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الحلقة الثالثة: لحظات مثيرة

Published March 22, 2014 by angrytinkerbell

And I decided to write in Arabic, Along to the Blogger BeLebnani. For the sensitive people this is PG 18+. just saying

BLebnani بلبناني

أكتب مثلي بالعربي هي سلسلة حلقات تدوينية أستضيف من خلالها مدونيين لكي نكتب سوياً بالعربي عن مواضيع نختارها، نروي من خلالها عن تجارب أو قصص حصلت معنا فنحييها بالكتابة ونشاركها معكم. المواضيع، وإن كانت في معظمها على صلة بمجتمع ال م.م.م.م. ستكون منوّعة وتتناول أفكار وتجارب نأمل من خلالها أن تفتح باباً لنقاشات تكون مثمرة ومؤثرة. أهمية هذه التجربة أنني أجتمع مع مدونين يكتبون (بمعظمهم) باللغة الإنكليزية لنكتب سوياً بالعربية عن الجنس، والمثلية والتحول الجنسي والممارسات الجنسية، عن حياتنا الحميمية وعن المجتمع والسياسة والوطن والذكريات وغيرها من المواضيع التي ترتبط بماضينا وحاضرنا ومستقبلنا.

أستضيف في الحلقة الثالثة المدون “انغري تنكربال” angrytinkerbell  لنكتب سوياً عن “لحظات مثيرة” تخطينا بها المألوف لنستمتع بحرية هوجاء ضمن إطار علاقات جنسية تكتنز القليل من الجنون والجرأة. انغري تنكربال بدأ في التدوين منذ حوالي العام ومن أجمل ما قرأت له I AM BIG… JUST LIKE BARNEY.

“انغري تنكربال” يكتب : إثارة في الحرية

أستلقي…

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I am B.I.G. . Just like Barney….

Published January 28, 2014 by angrytinkerbell

I am big. I’ve always been. Never felt i should lose it, never realized how big i was, until I became socially gay, and visited the Jack & Jones stores.

How come there was never a full bodied princess in fairy tales? or a big charming prince? I never asked these questions as a kid, i guess i took it for a coincidence. Nowadays i feel it was intentional.

How come the standards of beauty, or handsomeness, shifted in art, from picturing full bodied women, to skinny crackheads?

How come an anorexic food-crusher would become appreciated in the fashion industry, while all the women wearing after her are not the case?

Well okay, people find that Beyonce and Haifa are the ultimate sex symbols, but am far away from being them…

I’m a big woman, however I’ve not been gifted boobs and booty.

I am big, I’ve always been. Never felt it was a problem, as I have a smile that works like magic. People categorized me as charming, until i became socially gay. Charming was not the main criteria people look for here. You need to be hot. Although hot is relative, we tend to adopt one style of hot, you know that one featured in media, having base in Greek/Roman art and mythology.

Hot is perfection, perfection is muscles, symmetrical ones. We look for perfection, all the time, the kind of perfection we’d never reach, and even if we do reach it in our physiology, we’re never satisfied, we’re always looking for what we don’t have, instead of appreciating what we do have.

Trying to reach perfection is not a bad idea, it motivates you to work on yourself, but have we really thought of what is perfection? What kind of perfection we’re trying to reach? Do we have our own perfection, or is it the perfection in people’s eyes? People are not sure neither what is perfection, how come do we rely on such a non steady point and we expect it to give us stability and conviction?

I highly appreciate the commitment people put into going to the gym. It needs so much devotion. I was born with a character that despises commitments. I just can’t. I enjoy things till they become commitments, you know when you have to do it on specific dates and in a specific timing, then, i lose interest. It becomes boring. However i can swear i admire people who can do that.

I am big, i guess I’ll always be. I never realized it till i entered to Jack & Jones. Stylish and affordable, seems good for an everyday kind of clothing, not the best material for a proper lady, still you cant be a star wearing Kashmir and Silk all the time. Cotton is fine. But Lycra? Lycra??? Like seriously??!! How can i fit into that without resembling to a cheap slut that is trying to look slimmer? And then you say, okay bitch you have an issue, suck up on it, all you need is a white T-Shirt. You ask for the biggest size, you know, and the salesman brings you a triple x one, you try it, you try hard, but never manage to fit into it without showing off your one pack. You manage to hold your temperament like a proper “Femme de societe” until he says it: ” It looks amazing on you”. Instead of blowing, you look at him in a passive aggressive mode, a la Bree Van Di Kamp, and smile. Then he fears you, and backs off.

