I hardly remember
a ******* thing
about that day
before gazing into his eyes
once again, for the first time

rushing toward the exit
running from the baggage claim;
it was all a blur,
as walked through those doors
all I remember was the vastness
of the first sight,
stepping into the bright, unfamiliar place
& nothing else, but him

I scanned the crowd
the strange faces waiting
for loved ones
emotion thick enough to touch
in the air,
but just to my right
in the front
with his body pressed up against the metal bar,
I saw him

it was the first time I saw his face
not through a photo or webcam
in a time that was so long it ached
I think I lost my breath
did I leave my things behind when I ran?
I don't remember,
I just ran to him

it was too surreal
I can't remember a moment between
seeing his face, & kissing his lips
nor what kind of kiss it was
or how long it lasted
I just couldn't fathom it
I was really there
it was really him
& it didn't matter where we were
it was all a wonderland
to me, I was holding his hand again
everything was bright & new
it was magic, pure magic

Written on 11/20/2017

That awkward moment when someone flirts with you on a dating app and says "I like that you look masculine."

You see,
I never saw masculinity as a part of me.

My identity was always flamboyant,
wearing pink shirts and sashes,
crop tops with styling gelled eyelashes,
sparkling headbands and dazzling bandannas,
snapback hats featuring giant bananas,
I dressed with the raging flamboyance of flamingos!
Sporting a certain type of femininity that only a gay man knows.

All the trimming and cutting, and shaving and nairing,
for hours,
as time and body hair intertwined in the showers,
washed masculinity off my body down the drain,
Experienced electrolysis burns, but the pain
had infected my thoughts,
like each hair is unnatural.  

Purge it all,
Scorch and torch it all,
Leave nothing at all!
No trace
of evolution's flawed attempt to grace
me with an adaptive advantage to take on the world's harsh climate.  
I admit,
this hair entangles me and strangles me,
it also oozes out of me like pimples from a pore,
a ***** to testosterone,
poor me - a victim of nature's masculinity.
What a hairy situation I've gotten myself in.

--

Femininity.
Its bestowed upon me by society.
When I sashay or say hey gurl hey,
society recognizes these things as girly and gay,
not a very masculine way to walk or talk.  

Stereotypes about *** and gender are so easily manipulated.
Like a circus performer on the tight rope,
the suspense keeps people wondering where will I fall?

But hold me under a microscope and you will see it all,
a million molecules that makeup my femininity.
I wear skinny jeans and tank tops,
then get complimented on them by dude bros,
like yo that's tight- where'd you get it boss?

I bought it in the girl's section at Ross.

My toe nails painted and displayed for public view,
flip flops emboldened with matching turquoise hues,
Femininity is worn on me like a fabulous armor plate.

--

Fast forward to a fateful date during No-Shave November.
I remember,
growing out my ****** hair for the very first time,
I wore it like a mask,
portraying a fictional character who was masc-uline.
Bathing in manliness at this masquerade.
It was through this charade,
that I grew
... temporary happiness for me from all of you.

The compliments they poured in.
My once smooth canvas of a face,
waiting to be crafted into the Mona Lisa,
had been turned into an artistic masterpiece,
'Gay Man with Amnesia',
of who he used to be.
A painting of someone society wanted,
someone whose masculinity was outwardly flaunted.
But inside, I felt taunted,
each time they complimented
me and my newfound masculinity.

--

Then, it happened on Grindr,
a gay dating app.
This masculine mishap.

A stranger's message read, "I like that you look masculine."
It sounded even stranger in my head.
Their profile description read,

"Masc 4 Masc
Masculine man seeking other masculine men to hangout with."

That's when I felt it.
My mask had made me masc.

This particularly manic morning brought me to ask
myself in the bathroom mirror,
"Who the hell am I looking at?"

In sheer terror, I teared-up,
scanned the portrait of 'Gay Man with Amnesia',
and then decided to tear it up!

I grabbed my electric razor,
grum grum grummm
as these blades grazed my face and chin,
I was offered sweet, soft, porcelain skin - my absolution.

pause

heh heh
When I came to and snapped out of the amnesia,
eager to see results of this restorative procedure,
the mirror was fogged with steam and slop.

I tried logging in to my laptop's webcam,  
for naught.  
The ****** recognition feature -- didn't recognize me
... but finally, I did.

Once again, I see the man behind the masc-ulinity.

Alice Green’s Renault was seen parked in Lovers’ Lane,
With steamed up windows, rocking gently in the rain.
Now her husband wants a divorce,
And bad news rides a fast horse…

…In the unlikely shape of Kate Brown,
An unattractive woman with a soviet frown,
A fertile mole but otherwise downpour hair,
And a saxon graveyard in need of some dental care.

