Why is This James Bond so Painfully Sexy?

Warning! This subject matter in this article surrounds sex. I use the word f*ck without an asterisks. I talk about body parts (mostly non-genital, but still, be forewarned). I describe in detail why James Bond (Daniel Craig, specifically) is so sexy (the answers may or may not surprise you). These are merely the humble observations and musings from a woman who’s had crushes on men since the age of 3. If you don’t have the stomach for the content, no worries or offense intended, simply read one of many I’ve written on less lascivious subjects. I’ve been toying with the idea of starting a separate site/blog/platform to write about sex, what it is to be sexy, who is sexy and why, sexual double standards (my research focus in college), and just flat-out honest truths about sexuality today. I don’t want to be dirty, raunchy or crass just for the hell of it. I want to write from an honest place. I like sex. I enjoy discussing it, watching it, having it and being turned on by others. I think it is the single biggest driver in life, beyond the need to be fed, clothed, sheltered, and quenched. What’s beautiful about sex is it somehow satisfies hunger and thirst while making you feel enveloped by heat, secure by the sheer vulnerability of the body that accompanies you.

Anyway, I digress...

As bizarre as it seems being a nearly three decade old human living in western civilization, I have never seen a Bond film. Correction: I hadn’t until 3 days ago. To be fair, I think I waited for the right time, and the right Bond. Nonetheless something in the allure escaped me until days ago. I’d seen numerous clips growing up. There’s something about iconic films and characters that seep into the fabric of our culture. I still haven’t seen Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi (I’m sure every nerd’s head is exploding) and yet I know, like everyone else knows, that Vader is Luke’s father. Spoiler alert.

So I grew up knowing Bond was charismatic, strong, clever, that he drinks martinis shaken, not stirred, and he can work his way into any woman’s pants. He’s mysterious, calm under pressure, aloof in emotion, and alert in passion. He’s the ultimate get for any villain and yet, given the chances time and time again, he always emerges alive, often unscathed. What I saw growing up seemed cheesy, over the top and nonsensical. Why would the antagonist finally get his hands on Bond only to give some ridiculous speech, a tour of his elaborate facilities, a look at the impossibly powerful weapon he’ll use to kill millions, only to have given 007 enough time to assess the environment and flip the script in his favor? Seemed so silly to me. My education on these films extends to sound bites of Sean Connery saying Pussy Galore in that classic accent of his, and the brilliantly funny Austin Powers films, the first in particular.

Cut to Now. Last year I saw Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and it was then I was privy to the raw sexual magnetism and acting talents of Mr. Daniel Craig. His eyes are piercing, seriously, it hurts to look right into them. His body is so, um, hold on I’m sweating, it’s just so, well, fuckable. Yeah, fuckable. There’s hardly a better word to describe it. I see him, the arms, the chest, the ASS; and my mind, body and heart all go to the same place: sex. He could charm the panties off a blind woman. The deep voiced British accent doesn’t hurt either.

Once the previews for Skyfall released, I realized I needed to nip this ‘I’ve yet to see a Bond film’ thing in the bud. So, my very own delicious man and I bought Casino Royale for 10 bucks on BluRay (very worth it!) and had a cozy Saturday night in. Within two minutes, I was regretting watching it with my husband. I mean no disrespect. Something I’ve learned being happily monogamous for over 7 years is the recognition that I am still human. As I mentioned above, I’ve been crushing on men since I was 3, since I can remember. I’ve yet to let go of my childhood crushes (Val Kilmer!), so I’ve accumulated a long, fascinating list of men I put into the spank bank.

Being attracted to another man, or men in my case, does not diminish the hotness my husband has. And he is hot. I’m quite lucky. I fully know and expect for him to feel the same way. He has Scarlet Johansen and other lovely, beautiful, sexy women to drool over. Feeling jealousy or being territorial only pushes people away and reveals ugly insecurities. And those are not sexy. Watching gorgeous people (like James Bond) have sex is titillating. It leads to awesome actual sex after. Try it yourself.