“You have a beautiful face, but don’t you think you should lose a bit of weight?” “It’s the 1st time i sleep with someone with a belly but you’re cute” phrases i heard so often, accompanied with a pity look and fake caring facial expressions. Can you blame people? Well kill them all already. People are just disoriented and weak. You smile again. You think, well those people are forced to do that much of effort to fit and feel beautiful in the eyes of others, while you are satisfied with no effort to mention, how can they take it?! Someone needs to see the suffering you put to reach what you are now, while others come and tell you, unintentionally, i don’t care about your efforts, must be horrendous but I can’t help it. In your advantage, you can take off your shirt in a gay bar while i can’t, so chill.

I am big, I have an attitude towards being objectified. I won’t make that much effort to appeal to anyone, not even to my ex who liked muscles. I don’t like to be objectified, i don’t appreciate it when people even tell me “I love your belly” “I was praying that you’d have a belly”. I am not a fucken belly. I am a big woman, big in thoughts, big in heart, big in soul. I don’t even think I’m that big.

I met this guy, an athlete, he liked me, i liked him. He had one hell of a cute smile. He asked me “How come you don’t work out”. I answered “Let’s make a deal, you read all what i wrote, and then ill work out with you and let you train me”

“It’s ok, forget about it” he answered …

I smiled….and again, it worked like magic.

 

barney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Go with the sands…

Published January 23, 2014 by angrytinkerbell

Look at me, look deep in my eyes. Have you seen it already ? Have you seen anything, already?

Look into my soul, have you seen my pain? No? Have you really looked? Do you expect me to go like a beggar exhibiting my deepest insecurities?

Begging for a mercy from you? Have you ever known me?

Have I ever asked for your pity? or sympathy?

Do you expect me to stand naked in front of you? Drawing equations for you to assimilate it??

Do you want my love? or my submissiveness?

Do you want me strong? or weak by your side?

You want proofs that i love you? Proofs that i cannot provide?

Kill me already, finish me up. Don’t you want that? Wouldn’t that satisfy your insecure ego?

Have you understood anything? I am a standing flower, in a desert full of predators.

I evolved with my defenses, yet I glow with beauty. Have you seen my beauty? Have you really contemplated me?

Have you seen my injuries? I survived them. I have many scars. Have you seen my scars?

Do you really expect me to die? Amongst that much of negativity? Do you expect me not to blossom?

Have you ever contemplated my light? Do you wanna shut me down?!

Do you think you can? Isn’t that why you liked me in the first place?

Would you prefer to destroy me? Haven’t you witnessed people trying? Haven’t you witnessed them failing?

That’s the way you feel unique? If only you could?

You came with a breathe of fresh air. Do you wanna leave with a storm of sand?

Do you really wanna become the past?

Have you really thought of the colors and odors i brought into your life? You just wanna kill that before you go?

Kill me already, have you really tried?

Wait, so you don’t wanna kill me, but you want me to suffocate? Live in slavery, dead outside your protection?

I don’t understand that. Forgive me i cannot. I cannot borrow you my roots to hold yourself to.

Go with the sands, ill keep a good image of you. I’ll still carry love towards you. I will always love you. I love you so much that i cannot hold you any further….

birdy

AL JARAS magazine: Bring it on B*tches…

Published December 2, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

“In Lebanon, to each his private freedom, conditioned with not exceeding or disturbing the other, this is what makes us special from countries we’re friends with”.

This is how Al Jaras magazine, a Lebanese so called magazine that specializes in gossiping and stars news, decided to start its latest article criticizing the opening of OM Bar, that was meant to happen on Saturday 30th of November in Jouniyeh.

“Lebanon, this small country with its geography, big with its value and people and culture and arts, is being hurt by people craving instinctual desires.”

Then Al Jaras continues stating facts about the new place that is bringing sex to the city, a meaningless interview on the phone with the manager of the place, and details about the marketing on Facebook, to end the article with two questions:

“If this place is not related to perverts (a connotation for gay people, in Arabic Shazzin, as equivalently insulting as faggots) why publishing naked photos of men? And why are the comments of most of the people joining their page coming from men and perverts?!”

