Life is all sunlight, the gloomy Past is behind, the miracle of the Future still ahead...

The Leo Love Mystery

The Cancerian Adolescent soul is transformed with brilliant suddenness into a symbolic Teenager, brought by the Leo vibration into the first expression of self-confidence and pride in individuality.  Now the soul knows (or assumes) who he is – or who she is – as Leo feels an even stronger pull of the masculine positive Day Forces and the Fire Element than was felt on the Aries level.  The world belongs to the Lion – or the Lioness – and so the Leonine “Teenager” gazes at his or her image in the mirror, admires what is seen and makes the noble vow “I WILL.”  Summer has come into full bloom of furious beauty with lazy afternoons and bright sunshine as Leo moves into SELF consciousness from the polarity meaning of Cancer’s self-consciousness.

The idealism of youth stirs the Lion’s heart and sets the blood afire with the dawning knowledge of sexuality, two powerful urges that bring private inner doubts of worth, well hidden beneath outward vanity.  The Leo soul knows what to do with this second experience as a Fixed Organizer, using it wit apparent confidence to lecture others, take charge of his or her own life and rule over those who need Leo’s protection.  Yet the Leo man or woman, like the actual teenager, still seeks reassurance in the form of flattery, still cringes secretly when ridiculed, because he is not quite yet a man – she is not quite yet a woman – for all the surface sureness.

The soul has already passed through the painful experiences of infancy, babyhood, childhood and adolescence, so Leo leads with sympathetic consideration for those who are more vulnerable.  The soul in its Leo expression has no real desire to crush the helpless.  Generosity of spirit was carved into Leo’s memory by the tears wept through the Aries, Taurus, Gemini, and Cancer levels.  However, although Leos have learned to tolerate and forgive enemies, they have not yet learned to respect the wisdom of elders.  Like the real teenager, Leos think they know all the answers, and are impatient with those who question their new worldly knowledge.  The Leo soul worships the Sun, for the Sun is Leo’s ruler, the source of all Life – and of his or her Leonine strength.  Leo admires and is admired, loves and is loved.  As social life begins, the joys of romance begin to bud……then finally to flower.  Puppy love is warm and bright, bringing to the Leo “Teenager” both elation and disappointment.  The dizzy power of his manhood (or womanhood) gives to Leo a sense of personal dignity and importance – through the opposite sex.  No longer must the Lions and Lionesses be restricted by the stifling authority of parental guidance.  The bridge from childhood to adulthood has been spanned.  The responsibilities of maturity are sensed, but still haven’t become a burden.  Life is all sunlight, the gloomy Past is behind, the miracle of the Future still ahead — and the Present is a time for fun and relaxation.  Leo decides arrogantly that the world needs his newfound wisdom, and is more than willing to give it.  Only through exercising unquestioned command over younger children (the weaker and not yet liberated souls) can a Leo man or woman in this experience retain the necessary image of superiority and self-respect.

Leo’s positive qualities are warmth, generosity, nobility, strength, loyalty, leadership and a soothing, gentle tenderness – the protective charisma of the older brother or sister, of the strong toward the weak.  Expressed in their negative form they become arrogance, false pride, vanity, tyranny, haughtiness …and romantic promiscuity.

To the Leo in the symbolic Teenager stage of development, love is shimmering romance, the song-of-songs, the fulfillment of all ideals and beauty.  Leo is “in love with love” and with himself – herself.  Lions and Lionesses give affection generously only because it brings such pleasure to be so royally beneficent, demanding gratitude and respect, demanding gratitude and respect from the beloved, outraged if love requires that they humble themselves……as yet unable to comprehend its depth, or the beauty of its sacrifice of the “self”.

Source: http://vi.sualize.us/view/kallini2002/f436e6d4c09674e2e2a65fd429b1cf90/

Come here, rude boy, boy,

can you get it up?

