Archive for the ‘Shorties’ Category

Good Morning, Penis!

Wednesday, September 21st, 2011

puppetry-of-the-penis

My subway arrived at the 34th Street stop at about 6:30 a.m., giving me time to arrive early to my 7:00 kickboxing class where I would guide people in using kicks, punches, knees and elbows to solve all their domestic issues. My heart melts a little every time I receive a testimonial like the following:

“My wife and I got into an argument over dishes being left in the sink. I threw the jab-cross-knee combination we worked on in class and after she got up off the ground, she washed not only the dishes but also the puddle of her blood. Thank you not only for your kickboxing instruction but also for helping me maintain my marriage!”

As I was rounded the corner to the final stairwell up to the street, I jarred into a freeze as I saw a black man standing on the stairs with his erect penis sticking out of his pants and finishing what looked like his morning toss-off. I saw a few drops of liquid fall from his penis to the ground and in my innocence I thought he must have just finished up urinating. Looking at the steps, I didn’t see any puddle of piss and thought to myself, “If it wasn’t urine what in God’s name could it possibly—Jesus Christ!”

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross talks about The Five Stages of Grief that one goes through when experiencing a grief-inducing event, such as the death of a loved one. The five stages include Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I discovered that when witnessing a penis at 6:30 in the morning one also undergoes various stages leading, but not ending in, acceptance. And thus was born The Five Stages Of Seeing A Penis, soon to be released in book form.

The first stage is Shock, where you are startled to a point where you are like a deer caught in the headlights. There have been many cases of people who have been sodomized while completely catatonic. I myself have woken up from the dentist’s chair to a facefull of semen. Needless to say, I insisted that I would not pay any extra for the facial.

The second stage is Justification. You can’t accept that a man would just have his meat hanging out there blowing in the wind, to use Bob Dylanian terms. “He must have had to urinate really badly” or “Perhaps his zipper is broken and he needs to do laundry and was forced to go commando and the combination of broken zipper and no drawers has led to this unfortunate situation,” are common responses.

Unlike the five stages of grief, Acceptance is not the last stage of The Five Stages Of Seeing A Penis.” After the initial shock of seeing the penis and the subsequent desperate attempt to justify why the penis is making an appearance in order to maintain your current worldview that in this world men keep their penises in their pants, especially in public places, you have to accept the fact that in front of you stands a man and protruding out of his pants stands a penis. If by this point you can’t accept this as a reality, you might have gone into complete cognitive dissonance and the following stages may not occur until much later.

After Acceptance comes Anger. “Why the hell should I be subject to witnessing this man’s penis—especially before 9:00 a.m.?” A subtle aspect often denied in the penile viewer is the anger that this man has his cock exposed and you would also like to pull out your pud but are too afraid of the consequences, from legal to laughter.

The final stage of The Five Stages Of Seeing A Penis is Desire, where you have gotten through your initial shock and anger and now want to experience that schlong firsthand. This often expresses itself in reaching out to the appendage or dropping to your knees and opening your mouth or the spontaneous dropping of your panties and spreading of your legs. In the incident in question I experienced all of these common manifestations of desire.

There were two things I took out of this incident, besides the development of The Five Stages Of Seeing A Penis. The first is that I will most probably refrain my barefoot walking to places that are not hotspots for the morning wank, such as subways and Starbuck’s restrooms. Secondly, I have committed myself to cover my penis from view until at least 9:00 a.m., realizing a sighting of this sort could result in a traumatization of the viewing victim.

With having a penis comes a tremendous responsibility. One must wield his organ with this awareness, especially if you plan to use your penis as a tool for Self-discovery.

Gratitude

Wednesday, August 31st, 2011

(c) August 17, 2011

gratitude

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Gratitude to God

For both the joy and the pain

Life’s a bitch–but great!

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Thirsty

Saturday, August 27th, 2011

(c) August 27, 2011 by Swami X

12940943045TqZnm

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I am so thirsty

Yet rain pours down upon me

My mouth must be closed

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Wet Dog

Sunday, August 14th, 2011

wet_dog

“I like your smell,” said Ogre. For most people such a comment would make them feel warm and fuzzy but for me it said something very different. If there was concern for accuracy Ogre would have said, “I like the smell of the essential oil cologne we picked up from the Indian guy at the New Life Expo and am glad I can smell it on you.” But this was a relationship masked in insecurities and power plays and accuracy was the last thing of concern.