When such a magazine starts lecturing you about freedom, you listen carefully, take notes, and know that what’s coming is big, it’s gonna make history, change definitions and notions.

Dear Al Jaras, and dearest sisters in Al Jaras, from Nidal Al Ahmadiyyeh to the littlest queen following her, this is a message from the heart, coming out of a person who is as concerned as you about Lebanon and its future.

Freedom is not something you can decompose, nor something that is given. With that low standard of an article, you disturbed me, and here I am, not rushing to close down your magazine. I have the right of not reading you people, and i don’t but viral, when some Facebook friends for reasons still unknown to me share your links, every time they think you’ve exceeded your previous limits of horrendous standards of journalism.

I never bought your magazine and will never do. Your kind of magazine is a disgrace for Lebanon, the big Lebanon you preach about, you’re no of a value, no of a people, no of culture nor of arts. The only potential use i can think of as an added value of your papers and ink is in my toilet, whenever i go shitting and I’m out of toilet papers, although i would rather have recycled papers to use, and in that too you are of a harm to Lebanon and its trees.

A Lebanon of culture and arts would never make of your magazine a best seller, so i don’t know exactly what was it really you were referring to.

I tried to understand why would you use the word perverts referring to gay men in your article, but failed again and again. Was it to cover the failure of plastic surgeries Ms Nidal had? Or to cover the crimes that the queen writing the article committed to what we call Arabic language? Or maybe you adopted what “Hbeich” (a notorious investigation police station in Lebanon) think of perverts, being those transsexuals and not the “decent looking” gay men? (Latcheh)

So it’s jealousy huh? Those “perverts” of transsexuals are more feminine looking than Nidal, and seems they expose her freakish looks. As well they are at ease with themselves, which is not the case of the queens in Al Jaras. And they for sure write a better Arabic.

A special message to the gay man writing those homophobic articles: Wake up scum bag. We’ve all witnessed you working it “a la Miley Cyrus” in gay bars.

I’ll end this blog, with an interview of another homophobic B*tch, Randa El Murr, bashing Nidal Al Ahmadiyyeh, cause simply this video elevates my morals whenever i feel down.

With Love,

The ANGRY Tinker Bell

zalghouta

The art of embroidery in the Lebanese Grindr

Published November 9, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

While people everywhere search for qualities in the other person, in Lebanon we embroider them.

It’s an art after all and we’re good in arts and appreciate handcraft right? So here’s a sample.

First, you don’t put your face pic. Of course, what kind of people put their faces in your face? It’s rude. Those people are not hip. They have problems with their families. They don’t care about anything. Shame on them. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard people saying “I don’t answer some one with a face pic”. Those people are troublemakers, and they bring pain to my brain cells.

That for a start, then come the hard details. The guy must be classy, we didn’t get over classicism yet around here. A Duke, A Prince, at least a Cavalier. Riding a white horse too. A sword wrapped on his wrist. Looking downwards to the common people. Classy means he’s not a peasant. Lebanese people are all from classes. Their most famous revolution was the peasants revolution, by Tanious Beik Karam, yet those were no Lebanese, cause they’re not classy. Right?

Educated. That riddle is good. We’re on a app that is reputed for quick sex, well we get horny on educated people in here. It’s a fetish, the most common one. You know some people are into uniforms, S&M, Dirty sex, we’re cultured. We’re into educated sex. Like while you’re fucking you bring out some poetry. How hot is that? Or maybe a physics equation. GRRRR. Around 80 % of Lebanese are educated, we cannot like someone who’s not. Charming smart people that are not educated are a turn off for us.

Straight Acting and looking. Quoting one of the Grindr users “Sr8 looking? You wouldn’t look that st8 having my dick in your mouth”. Looking straight is a trend for us homos around here. While straight men are considered trendy when looking gay. And if you’re Straight Acting, it’s even better. It turns us really like really on when some one acts it. Genuine? Who gives a F*ck. We’re born for broad way, stardom, fame, we’re born to be Divas. How can we like some one who’s not a Diva?! I’m about to cry just thinking of it….the sensitivity, the hormones, the feelings, how can you be that insensitive?!?! Now, pull yourself together Guurrrrlll!