Strangely enough, after I have watched the video clip for “Alejandro” and laughed and completely discounted it as rubbish, my flow of consciousness was inundated by thoughts about sex, erotica, sexuality and sensuality.  Not that there were no other factors that drove me in this particular direction.

The seeds were planted long ago, so to speak.  And all of a sudden I started paying attention to other clips and words in songs.  In the clip for the song “She bangs”, there is some banging, and lyrics are somewhat provocative (maybe it is not the best description), but it is how I am approaching the subject now.  Even if it is lame, let it be for now.  Then I listened to Rihanna’s “Rude Boy”.  I liked how she talks business:

Come here, rude boy, boy,

Can you get it up?

Come here, rude boy, boy

Is you big enough?

Never mind the grammar – “is you big enough?”

Rihanna “Rude Boy” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e82VE8UtW8A

Rihanna \”Rude Boy\”

That is how it should be.  “Can you get it up? Or what the hell are we talking about?”  Probably there should be no talking.  Words are nothing, action is everything.  Testing is everything (spoken from experience).  Testing is Everything.  It does not matter how imperfect my marriage was or the sexual aspect of it; at least my husband had no problem with the equipment or performance.  Which I found out only after it had fallen apart.  I don’t regret it, but I feel that in that sense I hit the jackpot the first time; I just did not know it.  Getting it up seems to be more problematic for men than I expected.  Sometimes you need a magnifying glass to find the equipment.  I speak like an engineer, LOL.  Equipment, measurements, length & width, performance…  That is not everything, of course.  There is technique. There is passion; at least there should be passion.  Good luck finding it….  There are plenty of other factors, too.  Otherwise, my marriage could have been much better.  My ex would have not blamed me that I ruined his sex life.  But I think the sentiment goes both ways.  The subject is complicated enough.  But my life was what it was and it is what it is; therefore there is no other choice but to continue my journey of discovery unabated.  Full steam ahead.

The reason I am breaking this barrier (not doing the deed, I did it two years ago), but talking about it in a public space is that the other day, my favourite character told me that “I am such a lamb”.  How I resented the comment!  I am not a lamb!  Maybe there is some truth to it; otherwise I would not be so much irritated.  Well, if there are barriers to be broken, maybe it is about time.

I broke the barrier two years ago.  It was more an act of courage and rebellion, than sex.  And what was the first thing that I encounter?  My second partner could not get it up.  Neither could the third.  And I thought “What the hell?”  I am not going to continue with numbers, performance evaluations & statistics.  It’s all private.  But the question remains “Can you get it up?” Testing, testing 1-2-3.

What is more important to me, can I get past my shyness, inexperience, prejudice, moral barriers?  Can I move on?  Can I get it up?  Can I free myself?  Overcoming fear is intoxicating.  What a stupid question!  Of course, I can!

Voyeurism of Exactitude

Source: http://vi.sualize.us/view/kallini2002/d2a950047be0b905419f58bd4eef36f0/

“Pornography is the quadraphonics of sex. It adds a third and fourth track to the sexual act. It is the hallucination of detail that rules. Science has already habituated us to this microscopics, this excess of the real in its microscopic detail, this voyeurism of exactitude.” (Jean Baudrillard)

“At the heart of pornography is sexuality haunted by its own disappearance” (Jean Baudrillard)

“Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it’s usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.”  (Jim Morrison)

“Smile and others will smile back. Smile to show how transparent, how candid you are. Smile if you have nothing to say. Most of all, do not hide the fact you have nothing to say nor your total indifference to others. Let this emptiness, this profound indifference shine out spontaneously in your smile.” (Jean Baudrillard)

I have only “published” insane conversations so far.  But this one was a good one.  It would be even better if we actually met.  We did not.  But, I enjoyed talking to this man.  So, here it goes:

He: nice top

She: the best part is actually my brain

He: that’s what meant

She: yeah, right!!!!!!!!!!!