Smell is our most primitive sense, not meaning it is the least technological of our ways to process the environment but that it was our first sense to develop. While most people function predominantly through their sense of sight, just remembering the smell of the brownies that your mom used to bake when you were a kid is enough to send just about everyone into a state of heavenly glory. It sends me into a coughing fit but that’s because my mother burnt just about everything that went into her oven and by “oven” I actually mean oven and not her vagina.

We tie different associations to different smells. The smell of buttery popcorn to the movie theater; smelling stale beer and puke to waking up in the alley by the bar last Saturday night; the smell of flowers to a field of blossoms. Even if it is just in our mind, smells can transport us to places and times of which not even Star Trek’s teleportation technology was capable.

My friend Dave hates the smell of patchouli. I think he was once with a girl who was wearing it who chewed up his face during a make-out session and thereafter he could never smell the scent without shouting at the top of his lungs, “FOR GOD’S SAKE, WOMAN, STOP USING YOUR TEETH!” This once caused an unnecessary argument between he and his wife when she was giving him a blowjob and the scent of a woman who must have bathed in a tubful of patchouli walked by on the street below and the smell of that bushy herb from the genus pogostemon wafted up and entered his apartment window.

I suppose it is natural for people to associate smells with people. I remember my first martial arts school and how the teacher always smelled like musk from his underarm deodorant. Years later I was training in tai chi chuan and my instructor smelled the same musky way and I was instantly brought back to those early days of training.

But I am a guy who prefers things a little more “natural” in the sense of “close to nature” and less so to mean “common.” I don’t like a woman wearing tons of make-up, unless we’re role-playing and she happens to be playing the part of a whore or a clown or a whorey clown. And I prefer a woman not to wear any perfume, as I like to imbibe the smell of her—her skin, her sweat, her pheromones—and not any store-bought cover-up. If I go down on a girl I want it to smell and taste like pussy and not some peppermint castile soap that she douched with because she is insecure about her smell. Now don’t get me wrong, if I had to choose between the smell/taste of peppermint or rotting tuna it would be a hands down decision for the former; by “natural” I also don’t mean “rotten.”

With more distance and more reflection it is clear to me that there is little about me that Ogre really did like, especially regarding the physical. She liked my body, that much I will concede. I suppose she liked my cock, that is if it was stimulating her and saving her electric bill from using her vibrator each night. But she didn’t like my dress—and not just the red one with the bow on the lapel—buying me clothes that she would rather see me in, never asking me what I actually liked; she didn’t like my hair, suggesting I cut it; she didn’t like my smell, suggesting I cover it; nor did she like my sarcasm, suggesting I shut it the fuck up.

Today it was raining pretty heavily when I took Abandon out for a couple of walks. She came back soaked and smelling like wet dog. Now for those of you who don’t interact with dogs, the smell of wet dog is like a cross between the elephant house at the Bronx Zoo and a horse’s ass. As I dried her with one of my towels, I wasn’t concerned that she would get her funk into it. I just smiled at her looking vulnerable, all wet with her tail hanging between her legs, gave her a kiss on the snout and took a deep inhale to smell her scent. At that moment I realized why dogs smell each other’s privates. They don’t have the human quality of judgment and desire only to smell the essence beyond the Frontline flea and tick collar and shampoos of the ass in front of them.

But more importantly, I actually like Abandon’s smell. She smells like a dog and that is what she is. But more importantly, she smells like her and that is who I love. I am not saying one has to eat their mother’s burnt cooking because, “That is how she cooks.” I am just saying that if one is going to eat his mother’s burnt pussy, he should accept it for what it is and not expect it to be a French soufflé. Did I say, “eat his mother’s burnt pussy”? Now that’s just unnatural!

I look forward to meeting someone who desires to smell the me beyond the body suit and not to cover it up with more barriers.

