For the love of Hemingway.....

 All men fear death. It's a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven't loved well 

enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you make love with a truly great 

woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of 

death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world 

fades away. You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never 

conquered before, you have conquered a great woman's heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to 

another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for 

loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage. But remember this, for 

that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal.

Love... A Different Type of Substance Abuse.

Are you tired? Strung or cracked out 99% of the time because of your addiction to the idiot you call yourself being “in-love” with? If so… This is not the place to come for help. I must warn you; due to the contents of my current inspirations, I have no good advice to offer. This is simply a result of one cup observation, 2 cups experience, and a glass of plum wine (to add an extra kick).  What initially set this very emotional state I’m in was an assignment I was given at work. I was to monitor a patient who was suffering from severe alcohol withdrawals. As I watched this young man (who is in his mid 30s) I couldn’t help but to feel an overwhelming amount of compassion for him. I thought to myself… He’s so young, and the abuse has literally robbed him of his physical youth. I then asked myself… Why do WE all do this to ourselves? We torture ourselves with the various types of abuse and in most cases it almost takes something fatal to happen before we get up and do something about it. I applied that mans withdrawals to that of my own. I have suffered spousal abuse. No I wasn’t beat upside the head… No one Ike’d me. I’m talking about verbal, emotional, mental abuse. Abuse that I continued to take because I was “in-love.”  In most cases, they had no real respect for me. They didn’t adore me as those romantic novels would profess. They were liars, cheats, cheap, lazy, nasty, stank, filth cakes. sorry… Point is >they just weren’t good people< Stupid thing is, I dealt with it. What can I say. I was addicted to loving. Addicted to turning worlds around. Addicted to making these little boys dreams come true. I was addicted. When this addiction was removed i would suffer in some sense the same symptoms... Shakiness, anxiety, depression, fatigue, difficulty thinking clearly, and bad dreams just to name a few... Not being able to bare.. i would go get a replacement which would be a somewhat diluted verson of the crap I had been accustomed to...  So knock knock… who’s there? Abuse. Abuse who? I’ll keep on abusing you if you let me!!! Great come on in!!! I won’t care if you don’t!!! =D Ok… you get the point. I have personally gained 40 pounds, trust issues, and debt because of this common addiction. Funny thing is… We women are told at Genesis 3:16 “your craving will be for your husband and he will dominate you. Sad thing is… 90% of the time, these dudes aren’t even our husbands. Let me repeat that; THEY ARE NOT OUR HUSBANDS!!!! Get it yet? No they haven’t put a ring on it and they tell you they love it. We eat those words up (notice I said words) and we carry on with the cooking, cleaning, paying bills and dealing with child support cases only to have them walk away from us in search of the chick with the green eyes and silky hair whose idea of companionship is with his wallet. Still, we continue to fight and fuss about a man who is absolutely incapable of loving us. The definition of abuse is as follows: “To use wrongly or improperly; misuse.” See that? Our love is being used improperly. Get it now? We are being misused? There yet? You should be. I should be. I am still guilty of “using”… being used. I know that all of my home cooked meals, encouragement, love, and intellect is all a big pot of whocares, but overall, I love to feed the homeless. I am tired. Sick and tired but my actions insist otherwise. I find myself constantly pursuing cavemen who beat you over the head several times a day and expect you to have dinner ready when he’s done. Whereas a real man, with his unique tribal characteristics, would find me, tie me with rope and ship me to meet his parents the day we meet.  Well, maybe not the day but you know what I mean. He would adore me, take care of the family and hunt antelope when I desire to test my culinary skills. And even after all this I have said… even though I understand how I SHOULD be treated. I go the other way. So again… please, someone, tell me…. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Bitter Sweet

In your embrace...

In your embrace... from Wildek on Vimeo.

Round of Applause.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;

Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

-William Shakespeare

Where's Your Dirty Mind??

Wh3r3'5 uR D1r7y M1nD¿ from Devin O'Brien on Vimeo.

Return to Sender.

I am getting older and frankly my dears….. > I just want to be a woman. < Freedom to express my emotions when ever the desire presents itself. Freedom to nurture all whom will have me. Freedom to paint my personality on canvases for all to explore its sometimes hidden messages. Most of all… The freedom to share every piece of love dwelling in crevasses of my heart that only surgery could expose. Now… all I need is the King to give it to right? <Sounds so simple. Who doesn’t want a young woman who is capable of running a household, hard-working/economically efficient, a cook, and a goof when necessary? Please note: I’m only listing these things because I love myself and as cliché as it may sound… I know my worth.   I have had my share of relationships in which I received parts of the qualities I desire in a man but for the most; these "qualities" happen to be non-existent swindles and were only good for a few weeks or in such instances of convenience including: 1. the plot to “take me down” or 2. the pursuit of personal  loans and homecooked meals… hey… it’s a recession right? 

So…….. Here I am filled with warm yummy greatness ready to unload a type of paradise onto an actual man and yet, he is no where to be found. Funny because the man I believe I deserve is chasing after a skank girl who has never deserved him. Or maybe… Just maybe, he’s single and madness-free; and maybe even at this very moment, he is out for a long drive. Meditating. Humbly praying for guidance, knowledge, and patience. Then I’m sure he’s listening to “stolen moments”… perhaps the smiths or even boards of canada because the only voice he wants to listen for is mine. He knows I exist and is anxious about dissecting this crazy little world of mine. yep... More than anything he wants to know me inside out. and when he meets me, he vows to take the time to get to know me. studying me like a cure for cancer, I am a major part of what he lives for. He calls back; you know... just because; for no reason; every reason and all day. We speak in substance or at times as if we were 9 and 10 again…  he always misses me. He; spoiled rotten by me… Saturday morning cartoons, bad breath and all… he loves it when I whisper in his ear using my softest sexiest voice “let me make you some breakfast baby.”  He; well taken care of continues to adore me. When we fight, I am not left feeling unloved, unwanted. He will master the art of making up with me and forgives me when I’m out of line… We float together under starry skies, laugh at each other during karaoke, and he will be the one to hold my hair if I had just a lilllllllll too much wine ;) He will admire the fact that I will watch every game with him even though I have not one clue as to what’s going on lol… and he will teach me. He will be a great teacher. most importantly.... In his house.... our house.... we will be servants of God and he will not have it any other way. We will grow old in a love forever young.

One Day.