He: cross my heart

He: (didn’t mind your outfit though

She: Let me pretend I believe you. I love playing a moron – it is so much fun!

He: your far too witty for that

He: (and sexy)

She: you have no idea!

He: about your wit or your sexuality?

She: I am afraid – both, men routinely run away from me – it is not funny anymore

He: I’ve never been much of a runner – more of a cyclist

He: and I do love to “ride”

He: so why do men run from you

She: Oh?

She: intimidated

He: really – I love a confident woman – very sexy

She: you will be put to test

He: really – how so

He: I’m getting excited already

She: that is only face to face

She: tet a tet

He: sounds like fun – sort of like close personal contact

He: (did I tell you I love to be teased)

She: really? why?

He: it’s fun. Love the sensation of excitement. Love to please. Love to make things last

He: for both me and my partner

Yes, I need a man to explore my passions, desires, fantasies and I want to let go, I want to be myself, I want PASSIONATE LOVE

He: ok – I’m assuming that a confident woman like yourself enjoys the effect you have on a man

She: no, not really, I am still looking for someone equal or someone who can challenge me

He: intellectually, I assume

She: both

He: something tells me we just might get along

She: would be nice

She: tell me more about yourself

He: single, never married, bit of a solitary creature but gregarious at times

He: looking for a friend and a lover

She: how come you have not found one yet?

He: good question. Not sure. Maybe I’m looking for a mistress

He: a confident – a friend and a lover

He: with whom to explore

He: a woman who is confident in herself and her sexuality

She: I am not sure I am the ONE

He: why do you say that – what are you looking for

She: a friend and a lover to go steady for a while

She: tired of looking and not finding the ONE

She: I was married for 16 years

He: I think we may have much in common – what do you enjoy

She: dancing

He: tell me about you

He: I’d love to watch you dance

He: that would be very sexy

She: maybe

He: maybe you would dance for me or maybe it would be sexy

She: it is always sexy

He: I’m starting to think you need a man who would help you unleash yourself, your passions and your fantasies

She: you are close

He: you need a man with whom you could be yourself

She: true

He: and a man with whom you could explore your passions

He: your fantasies

He: and your desires

She: are you trying to seduce me?

He: yes

She: keep going

He: how am I doing?

He: you need a man with whom you feel comfortable enough to be sexually free, with whom you could explore your passions and “let go”

She: what is your sign?

He: Libra

She: ok

He: ok?

She: as long as you are not a Taurus

He: that would be a lot of bull – I’m apparently well balanced – and you

He: what brings you here – what are you looking for

She: I am a Halloween Girl

She: All my significant men were Tauruses – too many to be a mere coincidence

He: and you are no longer looking for a Taurus – what are you looking for

He: do you know

She: The best match (they say should be a Virgo), but I assume that I need a transitional relationship

She: I am too intense – Scorpio – quite unlike normal women

He: I applaud your honesty – I think that is exactly what you are looking for – and nothing wrong with that at all

She: I know – there is one man who is trying to seduce me, but it takes him forever

He: I see. Tell me, would you let m seduce you – make love to you, please you, entice you explore with you

He: let you explore, let you be yourself

He: let you be whoever you want to be

She: but I have to see you first

He: so perhaps you would allow me to buy you a drink

She: Deal

He: that would be very nice -

Victor Pelevin “The Sacred Book of Werewolf”

‘… Did Mikhalich give you the flower?’

‘Yes,’ I answered.  ‘And he told me I should think about the meaning of the message.  But I haven’t come up with anything.  Maybe you can tell me yourself?’

He scratched his head.  He seemed disconcerted by my question.

‘Do you know the folktale about the little scarlet flower?’

‘Which one exactly?’ I asked.

‘I think there is only one.’

He nodded towards a desk with a computer and a silver figurine standing on it.  There was a book lying beside the figurine, with bookmarks in several pages.  The half-effaced red letters of the title on its cover read: Russian Fairy Tales.

