an infidelity—but we do it stoically and silently. Betrayed women only get to sing songs of rage and retribution and wield baseball bats after they’ve walked out the door.

Politicians’ wives stand mute beside their contrite husbands at press conferences, and they are judged for doing so. From nationally televised presidential debates to the privacy of the voting booth, Hillary Clinton continues to be held in contempt of the court of public opinion for choosing to stay when she was free to go. (She was No Bill President, and Not that gorgeous to blame him)

There’s no question that the cultural conversation surrounding affairs reinforces some of America’s most deeply held values: love, honesty, commitment and responsibility—values that have been the cornerstones of our society.

But the intensity of the reactions that the topic provokes can also generate narrowness, hypocrisy and hasty responses. The dilemmas of love and desire don’t always yield to simple answers of black and white, good and bad, victim and perpetrator.


adonis49

adonis49

adonis49

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