So as a young girl with no internet or tv in my room, I found my stimulation wherever I could. Top Gun (again, Val Kilmer), soap opera sex scenes, TV shows, magazines and album covers with cute guys, and with whatever fuzzy, unclear nudity I could find by surfing channels we didn’t really have access to. I like some erotica, naked people having sex certainly does the trick, but what sends me to withdrawal from the spank bank are films like Casino Royale.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4T551JuZkA

The film begins with this beautiful neo noir style homage, black and white, Bond is waiting in the office of a man who’s wronged him/possesses a threat to MI6 (I will not explain what that is). You know someone’s eyes are incredible when you can see how bright blue they are in black and white! Whoa. Despite the icy color and striking gaze, what gives someone (Mr. Craig specifically) sex appeal is the life behind those sparkling eyes. And many Brits carry my favorite quality in a man: cheekiness. There’s a naughty element there, a mystery. He’s self-assured. He knows he’s sexy and he knows you know he’s sexy. One glance and you’re done. All the sudden you can’t find your skirt and you’re wondering how quickly your principles went out the door.

We follow 007 through nail-biting chase scenes, watching him as he climbs and scales high-rises, rides a stolen motorcycle on top of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul (this is Skyfall), engages in fist-fights above a rapidly moving train, and punch after punch, step after step, Bond never breaks. He’s steely, unfazed , it’s as if he has Iron Man’s heart. He is rough, tough and fucking badass. The man could go for hours. Double entendre intended.

Where many of the previous 20 Bond films are considered silly and lacking in good story, the recent three have critics swooning over this new, bruising, hard-edged, almost angry Bond. Most have touted him as the best Bond ever. I’m biased, nonetheless I agree. Craig busts his balls (Literally! Watch Casino Royale’s infamous torture scene. He’s naked, in a chair. That’s all I will say.) to get the job done and once he’s strangled and beaten another terrorist, he dusts off his three-piece suit (men have lingerie, women have suits) quickly adjusts his cuff-links and moves on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dlytGZuZxw

Whether he’s playing poker, involved in a highly dangerous shoot outs, seducing an exquisitely beautiful woman, or having a combative conversation with his boss M, he does not blink. He gazes deeply, confidently, resolutely, until everyone in his wake turns to mush. And what you can gather from someone’s gaze is their level of focus, their awareness and commitment to the moment. What makes 007 so enigmatic, so successful, so smart, so sexy? PRESENCE.

There’s nothing more attractive than a human being fully engrossed and absorbed in the Now. Bond is fast, strong, agile, nimble, but what gives him an edge is his keen observation of his surroundings, and his second to second responses to whatever the environment and the moment brings. When he’s making love, he’s not worried about work. Whatever rough skirmish exhausted him, leaving him with stab and bullet wounds, he repairs, accepts and moves on.

It should be noted that sex appeal has little to do with physical perfection or the perception of others. It’s certainly in the eye of the beholder. I happen to find Jeff Goldblum and other interesting artists very sexy, more for their minds and their talents than their bodies or faces. Daniel Craig, similar to his British cohort Clive Owen, is (to borrow a phrase from my favorite film critic, Dave White) handsomely battered by life. His face is weathered, like he’s really lived, and despite his body’s near perfection, his sexiness emanates from his being, from his mind, his heart, his loins, his skills, his strength, his intelligence, his sense of humor, and yes, his humility. The 6-pack is a mere bonus. Who he is behind the suit, the muscles, the eyes, the sensual breath, is far more sexy than any image can capture. This video is evidence.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkp4t5NYzVM

Finding someone so acutely sexually attractive is both exhilarating and terrifying. Who knows what this specimen could do to me? I’d certainly love to find out. In one of my favorite moments from Casino Royale, Bond finds himself in love, a rare and unique experience for him, and while recovering from some fairly severe injuries that occurred in the torture scene I mentioned above, his lady love stares into his baby blues and utters, “If the only thing left of you was your smile and your little finger, you'd still be more of a man than anyone I've ever known.” And Bond replies with that suggestive grin, “That's because you know what I can do with my little finger...”

Gulp. Jesus. I erupted in this burst of nervous, excited laughter. I was moan-breathing the whole time, concerned it was obvious to the man sitting next to me. Something about a man like that makes me satiate. Eyes, mouth, body watering, like I’ve been walking for days in the desert and am desperate to quench an insatiable thirst. It’s all biology, physiology, science. My mind, thoughts, emotions are not involved at all. I’ve been rendered a mute, just a willing female awaiting impregnation.

Sexual repression, guilt, doubt and insecurity is the culprit for much of our society’s unhappiness and overall fucked-up psychosis. I carry no judgment, I simply wish for others to loosen the reigns on their own criticism. Sex is a beautiful gift. It is fun, sweeping, engulfing, with tremendous health benefits to boot. Whether you dress your partner like Bond or another sexual figure, or you’re having a good ole time with yourself, the rush and release of sexual desire is medicine for your mind, body, heart and soul. Don’t doubt it. Go with it. You don’t have to look like Bond to feel like him, or a Bond girl for that matter, you’ve just got to appreciate your life and your loins and be unapologetic in expressing them.

