Friday, August 26, 2011

The Friday Sex Blog [Love and Hate]

¡Hola! Everybody…
Hurricane watch! I had an unexpected request and I also might have to leave the city, otherwise, I would’ve worked really hard to have her here with me to ride out the hurricane and make the room smell like sex and Chinese takeout). LOL!

BTW? I wouldn’t fuck Condoleezza Rice with your dick and Cheney’s ass pushing it… just sayin’… AFAIC, aside from being a fuckin come mierda (shit eater) sell-out, she looks like a donkey's anus with teeth. And if that observation makes me some kind of woman-hating bigot ::shrug::


The following photo is of a aesthetically pleasing abnormally beautiful, Latina. fuck it.

* * *

-=[ Love and Hate ]=-

People like to talk about “their haters” all the time. Some even use the evidence of a large following of haters as proof of their superiority! Lots of haters?!! Then you must be the bomb! In this sense, the standard meaning of hate is changed in order to mean envy. When people talk about “haters” they’re really referring to envious people. And again, people often point to a lot of perceived enviousness in their lives as something of a badge of honor. On the other hand, it might be that you’re delusional and are an asshole.

Hate in its standard usage, however, is a powerful, often destructive energy. The word hate comes from the Old English and its definition is rooted in sadness, anger, pain. But as with everything else in life, you can harness the power of hate for a good purpose. Warning: the following isn’t from a Christian/ Judeo framework, so beware ::grin::

Hate everyone you see today. Actually, this shouldn’t be hard because you probably do this to a certain extent already. Hate strangers, family, and friends. What I mean is look at each person and generate feelings of hate.

Don’t slack. If you aren’t hating, then work at it. Hate the woman who cut you off in the car ahead of you. Hate the man you last spoke with on the cell. Hate the very next person you see -- intensely.

As you’re doing all this hating, imagine yourself dying, right now, this very moment, while hating. Hate, and feel as if you’re dying. Would you rather die a different way than hating?

How would you prefer to die, if you had the choice (you do)?

Don’t think, but experience your answer to this question. Offer the spirit in which you wish to die -- from this moment on.

If you notice yourself slacking off, then practice hating once again -- practice hating every person you meet or see. Really hate him or her, hating as hard as you can, and then feel (not think!) if this is how you want to die, shackled in hate.

You can use this to blossom open to be lived by the force of love. If this feels difficult or scary, then hate for just a moment in order to help you commit to how loving you want to be when you die, which, contrary to the propaganda, could be right now.



Preparing for Hurricane Irene from a Brooklyn Perspective (w/ Resources)

¡Hola! Everybody...
We're expecting Hurricane Irene to hit the greater New York City area sometime tomorrow. The corporate news arm of the GOP is now doing wall-to-wall hurricane coverage, probably hoping for lots of tragedy to fill its 24-hour news cycle.

There's no real way of knowing the extent of the impact of Irene, but it's always a good idea to be prepared. Below are some resources for those in NYC with an emphasis on my nabes -- Park Slope and Sunset Park.

* * *

-=[ Preparing for a Hurricane and Resources ]=-

As of 8 p.m. this evening, the National Hurricane Center's "Five-Day Track Forecast Cone" has projected a course for Hurricane Irene that would take the eye of the storm just to the east of Prospect Park sometime between Saturday night and Sunday night. Governor Cuomo has declared a state of emergency for New York State. Mayor Bloomberg is expected to announce a decision on mandatory evacuations by 8 a.m. Friday. Needless to say, a direct hit from a hurricane on New York City could have serious consequences for all New York City residents.

The New York City Office of Emergency Management (OEM) is closely monitoring the storm, which is currently a Category 3 hurricane (maximum sustained winds of 115 mph) and which is expected to make landfall in North Carolina sometime Saturday. While the storm could change course or weaken, the longer it remains on its projected path, the greater the probability that it will pass through our area. Given the potential power of the storm, it is prudent to plan for the worst while hoping for the best.

While most of Park Slope lies outside New York City's Hurricane Evacuation Zone, Red Hook and parts of the Gowanus basin lie in Zone A, which encompasses areas most at risk for dangerous storm surge, and portions of the neighborhood west of 3rd Avenue lie in Zone B, which the city reports could experience flooding from a Category 2 (or higher) hurricane. Some portions of the neighborhood west of Fifth Avenue are located in Zone C, which the city says could experience storm-surge flooding in a Category 3, 4 or 5 hurricane.