Heaven

Sunday, July 31st, 2011

© July 29, 2011

P1000012

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Lying on my back

Sun shining in a blue sky

Dog licking my face

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I am No-Thing

Saturday, July 2nd, 2011
If you want to define me as my job, then I teach kickboxing, yoga, do personal training, herbal medicine, energy healing, deep muscle therapy and dog training for money. Of course I may quit any of these jobs or, if history is any indication, be fired from any or all of them.
If you want to define me by the meat suit I wear, then it is white with brown hair and blue eyes and an athletic body. Of course that may change–I may cut my hair, wear colored contact lenses, allow my body to get out of shape and become a black man.
If you want to define me by my country, I came through a vagina that was attached to a woman that was living in the United States of America. Of course this was not the first vagina I have come through in my lifetimes…although it will probably be my last.
If you want to define me by my religion, I was raised in a Jewish family but because I refused to be a part of the evil Jewish cabal that is trying to take over the world, I was excommunicated. I have explored Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, Native American spirituality and have found some beauty in each…and a lot of ugliness as well…and wouldn’t want to be defined by any of these small containers.
If you want to define me by my sexual preference, at the moment my physical attraction is toward women, although how can I predict if this will change? Perhaps the attraction will fade and I will find myself drawn towards chipmunks. And with all the headaches that women provide men, perhaps the title “sadist” would be just as apropos.
If you want to define me by my politics, I am very much into civil liberties but consider a lot of Libertarians noisy, irritating little douches.  I don’t believe in big government, but I consider many Republicans selfish, manipulative elitists. I like the idea of caring for others, but I consider Democrats whiny little wimps, Communists a bunch of pinko hippies and Socialists–well, I better not talk negatively about the President now.
If you want to define me by my moods and emotions–good luck! I can be happy, sad, funny, not so funny, angry, hysterical, pensive, mindless, intellectual, moronic, serious and a jackass.
If you want to define me by my thoughts, I have no thoughts. This does not mean that my mind is a meditative blank but only that all thoughts have been borrowed by either what we have read in books or the papers or magazines or on the bathroom walls, what we have been told by parents or teachers or friends or so-called intellectuals–or the opposite of what we have been told by these people if they bugged us enough or if we wanted to define ourselves as “anti” or “radical” or just an unsocial prick. While I have originality, it’s expression can only come through language and words and actions, none of which come close to the being beyond the bullshit.
I am best defined as a nothing. A NO-THING. Which is not really a definition but a middle-finger to all you people who need to file all your people into their perspective little manila folders. But, in truth, I am what lies beyond all these things. It is indefinable.

i_am_nothing-7210

If you want to define me as my job, then I teach kickboxing, yoga, do personal training, herbal medicine, energy healing, deep muscle therapy and dog training for money. Of course I may quit any of these jobs or, if history is any indication, be fired from any or all of them.

If you want to define me by the meat suit I wear, then it is white with brown hair and blue eyes and an athletic body. Of course that may change–I may cut my hair, wear colored contact lenses, allow my body to get out of shape and become a black man.

If you want to define me by my country, I came through a vagina that was attached to a woman that was living in the United States of America. Of course this was not the first vagina I have come through in my lifetimes…although it will probably be my last.

If you want to define me by my religion, I was raised in a Jewish family but because I refused to be a part of the evil Jewish cabal that is trying to take over the world, I was excommunicated. I have explored Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, Native American spirituality and have found some beauty in each…and a lot of ugliness as well…and wouldn’t want to be defined by any of these small containers.

If you want to define me by my sexual preference, at the moment my physical attraction is toward women, although how can I predict if this will change? Perhaps the attraction will fade and I will find myself drawn towards chipmunks. And with all the headaches that women provide men, perhaps the title “sadist” would be just as apropos.

If you want to define me by my politics, I am very much into civil liberties but consider a lot of Libertarians noisy, irritating little douches.  I don’t believe in big government, but I consider many Republicans selfish, manipulative elitists. I like the idea of caring for others, but I consider Democrats whiny little wimps, Communists a bunch of pinko hippies and Socialists–well, I better not talk negatively about the President now.

If you want to define me by my moods and emotions–good luck! I can be happy, sad, funny, not so funny, angry, hysterical, pensive, mindless, intellectual, moronic, serious and a jackass.

If you want to define me by my thoughts, I have no thoughts. This does not mean that my mind is a meditative blank but only that all thoughts have been borrowed by either what we have read in books or the papers or magazines or on the bathroom walls, what we have been told by parents or teachers or friends or so-called intellectuals–or the opposite of what we have been told by these people if they bugged us enough or if we wanted to define ourselves as “anti” or “radical” or just an unsocial prick. While I have originality, it’s expression can only come through language and words and actions, none of which come close to the being beyond the bullshit.