On the edge of her ottoman my mother’s all ears,
As Kate reassures her by confirming her worst fears,
Of how he had the snip when he was forty-two,
And how Alice’s little friend is three months overdue.
And they shake their heads in unison and say it’s such a shame,
That the carrier-bag-carrying Kate doesn’t yet know the father’s name.

And later I help Kate take her shopping home,
Her husband works in London and during the week she’s on her own,
And digging up a smile she offers me a drink,
On tiptoes to the dusty glasses on the shelf above the sink,
As my fingers slide around her yoghurt coloured throat,
Then that glint of recognition between weasel and stoat.
And she’s screaming ‘Harder!’ on the sofa with both feet up in the air,
Forgetting her Facebook streaming webcam with its settings set to ‘Share’.

From sevenpanda.com . Computer accessories enhance the efficiency in the way you are using the computer. This additional stuff really adds value to your work and accelerates the rhythm of your job. Take the functions of basic accessories like speakers, printers, scanners, UPS, surge protector, headsets, cases and covers, cleaning and repair kits. Now imagine... can you do your business without these accessories? Now think about some advanced accessories, which include webcam, microphones, gaming equipments, portable storage devices, CD and DVD recordable drives, network accessories and modem. All these accessories - basic and advanced - to help your business flourish.

Overall, accessories are must-have for a complete pc experience. No matter what kind of system you have, whether it is desktop pc or laptop, these hardware and peripherals can make or mar your business if not selected smartly.

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Written in Bangkok, Thailand SE Asia, Siam

a.k.a. "Skype Love"  a.k.a.  "Skype Life"  a.k.a.  "Skype Fun"

The Skype Theme Song      "The Skype Song"

written by: David John Clare    

     

(Sci-Fi Techno Music)

Verse 1

Feel the shock, hear the buzz,   Turn-on your screen, so you can see what it does

Tells you who's there, finds you a date,   Friendly webcam faces: how they radiate

Never be bored, Skype gives us something to do,   Her electric eyes to watch me in my view

Lightning filled hands, good tingling sensations,   Skype runs the world: on a single cosmic vibration

Chorus 1

Skype Love: an on-line chat with a new friend I know, Skype Life, You sound so good, feels so good to me

Skype Fun, It's me Oh Yeah!, always on the go, Skype Me Now! ... makes it so easy like: 1-2-3

Verse 2

How it works so well: nobody knows,  It's more than simply just 1's & O's

Skype don't lie, no it's not science fiction,  A very clean high, our one and only addiction

Brand new friends, new loved ones too, In every country a cool rendezvous

 

A lovely Chat? Well it gets better than that!  If you don't Skype, then you don't know where it's at!

Chorus 2

Skype Love, It's my computer on video, Skype Life, You sound so good, look so nice to me

Skype Fun, It's us Oh Yeah!, always on the go, Skype Someone now! ... it all so easy as 1-2-3

Bridge

Go feel the magic on-line,  Someone now: is as close as your hand

Now finally every thing's fine

The World is now: at your command, command, command ...  (**** Pow!)

Chorus 3

Skype Love: an on-line chat with a true-friend I know, Skype Life, It's great, always there for me

Skype Fun, You sound so good, it's so cool to go

Skype !  Sign Up Now! ('cuz), It's for free, for free,  for free,  for free,  for free... (echo-fade)

© In Perpetuity written by:  David w. Clare  Clairvoyant Music / BMI

all rights reserved by the author


Skype: xendavid

email: [email protected]

tonight i
lost it a little
and it's not even night
it's morning
just to be clear

start over...

this MORNING
i
lost it a little
and i don't know
how to be better

i talked at a white shining light
on my computer
i vented
at a webcam
for thirty minutes
and i looked myself in the face
and tried to tell me it'd be alright
but the words choked me
and i couldn't
get them out

and im not trying to be an overdramatic
*******
a whiner
or a ****** kid
i just have abandonment issues
and cutting
and wantingtodietoomuch
issues
and i feel like everyone is biding their time
waiting
to leave me
and i feel like
i can't sew up the child-sized holes
in my dad's heart

and it's ******* father's day
and i can't even do that
i can't ******* replace
the nine other kids
that should be here
i can't make up for that
i am just
one person
one daughter
and i cannot make my daddy
better
and i
hate
it

happy
*******
father's day

I walked into Walgreen’s that night
              absorbed in my own little world.

Soon after entering,
I made my way to the line.
My eyes
             d       a      n  c  e d        

to the crescent-moon shaped scar
    adorning the young clerk’s neck.

With the gentleman in front of me,
he spoke of
camouflage and machine guns.
                                                                            Earlier times when he
                                                                               could only see his
                                                                                  family through
                                                                                     the lens of
                                                                                            a
                                                                                      webcam.
When  he first learned what it took
                                       to be a man.

And when he learned what true loss
really felt like.

