Adios Gone by the Wind, Gorgeous Tarzan is Back.

Three months in America, and saying it’s time to move on is as easy as ejaculating the most trivial phrase of all time, I Love You give me a smack. America’s democracy is definitely the envy of developing nations. As the macro economy moves into a determined strength sandwiched by the victory of San Francisco Giants on the World Series, I personally believe the gang-bus is fully loaded and ready to shipped to Blue Lagoon or as Scarlet O’Hara “As God is my witness I will never go hungry again” 

Sunset boulevard at L.A. is one place I have enjoyed hanging out. It’s like the entertainment capital canned into a pork and beans dish, summarized by it’s eccentric appeal to dreamers eaten by cannibals of attention, nevertheless it is best to say that every World own city has its surprising sarcastic appeal to travelers like me who pokes an Einstein/Tesla perception of industrialized steak, edible only by cunning clowns of Manhattan.

Now as the reality of my monstrous tribe becomes a redundant manipulated circus of who’s popular or who’s in control or who gets a free load; I will fly back hoping that it’s not as bad as it was before, that things which should have been inside the trash-bin is now an agricultural fertilizer; hoping that Berkley copycats with placards have endured their everlasting chastity to change the imperfect system. That environmentalist has finally that being truly green is having a pink heart. That they will realize that a perfect home better than a Gotica society. 

Thinking about goodbyes is comparably to locking-up a summer house at the Hampton’s or a Cabin at Aspen and a vacation house at Marina Bay. So many times I felt like a specialized lover being lined-up for the hot summer nights or sexual healing 80’s kind hide and seek affair. Everyday was truly a challenge and it is seemingly less popular to admit I fell in love with only with the idea of being a pretentious scholar studying Art Major in Redundancy minor in public nudity. I am truly wishing I am not only popular but independently earning and living not a dream sequence but an actual picture; but since I allow others to pimp me, I have no prayer but to be humble, until they will see themselves in me and realize to date me finally.

The truth is I am a good person, and as many words as I want to define my perfect agenda for creating an aphrodisiac for tight bankers, less proper to call them old-maid; I have premeditated a seducing dance for them to be a lit up and be like higher apes of the jungle. I promise that on my first hard-core sperm bank donation, I will pre-approve them all.

Now that I have a to finish a personal commissioned memoir of professional sorcery on the daily lives of my less entertained friends, my next destination is Europe. This time I will not make headlines but will be on the headlines of commoners sardines. Like a bankrupt glamourous film production made into major Silent Broadway Musical.

Adios lovers may your love for me will never fade for I will always be your less-gullible baby, always willing to be overlooked but overwhelmingly dreamt.

Giant's Love vs. Ranger's Buffet

Here in L.A. I wake up every morning, feeling the greatness of blissful beauty, hardy vain ready to milkshake. As I have that impediment or urge to push out the loaded gun, sometimes it's just impossible especially when I feel that extra thin of guilt. But wait, logic has suggest that I am human too a man of growing inner strength so why deny the urge if it needs push cart. Especially when I listen to a radio and the music is comparably suggestive of super-ego egg boredom. Then my hard-rock remains to be an unpredictable blow of love.

I need a lover, one that is a little possessive yet independently verbose. Someone defiantly open to love an open court sex appeal. I think I need a lover and have many mini-baseball players. I think I need me to sort out my imperfect expectations of who shall domain me. Pink or Blue? Orange or Poker? I think I'll stick to where my heart is built-in to love, San Francisco and New York as the World to be my secret lover. 

I am not super man as so is my ego. 

If only I can question the hard-core concept of cupid and it's workings, I guess I am ready to start finding someone to share my extra time and be focus on the real world and it's rising demands of emotional quotient and brilliance. Since the invention of the word "moving"-on and starting anew; life has created something very exciting within me. Which, is to improve my focus on the real issues and get things done, I will study here in America and work as a working student and make a name for my self then the rest will rock and roll sushi, T-bone steak and a nice cream bur Lee.

In the name of sexy-tart-tea

In the most common sense there is no head that can perform without the help a sexy tart with tea. They say sexual presence has something to do with below the table affairs. I suppose I will be on top in these case. I have come up with a position that can bring the tiger within my three egotistic forward team head.

Cancel all contracts that involved intensive sexual labour that video killed the my tigress/pumish cafe Americano. I suppose I like the intensive belt in push that my daddy O has combined. Little effort can end the endless parade of that manipulating PRC. -pine rush chocho- If they want to conquer my bed they will crawl as my sexth mistress of forex condiments.

All industries that involve excellent bed surprises shall be the cup of tea democratic type; Cafe Americano first. Brown Sugar and without Whip Cream and Boxer Shorts with a tight strictness on my stand in issues that can rock my relationship with Capital V. So better to get Mr. Clint to perform proper procedure of the 80's - 90'sih position of bed requirements.

Wars that are relevant in bed doesn't mean death or bloody drink of overrated foreign nixon/reagan style. It is just time we put a war on real sex not just cunnings and happy endings but on real love making in essence that gives a lasting scent of love and forbidding hope for the loveless.

I am a Filipino and I want a worldwide citizenship.

LET THERE BE SEX

Today I thought how fun it is to have a family, until they suck you to the bones. *sigh* Can it be just a naked house? Or maybe a latest ESPN cover girls? Do you know that nude is art is naked is sex? But the difference is nude can be cunning like naked. It can be deceiving and exciting also profusely witty effect.

In most civilized cities, which I mean urbanized in manner of thought; less defensive or protective yet respectful of borders that lies like a white and black German/Irish chocolate. I miss that sweet yet sinful delight of conservatism/lets just do it while I don't need viagra.