You can download a PDF map of New York City's Hurricane Evacuation Zones at

You can also use the Office of Emergency Management's Hurricane Evacuation Zone Finder to check whether your address is within any of the evacuation zones: (The city reports that the site may be running slowly due to heavy traffic).

To stay up to date on the city's storm monitoring, please visit the OEM web site at Park Slope Patch has also been offering excellent storm coverage on their web site, at

They've posted a hurricane evacuation guide with helpful tips. The John Jay High School campus building on 7th Avenue between 4th and 5th Streets is the nearest Evacuation Center.

The OEM is recommending that New York residents have a "Go Bag" prepared, and that people stock up on emergency supplies in advance of the storm. Click the links for more information.

The National Weather Service is providing regular Hazardous Weather Outlooks
here. You can track the storm via the National Hurricane Center web site:

Please make an effort to check up on elderly or disabled neighbors to make sure that they are prepared for the storm, and do heed warnings and recommendations from the city. As New Yorkers, we have a tendency to think we can tough it out, but a direct hit from a powerful hurricane could be like nothing we've ever experienced.

-- Eddie

Friday, August 19, 2011

The Friday Sex Blog [Expressions]

¡Hola! Everybody…
It’s Friday, it’s summer, and I ain’t got no job! Dang! I’m good! LOL

* * *

-=[ Expressions ]=-

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
-- Marianne Williamson, from: A Return to Love

Every day, every waking moment, you desire to do many things, from hugging your lover to earning money. Why is this? What is the underlying motivation or feeling behind all your hopes and dreams? This is the dynamic tension between who you really are and who you assume yourself to be. Our desires reveal who we really are.

Let me explain, dearest…

Take your desire for an intimate relationship as an example. There are countless reasons for engaging in a relationship. But the fact is that you only feel completely fulfilled in intimacy when you and your lover trust each other so implicitly that you feel free to let down your guards, open, and love. This is your deepest desire in intimacy because the actual truth is that you are love, but you perceive yourself to be a separate, isolated individual. So you scheme and often manipulate, and dream to experience in your relationship what, in reality, you already are.

Here’s a good one, one I grapple with as well: we want to experience financial security. In truth, however, we are abundance, although we assume only sustained effort will provide a feeling of ease. You engage in high-risk behavior because you perceive it as living on the edge, but the truth is that every moment you are at the edge of death -- the ultimate edge of winning and losing -- but your fabricated security makes you seek risks. You want to eat that box of chocolates because, dearest, deep down inside in your heart of hearts, you are blissful fullness, though you may have closed yourself from its pleasure and seek its aftertaste instead.

And in this way you wander through your daily acts of “living,” seeking to approximate the truth of you are -- the you that you have lost contact with. This drama of approximation is the story of your life. You even admit at times, when the lows get too low. You never quite succeed like you really hope to. You never quite get the love you really want. And so you either get on the treadmill or give up trying. In either case, you are missing the point of existence.

The uninhibited expression of who you really are is the only thing that will set you free from the trauma of feeling incomplete. The truth is, dearest, you are what you want.

The farther you stray from your genuine self, the more you crave the qualities of your genuineness. Since you have blinded yourself from the love that you are, the love that lives inside of you, you look to your lover to cherish you. Exiled from your home of unlimited openness, you seek instead to expand the sphere of your influence, the size of your stock portfolio, the borders of your country. Seeking the freedom of ease that is already your part of your inherent nature, you try to discharge stress through masturbation, watching TV, and all those secret habits of release. You miss the simplicity of being, so you seek it in the warmth of a heroin rush, a fluffy bed, unsafe sex, or a box of chocolates.

Then there are the times you fret over your appearance, seeking outside of yourself to find the radiance already possess. And you think to yourself constantly, almost obsessively, in order to provide a mirror reflection of your own presence. Yet, in truth, you are sheer presence, whether or not you reflect yourself by thinking.

Dearest, whenever you are ready, you can stop trying to find what you’re dismissing and start being who you are in truth. Yes, to surrender in this way, this completely, is utterly terrifying -- all that work you’ve done on your self image instantly vanishes. Yet, this is the only real way to live. Otherwise every moment you live you live missing who you truly are, and in that way you create a self-image that isn’t the real thing. You feel a lack. This tension of a deficiency winds into an intense knot of desire. Eventually, it warps you.