Being prude, self-conscious or uptight is a waste of energy, a waste of time, a waste of life. We are here because of sex. We better damn well give thanks in whatever ways we can. Happy humping!

Living With A Sexual Appetite

I'm getting too used to writing these little disclaimers. If you've changed my diaper, grown up somewhat conservative and/or modest, sheltered, private, or perhaps you're just a bit squeamish; please know that this article is more honest, open and raw than I've ever been. And that's probably saying a lot, as I usually don't mince words. So read at your own caution. And enjoy.

I was born a horny child. Salacious as it may seem, it’s true. I think most children are equipped with sexual inclinations, intrigued by their own bodies and the desire to explore others. We learn to shield this very natural instinct, to shun the beauty of a naked adventure, and lock up desire, fantasy and pleasure into a closet that is dark and run by fear. That was not me. And luckily that was not my parents. I liked boys immediately. Well, men, truthfully. Boys my age never interested me until I met one that seemed an old soul like me, an indeterminable age himself, wise and weathered, handsome and strong. But I digress.

I was pretty boyish growing up. Combination of sporty parents and family, with no sisters or girl cousins, being the oldest raised by very strong, outspoken women I was doomed to a life outside my shell. I just remember loving dirt, sports, all colors besides pink, and being first. God dammit I was in a race, it was important I arrive in style, before everyone else. So I was very tom-boyish, dressed in baggy pants and jerseys until I realized boys like girls who dress like girls, not girls who dress like boys. Alright, I’ll throw on a skirt. As a child, I played with dolls mostly through other friends. My closest childhood friend had many trolls and my little ponies. All I remember is loving the wild hair of the trolls and incessantly touching the suede-ish my little pony because it felt amazing! The only barbies I owned were two hot, long-haired ladies and one dark-haired man Barbie. Don’t think I didn’t make those three inter-mingle in sordid ways, because I did, many times. And I’d do it all again.

In my family I’m most known and remembered for humping the furniture. From about the age of 4 I was mounting everything with an arm. Look out, old sofas and chairs! Life was good. My parents gave me the greatest gift you can ever give a child, they handled it with mature grace. They simply asked I hump my own furniture in private, behind a closed door, away from the grandparents and other visitors. And so I did. At the time, it was a physiological impulse. It felt good. That’s all. A few years later it got good and pervy but at a young age, it’s just stimulating. A leads to B which leads to C. Parents, adults in general, and authority figures specifically freak the fuck out when their kid seems inclined to follow their primal instincts. Your genitals are fun houses, kids, don’t let the grown-ups claim otherwise.

I was and still am a very inquisitive person. I want to know all things I don’t understand. I do not enjoy being confused and therefore I have an awesome crease from a consistently furrowed brow, a marker that says “bullshit.” I gave my parents this look often as a child, including the age of 5 when I persisted and annoyed them into telling me what sex was, down to the dirty details. The Louis C.K. stand-up from years back exemplifies this beautifully (and covers all kinds of hysterical topics regarding raising girls). “But why?”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4u2ZsoYWwJA

Children never stop asking why. Adults don’t either but the context is miles away. Children’s whys regard discovery and figuring shit out. Adults are scheming to find out why something did or didn’t happen the way they felt it should. We are so annoying. Nonetheless, my tenacity paid off, I got my lesson on sex and I did not hesitate for a second thinking I wouldn’t have sex. I knew I’d have a lot of it, but when? And with who?

After many years and hand cramps, worn out arm chairs and holes ripped in underwear I started to get the idea that someone else can help me with this hard work. It doesn’t all have to be done myself. An unfortunate theme piped into the heads of many young ones, and young women in particular, is the notion that sex is special and should be saved for someone deserving. And although I agree with this somewhat, I think that either piques the interest of your child more, makes it feel wrong and forbidden -and trust me, what is forbidden is so damn enticing- or it drives you into fear, leading to ignorance and thwarted development. Hell yes, I want to be wrong. Fuck those old people (my parents weren’t and are still not old). My Mom was smart enough to share that sex was awesome and fun but many young men haven’t a clue what they’re doing and many wish to just spread their seed and then leave you with a literal and figurative mess to clean up. She expressed that when I was ready to let her know and we’d prepare accordingly. May sound odd, nothing gets you in the mood like telling your mom about it, but it was really comforting and it led to a fairly high standard that was never met until I fell in love.

