Going on 3 months now if I'm being generous and counting my January post. Realistically though, it's been 7 months since I last truly blogged. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I would say I've missed it; but that would only be a half truth.

You see, I have missed writing. The spring of creativity that flows out of me when I click "New Post" is a sensation I truly miss. What I haven't missed is what a lot of my past blogging did to me.

Everytime I wrote, I created a world that wasn't real and I created a me that was fiction and convinced myself that I was that fictional character, so much so that I became that fictional character and lived his lies. It was deception. And I was the deceiver and the deceived. I was damned.

The last few months I've been on a journey. A journey toward the true me. The real me, in Christ. There have been bumps along the road, there have been slips, and falls and many times I have turned as if to return. But I trudged along, blessed and broken and redeemed. And now I'm learning who I truly am. Who I was created to be.

So yes, I've missed writing; but not writing like I used to. The old me, as they say, is dead and gone. I am a new creature. And this new creature wants to write.

Not the old stuff. Obviously, some of my content is going to need to change. I won't be taking down the old stuff because sometimes it helps to remember where you've been. But going forward, I will glorify God, because that's what I'm called to do.

I don't know exactly what my new content will be, or how frequently it will come but when it does you will be the first to hear.

I love you all. God bless you

EDIT: I should probably mention that this blog is not going to turn religious or preachy. I'm just going to keep sharing my life as it goes in lurid detail. I hope you find it entertaining and if not, I apologize. In the meantime, I found this fantastic book

It's january once again and you've made the age old resolution.

You WILL lose weight this year.

2010 is your year of size six sexiness and for the men, it's the year your chest wins over your gut in the Battle of Protrusion. All this declared with and abundance of conviction reminiscent of Mel Gibson in Braveheart.

Well... I wish you the best of luck.

No really, I do. I honestly hope that you're still in the gym, running that mile or taking those spin classes come the 21st of March.

I do, because I am you. I..ahem.. let myself go a little bit over the Christmas holidays and if I'm going to be able to wear anything other than baggy tees come summer, I need some serious dedication.

On the bright side, however, my first few days back in the torture chamber greeted me with a pleasant surprise. I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE!!

The other guys, gym buffs, exceptionally and consistently fit guys that last year sparked my unashamed envy on numerous occasions, all sporting the equivalent of a 4-month baby bump.

The small but very alive part of me that delights in the suffering of others danced with glee.

I digress...

I'm writing this to encourage you.

Ladies: you want to be able to fit into those "gotta peel em off with a sharp knife" skintights without the embarrassment of an unsightly muffin top*? Run those miles, spin those cycles, crunch those abs and get sexy. I'll see you in the summer.

Fellas: ....blah

Happy New year

*When a woman wears a pair of tight jeans that makes her flab spill out over the waistband, just like the top of a muffin sits over the edge of the paper case.

That's right ladies and gentlemen, I'm back!

On a probationary basis though; all the same watch this space

Relationships in the boy-girl fashion are a peculiar animal. They are, hard work, they are complex, but, unfortunately for many facebook users, they are never "complicated". You're either in one, or you're not.
A committed relationship is pretty well defined. It doesn't require hours of explanation or qualification. Its very simple, so simple in fact that there are only three criteria the couple is required to meet. In meeting all three, the couple, no matter how casual they try to act, is in a serious relationship. In failing to meet, any one of these, however, no matter how many "I love you"s are uttered, these two are still, in a sense, seeing how it goes.
Up until these terms are met, either party is at liberty to end the arrangement without explanation or prior warning.

The talk: Without the talk, in a sense, making it official, you have nothing solid. Man and woman, or boy and girl need to sit down and have a serious discussion about what the situation means to them and how much each person is willing to commit to the other person. In business terms, this is referred to as a verbal contract, in the absence of which neither party can be held liable for the dissolution of the arrangement. It goes without saying that both parties must be on the same page and whatever agreement is reached must be acceptable and of value to them both.

Exclusivity: There is no such thing as an open relationship. Once again I apologize for bursting the facebook bubble. A couple that defines themselves as being in an "open relationship" are simply fuck-buddies. Sometimes they are really tight fuck-buddies, but fuck-buddies all the same and the one who believes that they are more than that is guaranteed to get hurt. It is completely and utterly impossible to be committed to one person at the same time that you're blowing someone else's back out (sounds absurd when I put it that way doesn't it?) Contrary to what most people want to believe, there is no such thing as no strings sex; just that sometimes the strings are not as taut. We leave a little piece of us with each person that we sleep with, and that's a piece of us that we cannot share with the person we're supposedly committed to. Not to mention the risk that one person will start to catch feelings with some other person thats making them come harder than you.