Divorced from and craving the depth that you miss, you may find yourself engaging in risk-behavior, self-abuse, and manipulating and terrorizing others -- or perhaps just sitting in front of the TV and indulging in “comfort food.” No matter how extreme or mundane your misplaced efforts become, you always have the option of opening as your source. In the grips of that obsession with chocolate (or a cock), you can open as the abundance of the life-force that you are. How would you act if you connected with your inherent abundance? Open as you are, the knot unwinds…

Caught in the trap of the Gordian knot of your desires, your most naughty moments of perverse indulgence, as well as the rounds of daily life, you are missing who you truly are. Instead, through constant practice, you can open as every twist and hope. You can live as love, alive and spontaneous. The fact is, dearest, your deepest desires are who you are.



Thursday, August 18, 2011

Quacks, The Psychiatrist, The Prisoner, and The Lion

¡Hola! Everybody...
If you get a chance, shoot over to the Police Reform Organizing Project, a grassroots campaign aimed at promoting "changes in the wasteful, ineffective, unjust, illegal, bullying and racially biased practices of the NYPD" (click here). If you have ever been a victim of racial profiling and would like to share your story, please contact either myself or someone at the project (Alternatively, you can submit your story in your own words by following the link).

I just don't know about you, but people like Michelle Bachmann and Rick Perry are an absolute disgrace to our country. People: all around the world they're laughing at us!

* * *

-=[ Quacks ]=-

If you really want to know what's wrong with our country, all you need is to look at the following:

Watch live video from texastribune on

This clip illustrates what I consider one of the greatest of sins: ignorance. Presented with evidence that challenges his unfunded belief, Rick Perry discards the evidence and clings to the belief. There are Americans who vote for this nonsense.

And speaking of quacks, allow me to share the following (true) story. I won’t name names here folks, but some of you might know…

Some time ago, a recently incarcerated man was going through “orientation” at a New York State prison. Orientation, from a penal perspective, resembles a brainwashing experience: your head is shaved, you are deloused, you are humiliated, your name is taken away and you’re given a number instead. You’re instructed that that number is now your name and must respond when it is called out. You’re also given a series of measures in order to gauge your academic attainment and personality.

As part of the psychological profiling, this individual was called into a psychiatrist’s office for an examination. As part of the questioning process the following took place:

Psychiatrist: What would you do if you were to suddenly discover that a lion was in your cell?

Inmate: well, I would reach for my gun under my pillow and shoot the lion!

Psychiatrist: (somewhat taken aback) Where would you get such a gun?

Inmate: From the same place you got the lion... bitch!

Of course, the man in question was beaten by the guards and immediately diagnosed as suffering from an anti-social personality disorder. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, is probably still “practicing.”

My name is Eddie and I'm in recovery from civilization...

Friday, August 12, 2011

The Friday Sex Blog [The Collazo Sisters]

¡Hola! Everybody...
Seeking work is more work than actual work. Just sayin’…

Summer reruns!

* * *

-=[ Blame The Collazo Sisters ]=-

A woman’s behind -- an altar to be worshiped on one’s knees.

-- Me

Actually, the title is incorrect: we shouldn’t blame all the Collazo sisters, only Nellie Collazo’s big sister, Delilah. But there are all manner of connection in all this...

Nellie Collazo was in my eighth-grade class. She was a Taina princess -- long, straight dark brown hair that brushed the tops of the cheeks of her cute little ass. Her translucent skin was like cinnamon and when she smiled, it was like the sun coming out after days of cloudiness.

I am convinced to this day that Nellie descended from Taino royalty.

All year I entertained fantasies about Nellie, but I was too shy to ever say anything to her. My two friends would tease me about it all the time. Finally, about a month before the junior high school “prom,” I managed to muster up the courage to ask her.

Me: “Would you be my prom date?” Or something to that effect.

She: “No.”

I was heartbroken. I was very shy, a nerd, and girls always made me nervous. I had other options. There was the impossibly and prematurely developed Susana Susana (that was her name!). Susana looked like what I imagined a young (and dark brown) Mae West would like look and her sexuality -- even at 13 -- smoldered. To look at Susanna was to see the smoke-filled rooms and smell the rum I’m sure she ventured later in life. She had the habit of cornering me between classes and trying to cop a feel and kiss me. I hated it.