Discreet. Being discreet makes you more of a real man. There are real men, and men that are not real. Having a dick doesn’t count. If you’re not discreet, we annul your dick. Some one did actually work out that riddle. His needle was too sharp that it actually pierced me, I’ve stopped being a real man 6 years ago. Shocking!

These were the general traits. Then the finishing! It’s all about the “Finissage”. Examples.

Height: Between 175cm and 180cm

Weight: Between 70 kg and 75kg

Age: Between 27 and 28

Hair: Black

Eyes: Black or brown

Body type: Of course muscled

Skin: Doesn’t really matter when it’s a good dick

Dick size: Above 20 cm.

Teeth: Shiny white as a Hollywood smile.

Body hair: Of course, to be a real man

Toes and fingers: Not aligned, aesthetics are for women

Clothes: Casual Chic and tasteless. Taste is feminine. Blue jeans white shirt is a +

Ass: Bumped.

That, and i won’t describe the foreplay games, where the real test for your manhood relies.

See? We give margin to people and we’re open “MIND”

Our “chef d’oeuvre” is complete and ready to bring evolution to man kind.

Always remember, it’s all about the details…

Now, we’re ready to find “the one”.

Tomorrow is, must be, a better future.

riddle

And then this is taken from a Facebook page called GayWaterford

A Victim of Social Rape

Published September 24, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

Tarek was a happy child. Very joyful. Full of life. Born from a family that owned its business, he got all what he wanted. Surrounded with a lot of tenderness, life wouldn’t have been happier for him.

He got aware of his attraction towards men at a very early stage of his life. He was surrounded by many likeable male figures. He thought he was alone to have this tendency. He tried dating women, he wanted to prove to himself that he’s just like any other person. Tarek never felt anything emotional towards a woman. He had sex with plenty. His 1st time was when he turned sixteen, his brother took him to a strip club. That day he lost his virginity to a woman, but he knew it meant nothing for him, he was thinking of a man all along.

He had conflicts with the social dogmas in Lebanon. Everyone around him, everything around him, was convincing him that the normal thing consists of a man and a woman. His brother was notoriously known to be a womanizer, he was a social idol for his skills with women. Every love story he read joined a man to a women. All the romance TV series too. His religion encouraged marriages between men and women. Family members seemed to be all happy when someone is getting married.

He was asked all the time about his girlfriends. He dated very hot chicks. He was a handsome young man, and wealthy as well. He knew deep inside that it was fake, a cover to prove to his family that he’s following the same track of his brother. Women fell for his charm and elegance. He never felt the same for them.

He became a university student, a popular guy, outspoken and heard. He lived up to his entourage’s hopes, always there in the social happenings, building an image that pleases his relatives and makes them proud of him. And when no one was there, he always found time to flee the fake life he was leading and run into his alternative world, where he was true to himself, pursuing men in gay cruising areas. The sense of danger gave him a rush of excitement that he craved with time and became addicted to it.

In that world, he found a refuge that gave him comfort. His sexual encounters were full of risks but became also a necessity. He couldn’t sleep with men that knew his entourage. He could not afford that someone discovers his sexual orientation. He became a prisoner of the image he created for himself, the image that pleased his relatives and made them proud of him.

Having graduated and started working in the family business, Tarek couldn’t afford being with another guy that represented a love material. He was not attracted to such kind of men anyway. He was seeking those “straight” men that were never to be met in his morning life. He would do anything to get them. He enjoyed being submissive to their needs, giving them the lead in sex and the priority in pleasure.

He couldn’t form a relation, even if he felt something for someone. His homosexuality was a primitive form of sexual pleasure that existed only in the alternative world he created, and could not last till the sunrise. He couldn’t find manhood in gay men that were at ease with their sexuality. A “man” for him was a “straight” one that humiliated his needs, that had a fake attitude of machismo, that was rough enough to break his rebellion, tough to the extend of physical abuse.

The best 2 sexual encounters Tarek ever had, were when he was literally and not consensually raped.

Tarek was truly raped, and was craving to be raped again…

rape

A date at the checkpoint!

Published September 19, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

Sometimes, while surfing the internet, you’d see this picture of a man, who’s features would call for your heart to react. He called for my heart to react with a regular picture of his, where he was smiling all the way.

Lovely face you have there, i said.

Thanks.

Do you come to Beirut sometimes (as he was from Sidon)?

