Pursuit to my happiness

Archive for March, 2012

“Simple Minds Can Grow to be the Most Difficult Hearts”

Who knew the calming things would cause us so much internal disintegration?


Bake It Like It’s Hot

Warm cookies….my weakness.

If I were a Boombox…

Masochistic, Self-Inflation

Sometimes I wonder why I feel this way; I feel so over-looked and masochistic. I never knew why it relieves my pain to either inflict it upon myself or to hope and pray someone else does it for me. I actually like for people to say harsh things to me, only if they are true, of course. I am an older man who has no confidence, who has nothing except the clothes on his back and the wisdom he’s carried through these years. I don’t understand why I wish to inflict pain upon myself…sometimes it almost feels like a drug. It feels good to actually feel something sometimes. I inflict pain upon my body so I can look at the scars and remind myself of how broken I really am and how I long  for someone, anybody, to break me down.

If I can’t break me, you break me.

Sometimes I remember what my father used to tell me, he’d always say, “You’ll never be good enough, you’ll never be any sort of child of mine,”. Yeah, some father. I carry what he has said and done to me like a bag upon my back, like a weight upon my chest, and I hope nobody ever sees it. Then they always look in my eyes and note some sort of pain haunts my fragile soul. Even though I am a man I portray a very good wall. I’ll stop you when you get too close, I’ll change the subject because talking about myself makes me uncomfortable. Just the thought of somebody helping me makes me anxious and uncomfortable. My entire life I’ve had to live out on my own; became a parent to some close friends before I hit double digits and tried my best not to cry each day. Eventually I forgot how to cry.

I’ve been trying to cry for more than five years now.

Something about this pain I carry makes me feel comfortable and safe, it keeps me on my guard and it never allows me to trust people with my heart. The one thing my mother had taught me before she passed was to never trust anybody with my heart. I guess I’m living up to her expectations. Even though I’m anxious, yet comfortable, within my pain I can’t help but feel distant and unwanted. It’s been years since I’ve last had someone caress my body, my face, my soul even, and I blame my distance. Even when I’m around ‘friends’ I feel distant; it just seems as though nobody can understand me. I give off signs that something isn’t right, but I suppose they’re too wrapped up in their lives to notice mine.

I’m always here for people, for my “family” because it makes me happy knowing I’m making them better. I like to lose myself in their problems and for a while I forget about the pain. But it’s only temporary. Everybody expects me to have their back, to listen to them, to help them, to fix them, feed them, and laugh with them…but I get nothing in return. A simple “thank you,” would be nice, but only if it’s sincere. So why don’t I just tell them this? Because I feel I would lose part of my “manliness” if I do, I feel like they would try to be something they’re not and end up forgetting (because they always have), and they would feel obligated to always try to gauge my actions, reactions, and try to read my thoughts. I hate knowing I’ve worried someone because I don’t do anything to purposefully try to worry or hurt someone, especially if I love them.  I always end up justifying my detachment and isolation by believing that I’m saving someone from having to constantly worry about me….


One cannot be deeply responsive to the world without being saddened very often

-Erich Fromm


I know I’m not okay on the inside, but I’ll continue to outwardly show that I am. You may be able to see something is off within me, but I’ll give you a smile to ease your concerns and change the topic to something that would interest you. I like when it’s about them, I like that I can become an empty vessel then fill myself up with their happiness. It makes me feel wanted sometimes, it feels like I can feel–but it’s such a fake way to do it. One day I’ll be able to breathe, to trust, to feel, to smile, to laugh…until that day comes you will only see the surface of me.


My silence is just another word for my pain.


This is amazing!

Karuna Ramesh

When i first saw a tweet from Yanni Voices on Twitter about the Music Concert at Sprint Center in Kansas City scheduled for 9th June 2009, i was overwhelmed.I replied to the tweet and surprisingly i was one of those lucky people to get free tickets for the musical night.  I was told to collect the tickets at the venue on the day of the concert.