That summer, I was sent to a special program for gifted students and I would fall in love for the first time, but that’s another story. What happened that summer was that I made a conscious decision to transform myself. I did a fashion and personality make-over. I was too dammed shy and wearing a suit and tie everyday to school (thanks mom!) wasn’t cool. I discovered that I could be funny in an insightful way and that humor was a great way to approach women, so I honed my craft that summer and polished my image.

That September, I entered high school with my new cool make-over: I was known for my long, black cashmere coat, and my favorite ensemble (wardrobe makeover made possible with the financial help and fashion sense of my mother), was a black Italian knit (it had three barely noticeable electric blue stripes on each side of the buttons), and black sharkskin pants. And, of course, a pair black suede and leather “Playboys” (shoes).

You may laugh at this today, but back then, that was the shit. I cut my hair in a modified “Caesar” look all the bad boys wore, and -- voila! -- a new Eddie emerged. I was still intellectually inclined and at fourteen, I was in the process of reading “every great book ever written,” but I was also “cool.” I was also part of “College Bound” a program implemented by the City of New York. It was an effort to identify gifted students, what I would later jokingly call the “talented tenth,” and segregate us from the rest of the unwashed and stupid black, Latin@, and poor white masses. I attended a school that housed close to 3,000 students in a building that was meant to house half that number and the average class size was probably 35-40 students. Students in the College Bound program would attend classes that had, at most, 10-15 students. More often I took classes that had less than ten students. The idea being that smaller classes would allow teachers to give more specialized instruction to the students.

I was on the Dean’s List -- a straight- A student -- but I was also cool, and I became very popular. My school was also a dangerous place. the hallways, bathrooms, locker rooms were all places where the “bad students” the one’s abandoned by the state and the city, would congregate and sell drugs, smoke cigarettes, engage in sex, and extort the more meek. I happened to be friends with some of the riff raff, many of them having grown up with me. So, I began then to travel the different worlds I would travel all of my life. I was as likely to appear on the Dean’s List as well as with the guy who would take your lunch money at the point of a knife.

One of my friends was Michael. Michael was an abandoned child who was raised by numerous different adults, related and not. He was also the one child no mother wanted you to hang out with. Michael was famous for sniffing glue, something popular in those days. He was also the only Puerto Rican I knew that wore his hair in the style of the Partridge Family’s David Cassidy. That was a huge fashion fuax pas in the black and Latin@ ‘hood we grew up in but though he looked nothing like the wildly popular pop star, he managed to carry it off and the girls loved it! LOL

One day we all decided to go to the movies and who was with Michael the Glue-Sniffer? None other than my Taina princess, Nellie Collazo! Not only that, he treated her like crap and she even paid for his entrance and bought him candy!

I was conflicted and Michael, who was in actuality an extremely intelligent young man, just laughed, said, “They’re all ho’s Eddie.”

I was stunned, but I learned an important lesson about the allure of a bad boy that day. More importantly, it was the first time I laid eyes on Nellie’s older sister. They didn’t look like sisters at all. Nellie’s older sister was light-skinned with curly light-brown hair and her eyes -- impossibly large --were a wicked shade of yellow.

It was winter and she had a coat on and Michael, noting my gaze, whispered, “She’s a stuck up bitch, you’ll never get that.”

At that point in time, I considered Michael a sexual genius (which speaks volumes as to how little I knew). After all, he had Nellie, she of the Taino royalty ancestry, smoking his cock in the balcony of the movie we went to that day.

A couple of years passed and I was walking up those notoriously dangerous Bushwick High School stairways in-between classes when I looked up.

And that’s when it happened.

I looked up and what I saw changed my life forever.

Right there, just a few steps above me was the most rounded, most deliciously curved ass I had ever seen in my life. Up until then, I never paid much attention to the female derriere. It was just something you fondled on your way to the flower of a woman’s vagina or the buds of her breasts. But this was no ordinary ass. It was perfection personified. It was rounded, just the right size, and the owner of that ass had the smallest waist I had ever seen on a woman. It seemed that if I tried, I could wrap my hands around her waist and my fingertips would touch. She was curvy, but lean and she moved like a sleek cat -- all stealth, sex, and grace.

I walked up those stairs in rapture.

I guess she sensed something, quickly turned around, demanded, “What are you doing?! Are you staring at my ass?”

Me, “I’m praying.”

She, “Praying? What are you praying about?”