Always.

We should meet someday.

Whenever you want.

That was our conversation. In Lebanon, you learn not to be straight forward. Well men are not that “Straight” after-all. They like ambiguity, blurriness, vagueness. Yet the way he interacted was cool in any case.

I sent him my number and told him to talk to me on whatsapp. Two days after, i receive a message from him while i was at work, we agreed on talking when i finish. From 2:30 am to 5:30 am, 3 hours of talking and talking. I kinda made it clear i was looking for a man, not a buddy. He made it clear that he was a soldier, and interested. He was fluent in English, with very good background. He got me impressed. We spoke about a lot of things. The connection was beautiful.

The day after, a Friday, the night at Bardo was ending when i sent him a message. I wanted to see him on Sunday, my day off. I dunno how things turned into agreeing on seeing him that same night before he goes to the station to rest. He was on duty, on the checkpoint.

I closed Bardo, and headed with a lot of excitement and a bit of fear to meet him, at his checkpoint. Never have I done such a thing. I just felt it’s the right thing to do. I was driving, thinking of how crazy I am, but hell with it, we live once, he seemed hot and sweet, so let it be.

I parked at the other part of the road at 3:30 and messaged him, declaring my arrival. He walks towards me, with his uniform, all tall, built, sizzling hot. My heart was beating, looking at him, walking towards me with his big gun. I’m talking about his actual big gun. He reaches my window and stands there, his bulge at the level of my face.

I acted maturely. Wasn’t gonna allow myself to look overly interested nor hyper fearful. Was barely smiley, a bit indifferent, as if i was used to such situations. Our date lasted for 30 minutes, during which we talked about Nietzsche. What?! He actually reads for Nietzsche, he started telling me how he was reading lately that guy’s theory of the weakness of people who hold their ferocity, human beings are fierce creatures by nature. I hate Nietzsche for that brain he had, I argued with him, telling him how weak i thought people to be when playing aggressive, doing fights, not controlling their anger and temperament.

He smiled to me. That was a good sign. What wasn’t a good sign, is when he mentioned how non gay i looked.  Yes, looking straight is offensive for me. But what can i do? I act like myself, and people judge me upon it. Yet it was definitely not a good sign. I was sure of it when he continued saying that he never tried it with a man but he’s curious about it. I hate it when people take me to be the right person to be curious with. I’m more of the person you come out with, you be flashy and provocative with. Urghhhhhhhhhh

At that point, i knew something is gonna go wrong. You know?! With that mentality, you expect him agreeing on the rules of the Lebanese army regarding gay sexual intercourse in the institution. You know that rule that states: A doer (fucker), is imprisoned for a while, a done with (the person that gets it in the ass) is expelled from the army. See? In the Lebanese army, they don’t just discriminate against gay people, you have a bigger discrimination going against bottoms. Something like, you take it in the ass, we kick your ass. Lovelaaaayyyy! The next thing would have been him pretending that i was a man with a pussy, or just gifting me some Lingerie so I’d fulfill his sexual fantasies.

My man, who was the sweetest thing at the beginning, turned to be all of a sudden just another regular one. My dream was about to fall apart.

The night ended with a “It was very nice meeting you” from both parts.

The next day he was gone….

And I went back to be real….

army

The Syrian Hunk, and the misery of a people…

Published September 15, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

He messaged me on Growlr. There was a guy all hunk in a pic. He liked my photo and decided to contact me. Few talks, he asked me about my role. I didn’t wanna do attitude regarding such question, so i answered him that I’m a top, he answered back saying he was a double. Double?! Well i got over the shock and understood he meant a versatile. Fine with me, we exchanged numbers and decided to meet for a fuck later on.

3 days afterwards, he messaged me on whatsapp, i was free, he was too. We decided to meet at 12 in the evening, he finishes work around that time, and i was off for once wandering Hamra as it was long time i visited “Le Marais” of Beirut, “Province town of Lebanon”. I told him to meet me in Costa, a classic that became a 24/7 for meetings. He didn’t know where that was. He asked me to meet him in front of Barbar Hamra. Fair with me.

We met, he was in my car.

Lately, I’m trying to project a certain rough careless indifferent look. What?! People are abusing my caring-ness and i was there for a fuck, sue my ass!!!