The show was scheduled from 7:30 to 9:30 PM. Reached the venue 15 mins prior and collected the tickets. Passed through the security checking – It had been close to 5 months since someone checked me and my belongings like that. usually any multiplex and shopping mall you visit in India you have to go through the security! 🙂

The Sprint Center is in the downtown of Kansas city. This indoor auditorium hosts most of the music concerts, baseball games, basket ball games…

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Love me, Kill me, Change me

I can feel your breath blowing gently on the nape of my neck and ever so softly your lips kiss it. Goosebumps rise all over my body.

I love how your body gives mine such an intoxicating effect.

Your hands wrap around me and hold me gently, I press myself into your mold and nuzzle against your warm kisses. Your voice in the morning is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, especially when you tell me you thought about me in your subconscious. 
First you explain why you don’t want to leave the bed. Your excuse is you’re too addicted to the moment to want to let it go. I turn over to caress your soft yet defined jaw, that same jaw that I loved to kiss all the time. I whisper to you that you need to leave, but for some reason you kiss my lips and press in to me more.

I don’t argue, your lips are addictive.

You whisper softly that you want to make love like the first time. Our first time.

The memory makes me smirk.

Somehow my night gown slides down my body to reveal a completely nude underneath, I watch your breath become uneven. In return I slip beneath the sheets to tug at your sweatpants. You, too, are nude beneath your bottoms. When I meet your level of gaze I couldn’t help but think about how much I love you and how much you have changed me.

You’ve turned me into a nympho.

Very swiftly you turn me onto my back and kiss my neck, your hands wander down to exposed modesty, and your body moves lightly above mine. Watching you enjoy yourself has always been my favourite part. You kiss down my stomach and stop at my hips before smiling up at me. My hands run through your soft brown strands as you crawl back up to me. I feel my legs spread further involuntarily. You look down at me as you align your appendage to my sex and hold your breath as I feel you enter me. The feeling always makes me gasp. After you begin to make love to me you slowly lick my neck before biting it hard. I roll my eyes back to endure the pain then sigh as I feel the pleasure. Such a bittersweet feeling. 

You become impatient and want to release your seed, you would always say the slow movements would say ‘The slow movements test my patience,’ in such a soft tone. I watch you bite your lip until it bled then witness your body tremble lightly. I gasp loudly at the beautiful sight and feel a warm sensation tingle all over my body before my back arches from the bed. My chest presses to yours as you hold onto me tighter. 

You watch my eyes dilate, it has always been your third favourite part. 

As I release myself you whisper how I make you feel, what I make you feel like doing and what you plan on doing after you finish. His dirty talking always enhances that beautiful climatic push I felt. 

When I finish I quickly maneuver  myself on top of you and watch you squirm beneath me. I have the power now. The feeling of my body overtaking yours pushes you over the edge as you release each breathtaking seed into my womb. I encourage your release by gently whispering in your ear then roughly pull your hair. You love when I do the unexpected. As soon as you finish I look at you then look at the clock and tell you have to leave.

Do you listen? Of course not.

My abdomen and thighs are sweaty and sore, my arse hurts from your continuous hard grasps. I have sex bruises, and I loved it. 

As you always do, you roll me off and begin to dress yourself.

“I will see you on Sunset,” he says.

I look at him and sigh. The man I loved with all of my heart doesn’t love me with all of his. Even though he says he loves me I know where he goes after he leaves me. He has turned me into the “other woman” and I hated it. I hated how he will never be mine, I hated the nagging feeling I felt after we made love or when we would go out.

“Make sure to wear the ivory dress with the lace lingerie,” he adds before crawling up to kiss me. I turn my head.

“C’mon, please don’t be like this. I love you. “

Like those words will replace the ache in my soul. I just nod and kiss his cheek before going into the shower. He watches me, I feel his eyes observe my movements, then chases after me. He holds me and kisses me intensely, the first passionate kiss I’ve had in years. I open my eyes to watch him watch me as our lips remain locked. He soon breaks the kiss, ever so gently, and rubs my arm. 

“I do love you, and tonight you will be mine,” he says as his hand smooths across my cheek.

I smirk and kiss him. 

“I love you, too, Sam.”

“Maybe tonight you can return the favour?he asks softly.

She bites her lip and nods before she watches him smile and leave. She had never cheated on any of her companions before until she met Sam. Maybe she would leave her husband.

The price we pay for love.

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