I was debated if this was a good tact to take, decided it would be foolish, but blurted it out anyway, “Your glorious derrière.”

And she laughed -- a strange sound that sounded like a song. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. Her small, pert contemptuous breasts defied gravity. And those eyes! Those wickedly yellowish/ amber, impossibly large eyes framed by exquisitely formed cheekbones that came out to here. But most important, Nellie’s older sister had the Most Beautiful Ass in the World.

“Very funny,” she said, the hint of a smile on like a playful sprite above her coral lips destroying her attempt to affect an indignation she obviously didn’t feel.

Seeing an opportunity, I jumped on my chance, decided I needed to say something, but not knowing what else, I managed, “I’m also a genius.”

At that she laughed. "Really," she asked playfully.

Me, “Can I walk you to class?”

She, “No!”

Me, “You would rather I continue to stare?”

She ignored that last bit and turned around and continued with that divine ass of hers. I watched, and she knew I was watching, but didn’t complain or protest.

As she left to go on to her class, I asked, “Do you come by this way often?”

She, “Everyday! Wow, you are a genius,” and she laughed again. Her eyes were an open invitation I wasn't sure of.

Every day, I would wait for her and follow her up the stairs and everyday she would appear. She wouldn’t engage me in conversation except to inquire if I still prayed.

My answer was always, “Everyday at this time.”

And she would let out that musical laughter that so enraptured me.

One day I didn’t show, I was making out with Cinderella -- well, not that Cinderella, but Cynthia, who I called Cinderella for reasons I can’t get into at this juncture. And little by little, I would stop waiting for Nellie Collazo’s Big Sister's Ascencion. Besides, she had a parade of worshipers, I realized, that walked up the stairs with her. It was like a holy procession. Besides, Cinderella adored me and she would let me taste the fruit of her lips and her wondrously pale, puffy nipples.

One day, totally by accident, I looked up and again saw that wondrous ass and I swear the fuckin' the angels sang.

She turned around and asked, “Where have you been?”

I answered, “I haven’t been praying lately, my goddess refuses to answer my prayers.”

She laughed, the amber in her eyes sparkling, and teased, “And what would your prayer be asking?”

Me, “That I could walk you to your class, then take you out on a date, and someday taste the dew on your bottom lip.”

With that, she turned around without saying anything and looking over her shoulder (to make sure I was praying to her ass, I guess) said, “You can walk me to my class, and I would like to go out with you, but I want to know... ”

to be continued...



Friday, August 5, 2011

The Friday Sex Blog [Love]

¡Hola! Everybody…
These are the dog days of summer, lover, and you’re recklessly embroiled in a summer fling, drinking of that siren’s song of forgetfulness and autumn, with its demands for change, such a long way off…

* * *

-=[ Love ]=-

Your sleep:/ I have watched you wake/ a spectacle,/ an immediate vision of honesty./ ... And you reach out for me/ silently, without a plan/ and it is enough.

This is a test of the Ame-Rican Blogging System (ABS). This is only a test...

Can you love through the ever increasing ups and downs, heavens and hells, of life?

Can you love in all directions, inwardly and outwardly?

Even during those all-too-frequent mood swings of disgust and pain and shame and negative thought constellations spiraling into that tight knot of loneliness and despairing torment, can you love?

If you find cannot love, nothing changes.

On the flip side, if you can love, nothing changes…

Except that you love.

Nothing and nobody will ever give you anything except an opportunistic risk to love…

Now, this very moment, in this very life.

This has been a test of the Ame-Rican Blogging System. If this had been an actual emergency, someone would’ve awakened you from your life-long slumber (or perhaps not).



Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Nina's Poem

¡Hola! Everybody…
I awoke today and was informed that 1) I haven’t posted the following in a while, and that 2) It belongs to my dear friend, Nina. I hope this means I have conjugal (if not copy) rights! LOL

For you, Nina, because we’re refugees -- refugees since time immemorial…

* * *

Now [no. 23]

In some remote
rain forest,
under the approving eyes
of the ancient Orishas,
we took each other,
like animals of the jungle.

Teeth, fingers, lips
painted with the fruits
of our child-like foreplay,
we had our roll
in the tangled underbrush
and emerged,
scratched and bleeding,
staggering, jaunty, and
rowdy with contempt
for all those timid animals
who still make noiseless love,
undressing in
the darkened chambers
of their shame.

-- Eddie


[un]Common Sense