But Teacher, I Am Trying (My Best)

Before I go onward, I recognize that I am and that I will forever be a fan.
I am a fan of different things. But more, I am a fan of things that make me think or feel. I am a fan of things that drive me to be unafraid to change or walk against the grain. I am a fan of anything that makes me move or causes me to choose and find my own path.

Before I move farther with this, I have to say that yes, I am a fan.
Music. . .

I am a fan of the instrumental or vocal sounds that create emotion.
I see this as heaven sent.
This is a gift to us all.
I know it is.

I love how music can cause an influence or moves my body to dance, or hold someone so close to feel us together.
I do love this. And I always will.

I love a good dance when two people writhe upon one another in the rhythm.
I see this as our beautiful foreplay.

I am a fan of songs that make me reflect or make me think.
Or even more, I am a fan of songs that put music to words that I never thought could speak for me—but yet, they do speak for me.
Love songs
Hate songs
Songs to remember my youth.
Songs that remind me of the younger years, late nights, and the anthems of my rebellions.
I love it all.

I love the fact that music can range from simple to sexy or change from soft to intense.
I need this.
I love that at times, music can change the episodes in our life.
Sometimes, all it takes is a good song.
And all else is alright.
(I swear)

I swear that somehow, even slow music can cause a change in our existence and dammit all to hell because this can happen at the speed of light.

I can say there are songs that have been with me for always, and they will stay with me for always, and as long as my mind allows me to remember them, I will play these songs from my heart to remind me that yes, love is a real thing.
So is anger, by the way. So is aggression.
So is the angst of need or the feel of say, the way we dance or keep our souls alive by singing until the sun comes up.

There were days, albeit long ago, but there were nights and times and places that were wild as ever. And it was all safer then.
To go crazy, I mean. I am supposed to be an adult now.
I suppose this means I have to limit the amount of times when I go crazy.
But I doubt this will be helpful to me.

There were venues and dances and functions where I stayed out until the hours of dawn.
There were mornings after these nights. And I still needed more because I still had something missing. Or something inside of me was otherwise empty. Or maybe I was still wanting more or needed to feel the music in my heart for just a little bit longer.

I remember driving to the beach on a Sunday morning after another one of my crazy nights in New York City.
it was cold as ever. I remember this well.
I remember doing this often too.
I was young as ever, belligerent, rebellious and defiant, and yet; more than anything, I was trying to find the place where I belonged.

I remember playing house with a young girl who deserved far more than I could possibly offer.
She was beautiful

Only, I way too timid and too cowardly to let her know this.
I was too insecure to let her know that she had power over me and if she chose to rock this or swing her powers, I would be weak and submit to her in such a way that I know, she would be happily satisfied.
But I get it, what happened, happened.
What is meant to be was meant to be.
And me?
I was the wring person for too long.
And to be fair, I don’t need to e right anymore.
I just need to be happy.

I remember her sweetness, and I remember my callousness, which was more evident that my past had yet to release me or moreover; I had yet to let go of my past humiliations.

I remember wishing I was someone else.
I remember wishing that I could be better.
Or even better, I wished that I was able to step out from behind my mask and show people who I really wanted to be.

I have a thing for soft skin, soft curves, and soft features that melt me.
I have a thing for innocence, which is wild too because it is crazy to me how the more innocent they appear, the less innocent I want to behave
(or learn to make them bad . . .)

I was never comfortable in my skin. I was never brave enough to show people the truth about myself. And as for the time of my young adulthood and as for the spirit of my manhood; I was too afraid and too cowardly to dare to expose myself. Youth is always wasted on the young for reasons like this,
I was too scared to show my truths and say, “this is me” and yes, these are the things I like and this; —this is what turns me on more than anything and makes me hotter than furnace.

I could never tell anyone that I had fetishes or that I enjoyed the body in a more worshipful nature.
Yes, I love to play.
I love the ideas of behaving badly or wildly.
I like the ideas of silly role plays.

I have always loved the way legs curve. I have always preferred the fuller figure to the absolute thin.
I have never been a commercialized person and therefore, I have never been one to consent or to agree with commercialized beauty.

