Perfect and chaotic: sex
I had to get to 27 y.o. to finally understand and accept that I need sex in my life just like I need food, water, friends, dogs, books, clothes etc. Sex is just another thing that I particularly can’t live without. I heard a lot of people saying, and I even said it myself, that it’s a sign of maturity when you learn how to not sleep around so much. I still believe in it. But is not quite as black or white as it seems. Now, my belief is that It’s a sign of maturity when you learn with whom you should screw and how you should do it. One night stands are still healthy for every human being, though. The other day I read something about people who have one night stands in their lives are usually happier than the ones who haven’t had it. Of course, one night stands are not for everyone, if you can’t cope with the idea of not having cuddles and having to leave right after sex, you’ll probably be depressed and miserable afterwards. But if you are a bit more emotional evolved and free, you can get a lot of good feelings out of a good casual night with a stranger. At least, I can. The feeling of smiling during your walk of shame the next morning. That’s a good one. It also took me a change of country to appreciate myself as a sexual human being. I mean, sorry, dear europeans, but sex is not something that most of you really master. It must be something about the weather. Although I have found great partners here, practice makes perfect. And you should definitely practice more. Sex is a good and fun exercise! No wonder why you all kinda go crazy with women and men from the below ecuador line parts of the world. The only thing that makes it better and/or worse is feelings. I mean, having sex with someone you have some kind of feelings for can turn it into an amazing perfect experience, but it can also fuck everything up. What was great can become this huge wave of thoughts and feelings and headache. But in the other hand, doing it with feelings just makes your body enjoy the occasion much more, for once you have that taste of freedom and bliss in your mouth and nothing can replace it. But you know it will end, because all good things come to an end eventually. Or maybe I’m just a too pragmatic and hopeless human being. Well, in any case, people, just screw a bit more! We all deserve it and you might wake up to a better day after it! :)
"One day, whether you
you will stumble upon
someone who will start
a fire in you that cannot die.
However, the saddest,
most awful truth
you will ever come to find––
is they are not always
with whom we spend our lives."
"Don’t you find it odd," she continued, "that when you’re a kid, everyone, all the world, encourages you to follow your dreams. But when you’re older, somehow they act offended if you even try."
"People don’t talk to each other about real things because they’re afraid of how they’ll be judged. Or they think other people don’t have the capacity to carry the burden of what they have to say. They see the compulsion to put that burden out in the world as a show of weakness. But all that stuff is what makes us human; more than that, it’s what makes being human interesting and funny. How we got away from that, I don’t know. But fuck that: we’re built to deal with shit. We’re built to deal with death, disease, failure, struggle, heartbreak, problems. It’s what separates us from the animals and why we envy and love animals so much. We’re aware of it all and have to process it. The way we each handle being human is where all the good stories, jokes, art, wisdom, revelations and bullshit come from."
"I’ve found that growing up means being honest. About what I want. What I need. What I feel. Who I am."
"He had come to that moment in his age when there occurred to him, with increasing intensity, a question of such overwhelming simplicity that he had no means to face it. He found himself wondering if his life were worth the living; if it had ever been. It was a question, he suspected, that came to all men at one time or another; he wondered if it came to them with such impersonal force as it came to him. The question brought with it a sadness, but it was a general sadness which (he thought) had little to do with himself or with his particular fate; he was not even sure that the question sprang from the most immediate and obvious causes, from what his own life had become. It came, he believed, from the accretion of his years, from the density of accident and circumstance, and from what he had come to understand of them. He took a grim and ironic pleasure from the possibility that what little learning he had managed to acquire had led him to this knowledge: that in the long run all things, even the learning that let him know this, were futile and empty, and at last diminished into a nothingness they did not alter. Once, late, after his evening class, he returned to his office and sat at his desk, trying to read. It was winter, and a snow had fallen during the day, so that the out-of-doors was covered with a white softness. The office was overheated; he opened a window beside the desk so that the cool air might come into the close room. He breathed deeply, and let his eyes wander over the white floor of the campus. On an impulse he switched out the light on his desk and sat in the hot darkness of his office; the cold air filled his lungs, and he leaned toward the open window. He heard the silence of the winter night, and it seemed to him that he somehow felt the sounds that were absorbed by the delicate and intricately cellular being of the snow. Nothing moved upon the whiteness; it was a dead scene, which seemed to pull at him, to suck at his consciousness just as it pulled the sound from the air and buried it within a cold white softness. He felt himself pulled outward toward the whiteness, which spread as far as he could see, and which was a part of the darkness from which it glowed, of the clear and cloudless sky without height or depth. For an instant he felt himself go out of the body that sat motionless before the window; and as he felt himself slip away, everything — the flat whiteness, the trees, the tall columns, the night, the far stars — seemed incredibly tiny and far away, as if they were dwindling to a nothingness. Then, behind him, a radiator clanked. He moved, and the scene became itself. With a curiously reluctant relief he again snapped on his desk lamp. He gathered a book and a few papers, went out of the office, walked through the darkened corridors, and let himself out of the wide double doors at the back of Jesse Hall. He walked slowly home, aware of each footstep crunching with muffled loudness in the dry snow."
(noun) An untranslatable, German word consisting of welt, meaning world, and schmerz, meaning pain. Just as your head can hurt (kopfschmerzen), or you can suffer from a stomachache (magenschmerzen), the world can hurt too. In its mildest form, this is “world-weariness;” meaning sadness or melancholy at the evils of the world. At the other extreme, it’s an existential pain that leaves you reeling with a damaging, head-clutching despair.
(Source: wordsnquotes, via buildingsmiles)
"Being happy is a very personal thing—and it really has nothing to do with anyone else ."
for me, the sky will always be bigger around here.