I managed to do so, till 5 minutes after we went to bed. The guy turned to be a “Shami”, from Sham in Syria. He’s been in Beirut for 3 months now. He was a teddy bear hunk. Never was I in bed with a guy like him. He’s a 170 cm guy who’s just big by nature. Like really big bones, big hands, big feet, like really big wide feet. Got me turned on i must admit. His skin was very soft, covering a lot of genuine muscles, which is the contrary of Gym muscles. Well he used to work in Shawarma in Syria, now he’s working in a restaurant.

So yeah! There he was, a genuine man, which is the opposite of “Straight Acting” one as they like to call it on Grindr. Urgh do people even realize how homophobic is that statement?!?! Dahhhh Ling are you coming out as an actress?! Like you think you’re staging Broadway?! Let me not go there….

So yeah! There he was, my man, he was a good kisser, strong hugger, someone who perceives himself as a man, and acknowledges the presence of a second man in bed. He showed appreciation for what i had down there.

Yes i was trying to be indifferent, yet he wouldn’t let me. He imposed his presence in the cutest oriental manly behaviors. He made me smile several times. He wondered why i was smiling several times, with his “Shami” accent that i imitated several times. He was a genuine, a cute genuine, i had the feeling that i really had a man laying there, made me remember why i was into men in the first place. I even felt it was exotic, you know, similar for what Europeans look for in Arabs. Some even come here just for the sake of being with an Arabic oriental man. I hear you Sistas. I know why you seek it now.

I was with a man, “manly playful like a grown up child”, rubbing his beard on mine, making me lick his armpit, holding me with force so I’d do the same, trying to wrestle me in my own bed. He held my chin sometimes while looking deep in my eyes, held my dick sometimes too, he played with my legs, kissed my feet, smelled my skin. Not only that, he told me he was praying that I’d have a belly. He said it in a cuddly way, “Battoun” was the term he used, the Arabic cuddly nickname of a belly. What?! Praying for that?! Why waste your prayers?! Well obviously it meant to him a lot. He dived in it. Like literally dived into it, putting his nose on it and rubbing left and right quickly. I have high admiration for myself, my small belly included, yet he made me feel at a certain point like, well, a belly. He just focused on it. He made me smile again. And again. And again. Well it was ticklish. He bit my meat! No I’m not talking about my dick you perverts! I’m talking about my actual meat. Woof!! Man, he was rough.

He highlighted the size of my dick, he said he was too tight to take it. Well true he was, he couldn’t take it, we tried, yet i never perceived my dick as a big one. Well he was tight, and he appreciates small dicks. Some people would die for a big dick stupid! Not him, he even preferred if his was smaller, “what is it for but for peeing?” he said. He has a point. I never understood how we cultivated in us the admiration for “Big”. Does size really matter?! Well yeah, if you had the tunnel of Shekka down there (a well reputed tunnel in the village of Shekka in Lebanon). Not his case.

Fine with me, sometimes the act of penetrating doesn’t really matter, as the feeling of conquest was there, that day i conquered a man, a real man, he conquered me too, the rest was meaningless.

Do you miss Syria?! I asked

Fuck Syria, and its sands…

It’s not nice to talk like that about your country

When you don’t have anyone that matters left there, you know it’s not your country anymore…

He had a tear in the eye.

Syria

The Man, behind the Ray-Ban

Published September 10, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

No it wasn’t sunny. We were in his gloomy blue-painted room.

No he wasn’t a cop, neither an aviator. Well he was flying, but with no plane.

He received me naked, with his Ray-Ban on.

The guy was high, and already have set boundaries between me and his soul.

He insisted on me visiting him for a quicky, or as he explained later on, it’s just after you get your 30 minutes of UP, the rest of the effect is that you become in a loving cuddly mode.

Well he chose to spend that time with me. I would’ve appreciated if he told in prior.

I would have expected I’m gonna spend an afternoon, well a noon and an afternoon with someone, something, out of this world, let me correct, someone, something, of this world, who’s from above the clouds, who’s dream is to fly over the rainbow, so high.

I laid there with a skeleton, with a Ray-Ban on. In that gloomy room, listening to Trans music, that he was enjoying.

I was there, with my “Zen Mode”, with my “Angelic Face”, with my “Beautifully well drawn Features”, with my “Cuddly body of a Teddy Bear”, caring for nothing but to keep him flying, up and up, trying not to make him lose it.

