I Think of You Laughing (Love vs Sex 256)

I think of you laughing

like a carefree giddy little girl,

amazed and awestruck

by the wonderful, intricate, and bewildering complexities of the world,

all the while relaxed in such untamed and unworried behavior

because you know

deep down in your heart that you aren’t alone,

not truly alone anymore,

in your thoughts, perceptions, and priorities.

Because, you know a man, a real man,

who is not an imposter, a bully, or a charlatan,

who cares for you and appreciates you as he should;

who has your back like no other ever has or ever will.

You know how much he wants to see you shine and dance and trust and love with complete abandon.

You just know,

he could never tolerate himself letting you down or disappointing you by failing to be the man you deserve and that you need to believe in.

It is a dreamy thought

that seems as though it might easily become a romantic reality

if only certain souls might stumble upon one another

and in doing so,

choose to believe

in

exquisite possibilities.

Cribb          2018

These Real Women, These Real Angels (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 249)

Praise be to all of existence

for the sexy, intelligent, aware, passionate, and empathic women that I have been honored to meet lately.

Their beauty is outstanding and damn near breathtaking to me every moment I lay eyes upon them.

They are angels blazing in the glory of graceful creation

and the weak minded materialistic women of such little empathy,

and such off kilter priorities in the breath they breathe and share with all others,

are not worthy of even standing in the shadows of these real women,

these real angels.

Sometimes,

it’s so easy to forget that they are out there also trying to survive in all of the madness,

enveloped and hedged in unceasingly by the greater herd of zombie females,

and also hunted persistently, yet in some half-hearted lingering tortuous nightmare attempt by the “love” of the prevailing zombie horde of males,

but I have always dreamed of them,

always known they had to be real,

like the sun and the moon,

and the wind and the rain,

your own heartbeat beating through your chest,

your own tears streaming down your face,

your own breath caught and then released,

and your own uncontrollable laughter and joy that possesses all of you until you believe you might spontaneously combust into nothing but tickling flames to be spread across the rest of the universe forever and ever.

I love them.

I love them all beyond words.

I have always loved them and I always will.

And that is the way it is meant to be.

It is the undeniable beauty of natural order,

not broken or numbed or cut the fuck out of a once gorgeous soul.

These angels,

these exquisite women,

symbolize to me more than anything else that I might imagine,

the capability of attainment of astounding beauty and profound love

that exists in the choice of free will alongside

the similar capability of those others

who choose to squander, insult, and defile their free will,

and the very nature of all of existence itself.

Cribb          2018

Honesty is not a Social Duty (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 158)

Honesty is the recognition of the fact that the unreal is unreal and can have no value, that neither love, nor fame nor cash is a value if obtained by fraud—that an attempt to gain a value by deceiving the minds of others is an act of raising your victims to a position higher than reality, where you become the pawn of their blindness, a slave of their non-thinking and their evasions, while their intelligence, their rationality, their perceptiveness becomes the enemies you have to dread and flee—that you do not care to live as a dependent, least of all a dependent on the stupidity of others, or as a fool whose source of values is the fools he succeeds in fooling—that honesty is not a social duty, not a sacrifice for the sake of others, but the most profoundly selfish virtue man can practice: his refusal to sacrifice the reality of his own existence to the deluded consciousness of others.

Atlas Shrugged

Ayn Rand          1957