It’s my turn.
I step     f      o   r w ard
and stare directly into his eyes
and wonder

how he ended up here.


His face doesn’t give away much,
he’s painted on a cordial smile
and the air between us seeps
with the remnants
of small talk.

But I can’t help wondering.
I wonder, if he knows

he’s more than he’s been told.
       more than he’s settled for.
       more than the orders he was commanded to obey.
       more than the lines he was expected to cross.
       more than the monster he had to become.
                                                                                   To survive.

I can’t help but wonder

how he’s ended up here.

Overseas— he’s ranked
but now that he’s home
on friendly soil,                                    he’s thrown into department store
                                                                 positions and temporary jobs.
I can only hope he’s better off than some of his friends

tossed into
psychiatrists offices.

But I wonder,
I wonder what memories might decide to plague his dreams.
While he tries to figure out
which pill alleviates which painful recollection.
Which part of his past will come back to haunt him today
and which of his friends lives will flash before his eyes while he tries to sleep.

Norepinephrine firing through his brain
                                 like the gunshots he had to deliver.

The U.S government is so quick to draft,

but hasn’t learned how to welcome home.

They hide their veterans in the dark corners of psych wards,

allow them to get lost in the depths of their own minds,

while the PTSD
                                   eats away whatever is left.

These men fight for countries who don’t know what to do with them afterwards.
What they both need to learn:

There is life after war.

Carmen's legs
are pixilated cerulean.

Rubbing beasts
that itch at untouchable
bruises beneath her skin.

Her computer is on.

She rests crossed legs
on its desk.

There's something sticky about her skin.

Carmen's date is calling,
her speakers make a sound
like **** plopping in a toilet.

The webcam blinks
like Sauron's eye.

Carmen has never had
any of the cards
in her hands.

Not a whiff of a queen of hearts
or a jack
of all trades.

It seems she's been slipping for awhile now,
in her black room, colored
by the glow of some
techni-cyclops'
cavernous mouth,
crimson, heart-shaped teeth,
and scythe tongue.

She has never known the war machine
of love,
or the war machine of self-determinism.

Now she does,
her compudate buzzes on-screen.

Tiny sprouted pixels
jump into a constantly
buzzing whole.

He's got a bored face,
and Carmen knows this is the look
of the generation.



Carmen lifts her legs from the desk.

Puts her hands on her lap.

Licks her lips.

She wants to know
what lowered human beings
do when they are restless.

She is seeking something
moreso
philosophical
than
******.

"Bored, much?"

Carmen asks sardonically.

He took it literally.

He jumped at attention.

"Oh, no,
now that I've seen you."

"How do these things work?"

"Well, I guess we talk to each other,
and if you like me
then we go from there."

And to Carmen this was reticence,
this was blasphemy.

She had the cards in her hands,
finally.

Carmen's legs are pixilated  high cerulean.

Cerulean the color of
a tiger ocean,
****** cakes,
slushies,
a sun-****** sky,
a corpse. Skin against a computer screen.

I hate and love my bellybutton at the same time.
It's half inny, half outy -
as if playiNg coy.

I'm down to my socks and knickers.
I'd describe them, bUt you don't care.

I choose a flattering filter on my webcam
and strike a pose
as the countDown begins:
Three - two -
on**E.

I sat cross legged on the balcony as he rolled me a cigarette. He didn't smoke but he rolled perfectly. His perfectionism was killing me.
"The other night I filmed myself on my webcam." he said, rolling, rolling, thumbs turned inward. "I filmed myself going to sleep. I wanted to see if I talked or had nightmares or whatever..."
"Yeah..."
"So I watched the film back this morning. Turns out, I woke up in the middle of the night and chucked all of my things onto the floor. My books, my notepad, everything. It was like watching Big Brother or something. I mean, it was me, but it wasn’t me. I would never chuck my books onto the floor."
"Well…we all think that we would never chuck our books onto the floor, but we do don’t we? Hey you can really see the stars out here."
"I know. It's wonderful with a telescope. I have a very good telescope."
"Where is it?"
"Upstairs. We have a space gazing window. It’s my telescope but Frederick likes it too. But then he always smudges up the lens." He handed me the cigarette, thin as candy and gummed down with precision. "I could teach you about space."
"Oh, please, I'd never take it in."
"Yes you would."
I lit the cigarette and the paper glowed.
"I just like looking."
'You can't just look and not know. You won't even know what you're looking at."
I looked at him.
"Yeah, I know."

Dear lord
she was
wholesome
before her culture was regulated,
now marketed. --
Her technological fancy
and consumer venture;
her webcam
with ripe buttock and *******...
Evangelical woman hailing eretz yisrael,
equality your goal...

Ha-Shem has no equals in a global pantheon of one-worldism.