I am best defined as a nothing. A NO-THING. Which is not really a definition but a middle-finger to all you people who need to file all your people into their perspective little manila folders. But, in truth, I am what lies beyond all these things. It is indefinable.

Each Tomorrow

Wednesday, June 29th, 2011

(c) June 29, 2011

dragging-debt3

Each tomorrow is

a new day…unless we bring

forward its yesterday

Dominican Father’s Day

Sunday, June 19th, 2011

New York City's finest preparing to crack a little Dominican skull

NYC's finest preparing to crack a little Dominican skull. Photo by the late Elonzo Rodriguez

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DOMINICAN FATHER’S DAY

By Swami X, AX correspondent

June 19, 2011, 9:45 pm EST

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WASHINGTON HEIGHTS, NYC (AX)—In preparation for Father’s Day, the New York City police force was out in full numbers and riot gear in the Washington Heights area today. Said Officer Jelly Doe, “We’re dealing with Dominicans here, not Puerto Ricans. Puerto Ricans will sexually assault women at their parades and events, which we handle by bringing them back to the station and Volpe-sizing them with our billy clubs but Dominicans on Father’s Day—now that’s a nightmare I don’t even want to imagine!”

Officer Jelly Doe’s worries were not unfounded: the average 26-year old Dominican male in Washington Heights has five children from at least five different women; to spend time with each of their perspective “baby mamas” and their children in a single day would be an unthinkable task to maneuver.

Officer Chocolate Sprinkle said, “While I hate all Hispanic cockroaches, Dominicans are the type of cockroaches that leave a dozen little cockroaches crawling around in their wake and they need to be stomped out.” But the day passed with no incident.

New York City Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly released the following statement: “We had anticipated that each young Dominican father of five to twelve children would be running from mother to mother in order to visit each of his children on Father’s Day, causing a ruckus and chaos and general pandemonium. What we found was quite the opposite. Because young Dominican men care only about getting drunk and high and put little to no effort into the responsibility of fatherhood, instead of spending time running to and from each of their ‘baby mamas’ and children, they were all home lying on their couches either drunk or high. Besides writing a couple of dozen tickets for noise violations for blasting crappy Hispanic reggae tone music from box radios and parked cars with their doors open, the day was pretty uneventful for our boys in blue.”

Dominican children in search of their fathers

Dominican children happy to have their drunk and high fathers absent. Photo by "Itchy Balls" Edwards

Swami X is a rebel yogi who prefers the company of cockroaches to Dominicans.

Rat-Infested Dream

Friday, June 17th, 2011

Dreaming___Fancy_rats_by_DianePhotos

After my incident with the shit flies last night and spending two-hours in the midnight hour writing the piece by the same name [See “Shit Flies” at http://rebelyogi.com/shit-flies], I laid down in my bed and tried to get a few hours of sleep before I would be up again to resume the nightmare that is my life. As I lay there, my mind was racing over the events of the night. Soon Abandon poked her head in the door and asked, “Uh, you gonna call me in here or not?” I tapped the bed a few times in succession, which is her cue that it’s okay to jump up on the bed. One time when I was banging Ogre, in a moment of ecstasy I slapped the bed multiple times and let’s just say it was the threesome that both Ogre and I have agreed never to discuss again.

I went through various scenarios of my face-off with the freckled albino where I led a preemptive strike. In “real” fighting, all the fancy-dancy stuff goes out the window and the K.I.S.S Principle (Keep It Simple, Stupid) comes into play. I know they needed another “S” to make it read, “KISS” but I never appreciated being called stupid.  Why not “Sherlock” or “Sally” or something less derogatory? I thought about sending a screaming roundhouse kick to the side of his leg and in the moment’s delay from the shock that I actually hit him, sending a cross to his face. I imagined the same scenario led with a jab. I imagined stepping in close and before he knew what hit him, hitting him with a right hook.

Then the theatrics would begin as I talked to the crowd, throwing fish heads to the sharks. “The freckled albino finally has some color on him—red!” “Remind him when he wakes up of who did this to him.” “I’m now going to pull down his pants and sodomize him!” Of course, this would risk retribution, not to mention getting anal warts on my dick.

