Awards for your use- Bloggers only

  In visiting countless sites over the months I've come across many awards, which I've saved to use at a later date.  I know many of you also like to pass them on to fellow Bloggers, so I'm making them available for your use.  Just right-click and save them to your computer.

There should be something here for everyone.........

                      

          

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

            

          Now, go and tell someone how awesome they are.

            And while you're at it, don't forget to give yourself this...

           

If you don't know why you deserve it, ask me. I'll explain...

The Embrace

                                          www.photobucket.com

I called
You did not answer.
Not right away, not in words.
Your mind was elsewhere.
Perhaps with the one
Who came before me,
Perhaps in that place we exist
In those magical few seconds
Before sleep takes over
And brings with it visions
Of things we dare not betray.

You spoke my name
Carried through the breeze on a sigh,
Stopping only to rest upon my ear.
I turned and there you were,
Your breast pressed against me
Felt your warmth, your rise and fall.
Breathless.

"Where were you?", I asked,
Relieved by your presence.
"I've been with you all along," came the answer
"Here," your hand resting upon my chest.
I pulled you in,
Vowed to keep you close
And kissed your soul,
As you had mine.



Intellectual property copyright Barry O'Shea.  All rights reserved.

Transitions

Life is full of defining moments that ebb and flow into one another.  Throughout our lives we move in and out of phases, ups and downs, likes and dislikes.  Relationships come and go, strengthening or weakening over time.  And in the end we can say what was or what wasn't, yet seemingly we can never point out with certainty the precise moment when these things changed.

How can passion that burns so strong be reduced to a faded colour on a lover's mood ring?  At what point does a walk hand-in-hand become a lonely stroll alone down once-familiar streets, kicking up dust of ghosts and memories?  At what point does affection turn to friendship, friendship to love? When does the joy we receive from those we meet become greater than the pain of those we've lost touch with?

These transitions are often imperceptible. We're rarely conscious of the moment we visit regret for the last time and close the door for good, tearing away the rear view mirror and only looking ahead.  When does it finally sink in that the love of those around us here and now is worth so much more than memories of those who shunned us in the past?  At what exact moment did we decide to turn our dream into action, or set it free to fly upon the wind as a soon-forgotten wish?  When does the spark from a stolen glance intercepted across a room ignite to flame, to be recounted years later as a shared memory?

When?

Secret Friday

Happy Friday everyone! It's time again for Secret Friday, an opportunity to anonymously share those secrets and fantasies you've kept to yourself.  If you find topics like this as intriguing as I do, stay tuned because in this case the comments are the feature. I hope you'll all participate. I will.

As always a very heartfelt thank you to everyone who contributed last week. Here's how it works:

1) This is open to anyone who wishes to participate, whether follower or visitor.

2) Post a secret or fantasy anonymously, no names please. It can be anything from mild to wild, anything goes. All I ask is that it's true. You can post as many as you're comfortable with.

3) I don't plan to censor content or language. However I do reserve the right to remove anything which appears to be posted with the sole intent of offending. I also reserve the right not to remove content that may be considered controversial. It's a fine line sometimes.

4) If you're someone who is easily offended by swearing or sexual content you may not want to read through the comments. I have no idea where this will go and won't be reviewing comments until after they are posted.

5) I'll be participating as well.

6) Feedback directed towards me is welcome, anonymously or otherwise.

7) As always I'd like everyone to refrain from commenting on what someone else has written please; what may seem trivial to you can be very personal to someone else. Everyone has feelings and I want to see them respected. Inappropriate remarks will be removed.

How Not To Look Cool On A Motorcycle

This pic really has nothing to do with the post, but I got tired of looking for a photo of a biker nerd.  Apparently there aren't a lot of them around.  If it helps you to visualize me as a dog then go ahead, my feelings won't be hurt.  Besides I've been know to have fleas and scratch myself in inappropriate places. 


 When I was about ten I had my first ride on the back of a motorcycle. Although it was a simple tour around the block at what I'm sure was a reasonable speed, it scared me.  Actually it scared the shit out of me.  I recall feeling like I was going to fall off as I held onto the bar on the back of my seat for dear life.

As with horseback riding I knew I couldn't let one bad experience hold me back from trying something again; it's always good to conquer those fears. Growing up I was never exposed to motorcycles as I didn't know anyone who rode.  So that experience of long ago faded from my mind.

Fast forward nearly thirty years (about seven years ago). It's a beautiful summer's day, and Sandy and I are on the front lawn doing yard work. A casual acquaintance of mine, I'll call him Thor, rolls up on his hog. Thor was a towering wall of a man.  I didn't know much about him, but I do know he could be bad news in the crowd he ran with.  Who they were, I never asked.  Didn't want to know.  I do know he was a dedicated family man.