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

So I hear you need a rebel-- or maybe
someone to just hear you out. I like your profile,
your bio, the blurbs you write about your life--
but tell me more about you.

How do you break down your personality
01101101 01100101
into 140 characters or less?

May I suggest we meet face-to-face? Video chat
tomorrow at 5:00, sure, but that's not
what I meant.

I don't want the pixels, the lag, the type face, the webcam-filtered,
LED monitor dating profile.
I want the flesh,
the bone, unedited-- the words before they're deleted
and perfected to the point where you finally feel
comfortable enough to hit
Enter.

But you can't "put yourself out there" if you don't get out.

I want you beyond the screen, disconnected from the Internet
connections and matchmaking engines, filling up the tank
and searching for yourself.

I want you, bumbling and goofy, your foot nervously
tapping as we make awkward eye contact, gazing
not into machines and technology but into
pure, unadulterated life.

webcam video DrGonzo125

Yes youtube  will never be the same
cheers   my semi sober friends and stay crazy.

Look me up if you dare   ahahahahaah

Heres the link folks sorry for my madness

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANs4H5gWQ20

I videochatted him last night
I opened my laptop
slipped on a **** little black dress
turned on the webcam
video connected
I didn't say a word but i did as i was told
slithered my hands around my body pretending that they,
they were his hands
I slipped that **** little black dress over my hips and over my shoulders and over my head
I smiled and put ******* into my mouth
hard
I
bent over
arched my back
tossed my hair over my shoulder as i moaned his name
his hand is moving quickly into his pants
his hand, my hand wants to be in his pants
and he is sighing and i am licking my lips
when he is finished and we hang up
I take my ******* and slide them in between my legs pretending that they are his hands

Another night,
Messages on Skype,
Laughing at robotic replies,
A robot that needs to deny,
And then sends a link to a webcam site,
He likes to laugh at his own responses
Every night,
He tells the ai you are violating the three laws,
But all he hears is his own laughing applause,
Same 4 responses he reads everytime,
But nevertheless he comes up with a more and more witty line,
He gets fired and drinks more,
The messages are coming in but still the same 4 responses from the night before,
Then drunk and sad wanting to throw his phone,
He gets a message saying, "come see my **** cams baybay"
He types in all caps, "*******!
LEAVE ME ALONE YOU PROGRAM, SPECIALLY TODAY"
The robot responds,
"Are you ok?"

We met for coffee; well,
I had coffee and she had tea.
Her pics didn't do her justice --
Chin prim
Lips cursive
Skin that swam under mine,
Making the porcelain creamer cup blush.

She claimed
she had a quarter million members
That followed her.
it's good money she reasoned,
But not gloating;
More matter-of-factly.
Off the cuff,
I asked for her stage name.
She explained that she blocked NY
For work and family reasons,
Assuming I had asked so to
Watch her perform later
(Which isn't altogether untrue).

She measured every utterance,
Teleprompters behind eyelids
Feeding her perfectly crafted lines.

I use the Golden Ratio when I webcam
She said, as she sipped her tea.
I consider it an art -- or
At least that is what I tell myself.
I asked her to elaborate.
She said she was somewhat conflicted
About whether or not it was immoral.
But she was so even
With her response,
Almost as if it were compelled
By a formality
That was now checked off her list.

Her body language taciturn
Asleep, idle, screen-saved
Waiting waiting

Curve and line
Coffined for now to slake desires anon -
Her numbers in slumber, confined
Waiting to be crunched,
Flatlines Animated by pitchblack revelry
With one click

Turning them.

She said she liked to watch others
ya know, To see how they move.
She would even watch it at work,
Open in one of her browser tabs.
She took notes.

Lines triangulated
Liminal spaces given, hidden.

Digital lipstick smears
Tattooing amygdalas firing --
Allow them to slip in
Only to slip out of them
With an X.

We talked for an hour
And then left the café.
She asked me over.
I said not tonight --
The words coming out
As if willed by something
Outside of myself.

She walked off into the dark
And I kicked myself for saying no.

Her curves beholden to math --
Gyration of hip and waist,
Arms tendrils configuring, cavorting,
Slave to an inner-whorl
twirled and twirling --
One single objective truth, now
A convergence of secreting plurality
Into beauty and beauty and

That night I ****** off thinking of her
And came so hard
I pulled something in my back.

In between sleep and waking life
I transcended
Something.. I felt

Turned.

Bat on window sill
Still as the unflinching
Lidless abyss --
Then a quarter turn of its head --
Its beady eye catching streetlight --
Careening it off into a nonplussed
Night of nights.

Laying on the carpet in the living room
You only need a webcam and you're sis..
Spend hours just staring at the screen

Gradually morphing
Slowly transforming
Into the greatest version of yourself
And you feel so high

Cuz you know you're safe
In that moment when both of you are rolling around laughing