I once told a former friend who was a paralegal that going to court was one of the saddest state of events for humans, as it showed that we cannot get past our insecurities and desire to punish the other to find an equitable solution without a mediator stepping into the melee. She disagreed, obviously having to justify her job. I am not saying it is not currently necessary; what I am saying it is also currently pathetic.

In the same way, fighting for anything other than sport or self-defense of you or a loved one is also perhaps the lowest level of human expression, minus Keanu Reeves’ acting, where we dissolve all sense of spirit and become 100% animal. So even if I beat up the freckled albino, what would be gained besides some street cred? Ah, maybe that was enough.

paperbag

Then an image came to mind and I sat up in bed as my eyes snapped wide open. I imagined him coming back to me on another day and stabbing Abandon with a knife and killing her. And now my dream…

I was in a room that was somewhat disgusting, so it just as easily could have been my apartment as anyplace else. I poured some dry food into a bowl for Abandon but missed. I was like, “Screw it, there’s already food on the floor!” There was a big, fat rat and it started to eat from Abandon’s food bowl. Other people in the room were like, “Gross!” but I thought he was actually cute. He walked away from the food bowl and Abandon went up to him and I just watched. Finally Abandon made a few lunges at him with his mouth and without any warning, kind of like the killer bunny in Monty Python And The Holy Grail, the rat bit Abandon’s back foot, literally severing it off. Abandon collapsed and I saw the bone and blood in the exposed leg. I kicked the rat and it went flying. And then it was clear to me: Abandon wasn’t going to make it.

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcxKIJTb3Hg for Monty Python “killer bunny” scene.]

The significance of the dream was clear to me. I looked at these Dominican rats as not a threat and almost cute. But I have the role of caretaker for Abandon and if she is harmed because of my “sloppy ways” and carelessness, I would have to put my foot in a few rat asses. But regardless of whether I punted a few rats or not, she may never recover to the reckless Abandon that she is.

I don’t particularly like to be dependent on anything, be it government, money or a 17-year old prostitute to get my rocks off. But when you have a dog, or a child, they are dependent on you for food and shelter and affection and unless you are a black father, you feel some kind of obligation to live up to your caretaking role. Abandon relies on me to stay safe in order to keep her safe.

If someone harmed her, I could not tell you what I would do. Perhaps I would freeze up. Most probably I would cause them harm. If someone killed her I may just kill him. I can’t definitively say because I know, as it is when I teach, that I would become a hollow bamboo and the flow would just pass through me and express itself as it saw fit and “i” would not be a part of what entailed.

And quotes like this make me nauseous and seeing everything a puke green.

And quotes like this make me nauseous and see everything a puke green.

Gandhi said, “An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.” He is right. But perhaps it is best to strike blind those who would cause such extreme suffering to others in order that these pain inducers cannot take pleasure in seeing the aftermath of their destructive shitstorm and fuel a desire to cause this type of harm to anyone else. And perhaps it is best that the sufferer goes blind so he is not forced to view the horror left for him by the rat that feeds on a diet of violence and injury, or minimally, so he can be spared watching Keanu Reeves trying, and failing, to act himself out of a wet paper bag.

Monster in the Mirror

Tuesday, June 7th, 2011

© June 7, 2011

Mirror_Monster_Colored_by_FoxyPheonix

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He says how insulting I am

And I tell him he is being defensive

That his radar is set so delicately

That this flying bird appears an enemy plane

But this doesn’t stop his missiles from firing

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She says how mean I am

And I tell her she is being oversensitive

Thinking everything has to be warm and balmy

And that the cold truth

Shouldn’t result in her flower losing its petals

But it still leaves her feeling bare

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He says how unappreciative I am

And I tell him that in response to his acts of kindness

My quarter-gallon smile should be enough to fill his gas tank

And that it is he who has his foot on the brakes

But his motor stops running nonetheless

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She says how abusive I am

And I tell her that I was only sharing with her

What I needed and what I was feeling

And that when would this ever be wrong

Not realizing that everyone has their breaking point

And she had finally reached hers

That my flailing words had bruised her beyond repair

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I would always point out

Their conditioning and programming

Their foibles and flaws

Their logical fallacies

And fallacious logistics

Until I looked in the mirror

And saw a monster staring back at me…

And I was scared

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And I wondered how they had managed not to run away sooner

For this was the most ugly beast I had ever seen

And while my feet were frozen out of fear

Perhaps theirs had remained planted out of love

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