I knew people who were having sex in junior high. In elementary school, I was a little rudimentary slut, holding hands and kissing whomever I could. I had about 4-6 boyfriends from 3rd-6th grade. Some I kissed, some gave me jewelry, some I literally just talked to, and others I just paraded around like some sort of trophy at school. I felt my first emotional bond at 12 in 7th grade. For whatever reason he was a complete wussy and we kissed only once. I moved away after 8th grade to Dallas, where people were hotter, richer and a billion times more advanced than I was in every single way. I experienced the ethereal concept of chemistry for the first time at 15 in 10th grade. I’d had tons of crushes, mostly on the older guys, crushing hard-core on my older brother’s (actually my cousin, doesn’t matter) friends, taking tiny insignificant moments with me to recall later that night. But real chemistry is a whole other ballgame. And it fucked with my head royally.

This guy went on to become a very good friend of mine as we had endless things in common. We never so much as kissed and we’re still friends today. I’m not going to lie, I’d easily have ruined the friendship then and got the monkey off my back, but I was a hormonal mess without a clue how to handle it. And I’m stoked we’re still friends. Celibacy followed me further. My parents were all going through their own bullshit, leading me to question the value of relationships and making me hesitant to roll around with anyone just yet. I constantly had the thought that none of these boys could even begin to satisfy me, mentally, let alone physically.

I moved again in high school, back to the town of my junior high. For the first time since actually hitting puberty I ran into my 6th grade boyfriend. We barely spoke in junior high, I was consumed by my relationship with his friend. At 17, it was as if two adults were meeting for the first time. And for the first time in my life, my loins were activated by a man who existed in real life, not on television or the movies. To be so powerfully attracted to someone in a sexual way is very, very engrossing. I’m fairly certain it was the hormones but my god I was devoured by desire, and clouded by physicality. I’d always been attracted to men and he was a man now, equipped with height and hair, broad chest and a deep voice. God my mouth still waters thinking about him. Yikes. Excuse me.

Ok, I’m back. So being an idiot teenager I just lusted after my 6th grade boyfriend, allowing him to drunk dial me whenever he wanted, pop in and out of my life when he wished, enjoyed some summer make-out sessions and ultimately I let him break my heart twice. Ugh. Gross. I’d like to make a correction and say he broke my ego’s heart twice because my heart as it is today would waste no time on this dude. I’d still get naked with him, do not get me wrong, I have good taste and he wasn’t terrible, he just wasn’t stimulating enough, in every way imaginable. I feigned strength and sarcasm when he’d roll back into my life, pretending I didn’t give a shit until he convinced me he did and then I’d turn to mush.

I lost my virginity to him at 19 years old at his beach house on July 26th, 2003. His birthday. What a gift. I took charge. I was on birth control already, for over a year, priming my body for this experience. I went to Victoria’s Secret with my mom and bought some sexy underwear. Truth. I made a sexy playlist and got myself revved up on the 35 minute drive over. I let him know just what was going down. I took charge and I got mine. It was cool. Certainly not the best sexual experience I’ve had but a release. It was awesome to be naked with someone else, someone I’d been drawn to for so long, someone I wanted so badly. I should’ve ripped his head off and left him after but I lingered a bit. I told him we should just have sex and enjoy each other until I went back to college. We did once more. That was all. He always said I was too good for him, too much for him to handle. Shitty excuse for a boy dressed in man’s clothing to make. But ultimately true.

I spent 3 years in college single, abstinent, lonely, in a chronic state of masturbation and sadness. The tumult over my bullshit relationship just made me feel too weak to approach anyone or to open myself to someone new. I slept with a hot older dude who turned out to be engaged. It was very animalistic. I liked it, but I didn’t like him enough to pursue it further. Plus, I wasn’t interested in being that girl. Sure, I lusted over professors and tons of taken men, but I never wanted to disrespect someone’s relationship. I had enough sense and empathy to know I wouldn’t wish that for myself. And I did in fact want my own relationship, with laughter and eating and sex and whatever else is supposed to be involved. So many disingenuous guys in college. I crushed on a guy for a couple years, purposely ran into him around campus, sat near him in class, dreamt of him at night, but my courage be gone with my virginity and it didn’t return until 21, with the help of some liquid courage.