The fight: The true test of the resilience and sustainability of a relationship is the first major blowup. I read somewhere that you never really know a person until you have a disagreement. I'm going to take that one step further and say you're never really invested in someone until you're with them besides their differences. Through the expression of emotion, our true nature, and especially, our faults are revealed; even moreso the expression of the extremely volatile emotion that is anger. Raised voices, bulging veins, surging adrenaline and a reduced ability to control words and actions: this is where the true animal is unleashed, hurtful things are said, feelings are disregarded and trampled on...It is the couple's ability to rise above and pull through this that solidifies their relationship. I believe you never really have a person till they feel sufficiently comfortable with you to show you their weaknesses and the fight is the perfect avenue.

Committed relationships are serious business. There is a level of surrender involved that is not to be taken lightheartedly and as such they are not meant to be entered into until both parties are doubly certain that they are ready to bear that responsibility.

That's my take. What's yours?

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Or so I was told. To which I smiled and dubiously nodded my acknowledgement. But, come on ladies, we all know its LIESSSSS!!!!

And guys, if you didn't know, let me tell you. Your girl's ass is just as nasty as yours. Probably nastier even, from holding the farts in for so damn long. I have a sister, and many female cousins, and I can tell you this is fact. Not theory, not a hypothesis but a proven, observed fact!

Women fart. Period. Actually I'd like to think especially then..hehe..but I could be wrong.

Anyway, you might ask what provoked this sudden attack on women's stank asses. (Sorry ladies, I know your asses aint stank.) Well let me tell you.

Sunday evening, getting some of that sunday evening "good good". She's on top, holding on to me tight as our bodies spasm in sync. She goes to get off and... **frappp**. Silence. I arch my eyebrow.

"That wasn't a fart", she says

"Ok", my mouth says. "Riiiiiiight", my eyes say.

"It wasn't!!!"

"Ok!" I paused. "Although, if it was a fart it's not a big deal. Farting is natural"

At this point she starts to get indignant.

"I DIDN'T FART!!"

So I decided to have some fun.

"What's the problem? Everyone farts, embrace the fart. In fact, *sniff* it doesn't even stink so you have nothing to be embarrassed about"

She punches me in the shoulder "That's cause I didn't fart!!"

I can see the desperation in her eyes for me to believe her, but I was having way too much fun. She was so flustered by the thought that I could believe that she was capable of letting one rip.

Baffling really.

To tell the truth, she probably didn't fart. It was probably the sound of the vahjayjay suctioning off the condom. But I was just incredulous at her total and utter chagrin at the thought of committing such a totally natural act.

Why do some women submit themselves so willingly to the slavery of this inability to express themselves? I have a friend who swears she never farts, except when she's in fits of laughter..sometimes. That may be true. But the question I have is why.

Actually, I have a theory:

Guys, you know those days when you're with your perfect little lady, who never, ever farts and you let one rip. It's cool cause you're a man and a man's gotta be a man, right down to his smelly farts. Until you realise, it's not cool. The stink hits you so hard you get whiplash, and you're like "where the hell did that come from? That couldn't have been my ass!!"
Well, it wasn't. It was that lovely little Stepford-ian minx you have by your side. She took the opportunity of the cover of your willy-nilly fart to plant her stored up, 3 week old monster, framing you.

Poor, unsuspecting, you.

And now you feel like you have to apologize to her for the stink that you believe emanated from your ass. She covers her nose, punches you in the arm and gives you that disgusted "why do you do these things?" look.

Ingenious, really.

Inspired by Titilope Sonuga's Truth

Tears run down my cheeks
Body heaves in submission
To emotion
Soft sobs escape my lips
Interrupted by ear-shattering screams
In random intervals
No warning
Blow my nose, tissue box near empty now
But I make no attempt to stem the tears
No endeavour to quiet the screams
I wail, in total surrender
I cry, with utter abandon
I cry till there are no more tears
And then I cry some more
Not because I'm sad, or unhappy
Not because I have lost, or suffered defeat
Not because I am ashamed, or embarrassed
Hurt, or in pain
And these are definitely not tears of joy

These
Are tears of openness
Tears of release, of sincerity
I reclaim my innocence by
The melting of icicles formed around my heart
Over the decades of my human existence
And the purging of that poison
Begins with one tear shed
And then another, and, yet another
The tears come rapidly now
Free-flowing, cleansing, purging
And by the virtue of these salty tears
I am made free
Free in a manner, of which men are unaccustomed
Free of the shackles of machismo, of my gender defined composure
My heart made lighter with each tear that falls
Shedding burdens as teardrops
I...bawl
I...blubber and sigh
I...cry
Cry till I am made strong
Cry till I am made whole
Cry...till I am free
When was the last time you had a good cry?

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

So, lately I've been looking into well known contemporary poets. I recently happened on Pablo Neruda and I'm hooked. Especially his love poems, the way he uses metaphor to describe so vividly his emotion. I feel like nothing I've ever written is worth anything. And he wrote it in Spanish!!

Anyway, ahem, my birthday's coming up...and I'm not one to ask for presents usually but the person that gets me Mr Neruda's Twenty Poems of Love and One of Desperation will forever have my love.

While we're on the topic of gifted poets, if you're in the Edmonton, AB area (Canada), check out slam poet Titilope Sonuga. I am truly honored to know this girl.