He refused to let me see his eyes, i knew his eyes from before, for some reason that day he just hid behind his glasses, all alone, well i was with him, but not quite with him, he chose loneliness, even in times of companionship.

I was with him, but not quite with him, myself too was left alone, i was trying my best not to strike him with reality, the reality that i felt when i was by his side.

That guy was a handsome man, successful man, with a charming smile, yet he refused to face his lonely moments, he refused to acknowledge that sadness exists. Sadness and loneliness are just there, on our front door every day.

Facing it, acknowledging it, embracing it, have made me a stronger man, a more human one.

While him, he just fled it. He hid behind his Ray-Ban. And he gave lectures about life.

He went on in his life, avoiding reality, not seeing the beauty that comes out of its darkest moments.

He ended up in darkness, in a gloomy room, behind his Ray-Bans, seeing the darker version of his surrounding.

Was he happy about it? I doubt it.

He made me sad, as I was always sad about others reality and not about mine.

We both fell asleep. I woke up and left.

I dunno if he ever woke up….

america

What if i met Jesus Christ?!

Published August 26, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

If i lived 1995 years ago, somewhere between what’s known now to be the river of Jordan and the Mediterranean sea, between Tyre and Sinai, I would have been an 18 year old young gay man wandering the souks of Jerusalem holding a gardenia, checking out the drunk Roman soldiers, as I’m sure I’d have the fetish for foreigners, getting inspired by their beauty to write my poems, maybe invite some of them over to pose for me while drawing them naked.

Me and Mary Magdalene would definitely be besties, fabulously competing on who to get the hottest man. My sense of fashion would be minimalistic, the less of clothes the better, my robe would be the shortest possible, the tightest possible, of course with the best fabric available,  I’d be a regular traveler to Rome, checking out the latest designs and importing silk, lots of it.

I would look good all the time, smell like Jasmine all the time, make fun of straight people competing for a woman all the time.

I’d probably be by Mary Magdalene’s side when she did her dramatic break down on the feet of Jesus Christ, being a shoulder for her in the aftermath, fixing her make up after all the crying. I would have most probably looked in the eyes of the man who broke her heart, he would have left a mark looking at me.

My curiosity would have probably led me to follow him accompanying my girl, I’d have had a one sided crush towards him. The intriguing sense would have made me close to him. I’d probably fall for his progressive ideas, his distinguished insight, his love to humanity, his non violence, his inner peace and calm personality.

I’d be attracted to his disciples, yet my pursue for the alpha male would always direct me to him. I’d do my tricks, he would probably confuse me with his signals. I’d fall in love with him, he’d love me differently. He’d look at me and smile, that peaceful kind smile, as if he had an insight on my past and present, and maybe future. He’d reject me tenderly, putting his hand on my cheek, with no judgement whatsoever.

I’d be close to his mother, and John the beloved. Distant from all the rest. When they go fishing I’d be tanning by the beach, checking out their bodies, some half naked butch barbaric men would always be a pleasure for the eye, especially when they have those fights for fun.

I’d be sketching a lot Jesus, him preaching, smiling, doing miracles….

I’d probably move with him all the times, I’d definitely be by his side when he visits Tyre, Tyranians are hot, and you wonder why Mary Magdalene and I retired there and spent the last days of our lives?! Yeah well, i was her gay friend, I couldn’t have left her all alone?!?!

I would have believed in Jesus, cause he represented a dream of a better world, he loved me with no judgements, and he was a better man than anyone i knew. I would have cried plenty for his sufferings. I would definitely have bitch-slapped Judas. I would have been by the women when he was crucified, definitely jealous of John for being chosen to take care of Mary, yet i would have accepted his decision and had my drops of tears when everyone has left and i stayed alone under his feet wondering till when humanity will be brutal, judgmental, carrying nonacceptance to all good things and people when they differ from us and our perception to normality.

I would definitely have wrote a Gospel, a fabulous pink one that included all my sketches, and my one sided relation to Jesus, written in the most poetic way, yet my Gospel would have definitely been banned by the church, also all the books that were wrote about it later on. I wouldn’t have been mentioned in any of the other Gospels even.

With all my certainty, i would have definitely disliked Paul.

I would have died in peace knowing that, i was loved tremendously….

jesus