A few experiences with some people who will remain nameless led to me being fed up with me. I decided I would not waste another second wanting the past to be different. What a waste of time and energy. I chose to be open, for once, and see what happened. On a rare night out (I was so lame in high school and college. I can remember each party, each bar and each club. That’s how little I went out.), I went to a bar/restaurant my parents loved, a bar I’d visited numerous times underage, the very one where I met my one night stand parter, and I sat and gazed, eyes and loins open, excited to see who would come my way. I talked to this cocky ass hot guy who’d been talking to every other vagina previously. I did not give him my number, I’d never given my number to anyone. Truth. I was with one of my best friends, my old brother (Cuzzy) and then my parents joined us (since I was young I’ve been a homebody. I love my family. My standards for friends and men were high because I already had a place where I was accepted and welcomed to be myself).

It began to rain and in a quasi buzzed stupor I decided to go outside for some fresh air. I don’t even want to think about not going outside that door at that moment, because that moment changed my life forever. Every second since has been monumentally better. My life began July 9th, 2005 and I’m not ashamed for a moment to admit the cause. I fell in love and lust at first sight with my future husband, Derek. He was about to come in, finishing a cigarette, an activity I insisted I’d never accept. In a flirtatious and bold moment, I told him he was too handsome to smoke and I threw his cigarettes in the trash. It’s actions like this that leads my father to tell me I would scare the hell out of him. Oh well. Something worked. We went on our first official date July 22nd and we’ve barely come up for air since.

I won’t air out the dirty details of our relationship and our shared enjoyment of copulation, but I’ll say that I went into this partnership with an open mind and heart. I didn’t sacrifice who I was for a second. I was blunt and honest, at times to a fault, but ultimately we carved out a very genuine, equal relationship where each person’s needs were prioritized and met. He softened me and I awakened him. I do feel we brought the better out of each other and given we met at 21, it would be a drastic understatement to say that we’ve grown up together. I never anticipated getting married at 22. My cynicism was mounting so high I couldn’t even foresee meeting someone at all. My chosen shift in energy changed things. It took me getting fed up with myself, with who I was, that broke me free into who I could be.

Our relationship has been 97% positive. Any 3% came from fear. Fear of falling in love and losing it. I’ve never liked myself less than seeing my jealousy. I always thought I was above it, but I’d never been around someone I loved and someone they’d had sex with before. It made me feel so juvenile, so uncomfortable. Can’t you just release and then cast that person away forever? Turns out that’s not so practical and most of the time we’re forced to engage with characters from our former lives, regardless what role they have now. Years ago, I was riddled with false confidence. I wanted to be adored but wouldn’t admit it. Love me for my mind, dammit (see previous article on growing up with a MILF for a mom). And so the beauty of other women made me uncomfortable. I had beautiful friends, beautiful family members and admired many women. I wasn’t a woman hater. I was just particular. And if the lady was super hot but not inspiring in any other way, instead of acknowledging that and enjoying the sight of something so beautiful, I fought it. An un-winnable fight. Again, a waste of energy. Nothing brought me further into my satisfaction with life and everything in it than this.

To assume someone you’re with is titillated, attracted to and satisfied by you and you only is futile, selfish, egoic and stupid. I understand the unease that comes along with those emotions, but let me just express as someone who’s come out the other end much happier and in a very satisfying monogamous relationship, that you may be committed to one person, but you are not dead. Since birth I’ve lusted after men, had long lists of men I wanted to bone, and short lists of freebies should the opportunity arise. That hasn’t changed. Me and my love have respectful, fun discussions about men and women we each find tantalizing and why. Genuine confidence is a love of self and an appreciation of others. It is not conditional. There are no egg shells to carefully circumvent, no conversations off limits. Letting go of worry frees you to enjoy yourself and others more fully. We’re embarking on the 7 year itch and neither of us have ever been more in love, in lust, or in like, with ourselves as individuals and with us as a unit. I believe so intently that this is what love and sex are supposed to be. Everyone’s definition and expression are different, of course, but most deserve to simply enjoy the company of another, encourage each other on their specific paths and live harmoniously with someone who balances you, allows you to be you and elevates you to your next level with ease.

Some blunt truths about sex:

Sex is awesome. Lights on or off. Naked or just the underwear removed. It is to be enjoyed. Good sex happens in the moment, not in your head. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

The more you accept your body and the less you complain, the better your sex will be. This is also true for your life in general.

Masturbation is healthy, prevents unwanted pregnancies, unwanted STDs and unwanted sexual awkwardness. I know what I like and I know how to express that. Get to know your body. It’s yours.