If the equation of love and economy put into proper perspective like an abstract art, analyzed by superbly sexually insane intellectuals, it is easy to conclude that the machinery is working and its function to deliver what is right for both gender is bursting with glory wit. If wives are happy and husbands are sexually loyal with a little pip on the latest issue of a wit and creamy; hence, they all become just properly shooting the days functionality well beyond their own  perceived despair of regularity.

Ahhh.... Sometimes I just want to like a porn star, author director at day. Like Basic Instinct 1 at day and Ed Wood sometimes or maybe a little of stupid yet brilliant. Like oh its to boring, lets check the latest website or maybe let's just smoke ACDC. Radiohead is boring but true. It's me and just love me for I will just love you all regardless you love me back or not. Hard Yet? Maybe you need to confess?

SOAPY HORSE STYLE

I woke up today having the usual dreamy sequence of a soap opera love affair, a little hard here and there getting a little jumpy oh. However, the scene where I nest, behavioral studies on proper sexual charm applies like a drama soap-opera that requires a freedom hidden beneath my pajamas. Having the usual, had a little work load released and it feels good when it blows, and it smells like last night's beer October fest.

Los Angeles, like most of the cities I've landed and departed has the its beautiful psychic charm. Mostly people -like the day-walker of Pretty Woman who said "Welcome to the City of Dreams, dream on!" on the last scene of that cinderella made into a barbie flick tendency; sexy, teasing; like butter that flies but is creamy. 

While yesterday on Sunset Boulevard corner Kodak Theater. I had a dreamy scenic epiphany "I want to be porn star" I told my cousin about it, she nod and laughed, inside I thought maybe you can be a crew or a light man but not the actor, you are not a horse. Then the dream just translated into a butter pecan ice-cream melting. 

I like America not because they think I am hot like the wings at Hooters. I like America because they can tolerate my kind craziness; they let me be and they play along nice with a little flirt on the side like coleslaw, with steak with a turkey gravy. If only I was born to be here and have a horselike pocket I will buy a house wherein freedom is not for sale, possibly like a video rental wherein you can borrow it then return it. Life is just one nice soap opera sequence you rock then you rest then you just be and you do the thing most people do. They blow the sorrow off. 

 

Sex on North Oyster Sauce

In my most brightest moments, wishing I am alone in the comfort room; I laugh and tell my self you should be lucky that you have every part of your body intact not as perfect or comparable to an android sex machine. Yet very sexy; and it seem that you have nothing to hide except that youʼre mini-heart that wishes to love not a person but a virtual fruit machine; asexual not figuratively, only sexually active.

Fruit machines as they say produces food and sustainable income to everyone; including the rich and the happy. I need to go to the quack and check my head-phones and thought to my self, maybe its time I reverse my pride into little bubbles of surfing and make little push and pull agenda on a cross-leg, ʻPlease release me let it go, someone needs to use the rented mobile toilets.

Seeing a review of working girls the 80ʼs movie; I thought maybe it is time that America be back on its 80-90ʼs stilettos not only on the spot stock market, or diplomatic prowess but on the industrial power fruit machine by reaping off that giant red baby, the hand- jobs it took from; plus the corporate crocs eating each other like pirates who lucks the most essence of pre-coming.

I believe that America shall bring back its top of the line industrial sex-appeal into a new dimension of the Ramones or Bed and Roses juice and jam them with uncle samʼs serious industrial production. Hiring more pimps to hire more hand-jobbers and making this prolific nation of great people back into its knees of greatness.

If jobs shipped across that huge red baby back here in the mainland; tax revenues will increase, people will be happy, and Halloween will surely be the climax of its fruity machine folklore. Itʼs cool that capitalist get the advantage of reason, yet it is not too late to at least make them realize it is not them who can save a surviving class in need of sexual comeback.

If nations helped by America became not only great but fruitful. I still wish that mojo is back into action as to the middle class will taste the glory and the dignity of hard-earn money. If this country is happy I believe those who endure to see actors on screen will behave like real actors do, and the world will be confident that Captain America with all the imaginary cast mates back to rolling the happy land of great hand-jobs with happy endings.

Marry-go-round position

In my search for a nicer version of gratification that is felt in between; I found nothing but one position that can replace my chocolate craving into a deeper unity with my innermost urge. Supposing I have attended my usual ritual of super-ego guilt. Then this night would be not as absolved or be as free. If I take simple utility work as something just for the heck of seeing my window ledge clean, then I would not use Windox as my lubricant.

The unusual habit of being outside of the box; is one tendency I take, mostly for three reasons. 1. I need further attention, 2. I'm guilty of something or 3. I'm hot but no ice cube statue can be erected to ease its intensity inside. And this came as a thought when I was doing the effort to release my unwanted toxic. How tough love can be unforgiving when it is not being allowed to be free, just because conditions apply when one gets involve, yet the diabolical duality of making a choice is simply just irresistible as to having beer while flying kites in the bathroom.

I thought maybe a ride in a Marry-go-round position is a nice pace, like the shape of earth as round and not square. That is why as I was observing hotels some beds shape like hearts; and some are rotating movements.

Lastly, before I go to bed and start a day of unusual cerebral walkie talkie, while trying to get a hard-on conversation with my other silent sexually/romantically deprived personality; I just want to write this to remind my self someday. I think and feel that if we all recoil in our own usual dwellings and push something that simply beyond our power to release; we just run into a circle full of marry-go-round riders full its like self-preservation versus proliferation or coffee versus milk-shake.

I hope monday will start in a day as sunny and the usual business of growth. Getting harder and hardcore .... bell that and let's get it on!