Seeing this moment as a perfect opportunity to erase a bad childhood memory, I asked if I could bum a ride for a few blocks.  His answer was a very reluctant yes.

Let me paint the scene for you.  Thor was about 6'3 of solid mass, dressed in full black leather riding gear with requisite beard and looking every bit the badass.  I on the other hand came in at 5'11 and 168lb.  The best part of the deal is I was wearing a tank top and lime green shorts, not exactly the poster-boy for Easy Rider.  And not being a biker this was the attire I would go out in.

So...on goes the helmet, which feels about two sizes too big for my head.  I hop on the back, hold onto him (I learned from the first time) and off we went. The ride was a rush!  We get to the plaza where I dismount and struggle with the chin strap seemingly forever, my oversized helmet all the while bobbing around on my undersized head.

Worse part of it is, if I remember correctly he had to help me loosen it, which is about as cool as having your mom wipe something off the side of your face with that old used tissue she keeps up her sleeve.  Right after she's licked it. We ride back, him looking every bit the part.  Me hanging on like his bobble-headed biker bitch. 

The moral to this story...well, I don't know if there is one but next time I go out I'll be the one riding, and I'll have my own chaps.  Black, not lime green.

And the winner is...

For her explanation of my attraction to "Ink" on the page vs real life, the award goes to...Leah.  Show it loud and proud my dear, 'cause I bet it'll be a while before you get another quite like this one.  I have no idea what it actually represents but really, who can resist a zombie chicken? 

Don't answer that.

Ink (contains nudity)

"Skin is the border between the self and the world*..A place where touches, traces and markings are negotiated in a productive struggle for meaning."
-quoted from "Written on the Body: The Suicide Girls' Difference and Transgression"


Toronto, Canada.  Hummingbird Theatre for the Performing Arts, about ten years ago. Sandy and I are attending the National Ballet's performance of Don Quixote, an evening which falls just short of a black tie affair.

A woman comes into view.  She's attractive, tall, slender and dressed in an evening gown which seems to fall perfectly in all the right places.  Her blonde hair is up in a bun, very tasteful and classy.  A budding socialite, she's a vision of style and elegance.  The woman turns her back towards us, revealing a ten inch tattoo which spans her shoulders.  For me the vision is shattered.

I expect this post will cause some strong reaction; in fact I hope many of you will take a minute to voice your opinions for or against the subject. There's virtually a 100% chance that some of you reading are wearing ink somewhere, in visible or *ahem* some wonderfully hidden places.  I don't begrudge anyone making that choice, I just want to better understand the attraction.

I've always viewed the human body as a natural art form, and as such I've never seen the need to cover any part of it.  It seems increasingly common in my daily life to see a woman sporting a tattoo across the small of her back or shoulder, not to mention the ever-popular butterfly or some-such on the ankle. And while I know people do this mainly for themselves, it leaves me uninspired.

After stating this point of view my reasoning begins to unravel, because (as with most things in my life) there are exceptions to the rule. I find the puckered "lipstick kiss on the butt cheek" extremely sexy.  Same with the faded Playboy bunny-head tan mark.  But here's the real kicker, which I still haven't been able to fully explain. 

On a trip to my local bookstore recently I chanced upon a hardcover book about 'SuicideGirls'. For anyone not familiar with the term, I'll explain.  SuicideGirls challenge society's notion of what defines female beauty.  These are women who don't confine themselves within any boundaries.  Usually adorned with tattoos or piercings they live life very much on their own terms, and are extremely comfortable outwardly expressing themselves.  Some examples which caught my eye...

As applies to everyday life I would argue that the human body itself is a form of art which shouldn't be defaced with tattoos or piercings.  However upon looking at these photos I'm struck by the notion that the body when adorned in ink is in this sense a living canvas, and I see the whole subject as an artwork.  But why does this hold such allure?  What in my mind makes the difference?

Here's another quote taken from "Written on the Body: The Suicide Girls' Difference and Transgression" as it appears on-line on the New Mappings website:

"The creasing and folding of the skin that tattoos represent, contaminate the gender discourse otherwise established and serve as a disruption and challenge of the conventional image of the female body. It articulates a territory which lies folded inside the sexual pleasure of the image, and allows the production of a subjectivity where female sexuality is not dependent on the male gaze, but rather invites a broader conceptualization of desire."


I find this statement very interesting.


So where do I go from here?  Can my views of what I see in real life vs what I see on paper co-exist? I feel like a tremendous walking contradiction right now.


I'd like to hear you views on this.  Are tattoos art or abomination? If you have a tattoo, what was your reason for getting it and where do you wear it?  And I'll give out the 'Zombie Chicken Award' to anyone who can constructively shed some light on why my views may differ so greatly between what I see in real life vs on the page.

* quoted from Claudia Benthien

All pictures from the SuicideGirls website.  SuicideGirls 2001-2009