‘The story was written down by Sergei Aksakov,’ he said.  ‘His housekeeper Pelagia told him it.’

‘And what about it?’

‘About a beautiful girl and a beast.’

‘And what’s the little flower got to do with it?’

‘It was the reason everything began.  Do you really not know this fairy tale?’

‘No.’

‘It’s long, but the gist is this: a beautiful girl asked her father to bring her a scarlet flower.  The father found one in a magical garden a long way away and picked it.  But the garden was guarded by a terrible monster.  He caught the beautiful girl’s father, and she had to become the monster’s prisoner so that he would release her father.  The monster was ugly, but kind.  She fell in love with him, first for his kindness, and then simply in love.  And when they kissed, the spell was broken and the monster turned into a prince.’

‘Aha,’ I said.  ‘Do you have any idea what it’s about?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yes? What is it about?’

‘About love conquering all.’

I laughed.  He really was quite amusing.  He’d probably bumped off a few heavy hoods and ordered a hit on some banker, so now, with typical human presumption, he thought he was a monster.  And he also thought that love would save him.

He took me by the arm and led me across to a futuristic divan standing between two groves of dwarf bonsais with miniature arbours, bridges and even waterfalls.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘I can explain,’ I said, sitting down on the divan and pulling my legs up under me.

‘Okay, explain.’

He sat at the other end of the divan and crossed his legs.  I noticed the edge of a holster peeping out from under his uniform jacket.

‘It’s one of those folktales that express the horror and pain of a woman’s first sexual experience,’ I said.  ‘There are lots of stories like that, and the one you just told me is a classic example.  It’s a metaphor of how a woman discovers the essentially bestial nature of man and becomes aware of her own power over that beast.  And the little scarlet flower that her father picks is such a literal symbol of defloration, amplified by the theme of incest, that I find it hard to believe the story was told by a housekeeper.  It was probably composed by some twentieth-century Viennese postgraduate to illustrate his thesis.  He invented the story, and the housekeeper Pelagia, and the writer Aksakov.’

While I was talking, his expression turned noticeably gloomier.

‘Where did you pick this stuff?’

‘It’s all truisms.  Everybody knows it.’

‘And you believe it?’

‘What?’

‘That this fairy tale is not about how love conquers everything on earth, but how defecation realizes its power over incest?’

‘Defloration,’ I corrected him.

‘It does not matter.  Is that what you really think?’

I thought about it.

‘I…. I don’t think anything.  That’s simply the contemporary discourse of folktales.’

‘So you’re saying that because of this discourse, when someone gives you a scarlet flower you think it’s a symbol of defecation and incest?’

‘No, don’t be like that,’ I replied, a little embarrassed.  ‘When someone gives me a scarlet flower I….I’m simply pleased.’

‘Thank God,’ he said.  ‘And as for contemporary discourse, it’s high time to take an aspen stake and stuff it back up the cocaine-and-amphetamine polluted backside that produced it.’

I hadn’t expected such a sweeping generalization.

‘Why?’

‘So it won’t defile out little scarlet flower.’

‘All right,’ I said, ‘I understand about the cocaine.  You mean Dr Freud.  He did have that little peccadillo.  But what have amphetamines got to do with it?’

‘I can explain,’ he said.  And tucked his legs up underneath himself in a parody of my pose.

‘Okay, explain.’

‘All those French parrots who invented discourse were high on amphetamines all the time.  In the evening they take barbiturates to get to sleep, and they start off the morning with amphetamines so they can generate as much discourse as possible before they start taking barbiturates to get back to sleep again.  That’s all there is to discourse.  Didn’t you know that?’

‘Where did you get information like that?’

‘There was a course at the FSB Academy about modern psychedelic culture.  Counter-brainwashing.  Oh yes, I forgot to say – they’re all queers too.  In case you were going to ask what the backside had to do with anything.’