If you’re dissatisfied in a sexual relationship, first examine what you can do about it. Can you be more honest with your partner? Can you be more honest with yourself? Can you pinpoint what is lacking? Quality? Quantity? This may seem easier said than done but if you’re choosing to commit to one person, it behooves you to prioritize your physical relationship and to ask those difficult questions of yourself and the other.

The only reason your religion doesn’t like sex is because it is predicated on fear. How can you trust someone who’s taken a vow of celibacy forever on how to treat your body? Let alone someone who’s speaking for someone else on your behalf. No, thanks. Just as there should be a separation of church/temple/synagogue/place of worship and State, there should certainly be a dividing line between doctrine and semen. Forgive my crassness, but it’s true. There’s no need or room for thoughts and opinions in this realm. Sex is a beauty to be experienced beyond the confines of words and beliefs. Just do it.

Your body is not dirty. It’s fascinating, peculiar and fun as hell. Enjoy it.

Jealousy, gossip, disrespect toward others, cutting yourself down or demeaning your partner are the antithesis to sexual arousal. Kindness, acceptance, trust, respect, humor and a healthy appetite are great aphrodisiacs. Try em on for size.

How you look has little to do with your experience. When you’re fixated on the external, little attention is paid to the myriad of glorious ecstasies that can be felt within. Take your awareness to how you feel and know that if it feels good, it looks good too.

Sex can and certainly should be enjoyed free from emotion. It is each individual’s business what, when, where, why and how they engage in sex. BUT, sex is always better when you dig the person you’re with, when they’re more than just a P or a V or a set of T’s or B’s. Don’t discount the emotional element as it can rear its ugly head and affect your experience of sex. Acknowledge it all and have whatever sex you want to have and protect yourself as you see fit.

Knowledge is power. Read, listen and watch any materials that may educate you and serve you and your partner better.

Enjoy your dreams and your waking life. You only have one. Soak it up.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

cop(U)lat(I)on

No matter how difficult the access or how high the cost, we will find a way to have sex and not have babies.Does that bother you? How much time do you spend worrying about how much sex someone else will be having? Kind of perverse, isn’t it? Those worrying about the sexual activities of others couldn’t be less sexual, less full of life and passion. Government is not sexy. Strict religion silences pleasure, self-discovery. Bummer. The 70 year old white man with a collar doesn’t believe I should have sex without intending to procreate. Hate to rebel, padre, but it’s with reckless abandon that I rip my clothes off tonight, with the lights on, just one of many enjoying the fruits of this wondrous existence. Nothing can stop this innate gift, not even your persistence. No amount of resistance. Or insistence. No foil or foe. No John or Jane Doe. No judgment. No punishment. Can strip away this liberty. This freeing ecstasy. After which, what’s left of me. Is the same. I carry no shame. No blame. It’s insane. To wax and to wane. Over my body. My pleasures. My pain. This is my business. Clean or dirty. In love or in anger. Known. Or a stranger. Safe. Or in danger. Loudly. Proudly. Shrouded in desire. Crowded with fire. Heat. Combustible. Chemistry. Lustable. From below. Or above. In hate. Or in love. Get out of my bedroom. Stop infecting. Resurrecting. Nonsense. Fear. Inducing guilt. Tears. Left cold and confused. Empty and abused. Segregated. Mind and body split. Heart and loins adrift. Only pieces remain. Hope down the drain. Because of ignorance. The arcane. Inane. Insane. Caustic. A stain. Get out. Silence yourself. Opinions shelved. Criticism delved. What’s left after it all? Death. Extinction. We all breathe. We all love. We all drink. We eat. We try. We learn. We die. Along the way to death. Enjoy the rest. Absorb the best. Laugh. Discover. Dance. Be entranced. Engulf. Remove. Let go of clothes. The cloak. Time to soak. And invoke. Follow your passion. Your bliss. Know yourself. Without presence. You miss. This. Here. Now. Be. Lover. Achiever. Believer. Receiver. Alive. Here to thrive. More than survive. I’m here. Now. As are you. To enjoy. Somehow. Together. Or apart. Let’s embark. Rev up. Start. Leave the rest behind. Let go. Let loose. Tie a noose. Around the naysayers. The fake players. The empty prayers. Say fuck it. And be you. Everyday anew. Relinquish. Laugh and play. Screw. For no one but you. All you have is Today. Flow and sway. Here. Away...