My So-Called Love Life

This site -- my anthology -- is the story of a man, a young man, trying to find his way to love. Experiencing everything in between and serving you his heart on a silver-freaking-platter to the naked eye, for the whole world to see; relate, indulge, delve, and hopefully learn from his mistakes. Happy Dating! Copyright © 2004-2011, "My So-Called Love Life" ® Mario Ion. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Bad Blood

We live in an age where two generally interested people get lost in the translations of their interests. Where one might hope to be asked what's on his mind, the other hopes you'll be the next one on his dick. Where one might hope to find intellectual stimulation, the other hopes you'll stimulate his anatomy. And where one hopes to find some form of emotional stability and connection, the other only hopes to connect his dick to your ass, or what have you. It's truly a shame the level of dignity people are so eager to give up all for the sake of gratification. Men are more quick to tell you they're horny, but ever so elusive to ask what's on your mind, or how you're feeling. We set the standards in our prerequisite quests to seize whatever emotion or notion we go through, but never justify those same standards with anything more than an interloping bland dignification that we're just human beings with needs. Whereas in a perfect world, I see those "needs" pertaining to activities more substantiated in less morale deviating behavior instincts, like a walk in the park, writing, laying out in the sun on the beach, visiting a boutique or an art exhibit, eating delicate foods and drinking fine wines. But in this not-so-perfect world, people are generally driven to the more selfish hand their moral compass points to; sex, partying, eluding emotional connection to satisfy sexual urges, denying friendship for a new sexual partner, closing their minds, spreading their legs and their moral disease.

It's really no wonder why there has been an epidemic of gay suicides lately, and I sincerely hate using that as an example. The new generations who are just now noticing or experiencing their sexuality are being misled into believing it's all about sex. What happens to those less adamant on sex, more dominant on getting to know a person newgens who just want to connect to another person? They're fed this image of what Gay existentialism is perceived by in the eyes of media and society, and taught to let go of the image they want for themselves and eventually just follow the stereotype and flavor of the month. Ergo, the result becomes a destructive shattered self-image and people generally begin to lose faith; not just in others but also in themselves.

I guess you can say I'm one of those guys. I've lost my faith gradually over the last year two.

I used to look up to and idolize interaction with other men, and considered it an art. I've always had this idea that each new person will bring something new to the table and leave some kind of imprint on my life, even if their presence was only temporary. I took each acquaintance and savored the experience, collected somewhat of a faux-memoir in whatever moment(s) might have been shared, platonic or not. Nowadays I find myself repulsed by the idea of interacting with anyone in any shape or form, because all you're left to wonder is, "Oh god, let's see what cheesy overused pick-up line this one will use." And more often than not, it's never any more than just 5 words... Want to have some fun?

I find it amazing how distorted the word "fun" has become in our lifestyles of choice. When I was a kid, and even up till this very day, I find myself defining fun to be harmless things, beaches, video games, museums, photography, writing, swimming in the ocean, camping, amusement parks. But I guess the irony is attempting to date in this post-modern gay community is quite the park of amusement. You've got your twinks, your jocks, your leatherdaddies and juiceheads, your barhoppers, club rockers, party monsters and sex slaves, your wannabe porn stars, and the even trashier so-called "escorts"; not to mention the exponential increase in tweaked out druggies who sell their bodies and souls for even the slightest fix, and anabolic steroid pumpin' gym junkies who let their napolean complexes get the best of them.

I find it amusing when anyone of any of these categories approaches me with their bland excuse for "fun" -- cuz frankly -- No. I don't want to have some of your "fun."

But maybe you should try some of mine, for a change.

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