I want something more than that, if I am to be honest.
I want the absolute beauty, which is more or a true and natural scene to me.
I don’t want some kind of made up role.
I want the real thing with real opportunities and dammit, when I say this; I say I want the world and I want it now.

And I know.
I get it.
Me being me, or me being so hard on myself, or if I am being honest, me being shallow and fearful and self-centered led to me disappointing amazing people, —or wait, no.
This led to the most beautiful women in the world looking at themselves with a state of contempt or the question which made them unsure if they were ever good enough for me.
What a dick . . .
Nothing is worse than doing this t someone.
Making someone question their worth is greater than any of the seven deadly sins, in my book.

And no, it was never them.
I was never good enough for myself.
I know this and I admit to this (now)

I was never comfortable with myself or my choices and it was me.
Always me.
I was the one.
I was always the problem and always in fear of judgment or in fear of being left or disregarded once my truths came to light.

I remember standing on the beach. I remember the nights before and the morning after.
I remember the reflection I saw when standing and facing the early tides.
God, I was so lost.
At the same time, I knew who I was.
I just never dared to show anyone.

I was standing and contemplating the world ahead of me. I was wondering if I was going to be alone because of “the way I am.”
I worried for my emotional safety.
I worried for my sanity, —and dammit all, I had no way to voice this nor was I brave enough to even pen this down and write this and read this out loud.

Music though . . .
I remember a song that was somewhat happy.
However, and more importantly, I remember the chorus part which sang, “I’m not sick. But I’m not well.”
This was me, for sure.
I was not sick but I was far from well.
This is true.

I remember listening to something quiet in the car as I was driving over to the beach.
And it was still in my mind, playing to me like a loop in my head..
The song itself was predated to me and was from a generation before. It was winter, cold and blustery, and in my head, —I was hearing the song about how a “Summer breeze, makes me feel fine. Blowing through the jasmine in my mind.”

Like I said, I like all different kinds of music.

I always wished I was open at a younger age, or able to be honest, or able to expose my fears and be true to myself.
Perhaps I would not have seen love as this totally elusive thing. Instead, I was afraid of love as if the feeling or the emotion itself was invasive and unsafe.
And come to think of it, maybe love isn’t safe.
Maybe nothing worthy is safe.
Maybe the girl of my dreams is far from safe too and in fairness, maybe she is not safe when I am around.
All of this could be absolutely true.
I always assumed that I was defective in some way.
or just off . . .
And it’s not that there was anything wrong with anyone else or that the people or the women in my earlier life were wring for me or unworthy of my attention.
No.
My problem is I lent myself or made myself too available to the wrong people, places, and things, —and so, I always questioned whether I was worthy or not.
And if at all; or if someone were to want me and I wanted them back; —then what would I do if I found myself abandoned, again, or eventually unwanted?

Music though . . .
Music has a way of making sense of these things.
Music speaks to us when we find ourselves in the swaps of despair, or alone, or brokenhearted.
This is why love songs fuel a multi-billion dollar business.
(I assume)

I remember the first time I ever heard the album, Electric Ladyland, performed by The Jimi Hendrix Experience.
I remember the intro which was a song that was called, “And the Gods Made Love.”
I have always wanted to make love to this song or let something like this introduce a lovemaking scene.

Or even better, there is an instrumental song from a movie that was written and performed by Jerry Garcia.
The movie was Zabriskie Point, and the song is called Love Scene . . .
I want a love scene to match the rhythm

I want something like this to match the spirit of my lust and my truth as well. I want this to exist between me and the catcher of my eye, which, in my case—I swear, she is beautiful. She is sexy to me. She is full, thick, and her curves are enough to make me stand up on end. This impacts all of me, like the way hair rises when we are excited. Only, it’s not my hair rising, —this is me, both turned on, excitedly, and intimately driven beyond the boundaries of common or uncommon sanity.

I wish . . .
I wish I did a lot of things differently.
But no.
I did them as I did them.
I walked and I tried and I failed and I regained my composure to the best of my ability.
Ah, but did I love?
Did I ever dare?
Did I ever challenge the lines of my own imperfections?
Did I defy myself enough to cast aside my fears and be brave enough to betray my doubts?
Did I ever bow or kneel wholeheartedly, and did I ever dance the most meaningful dance known to us as humans?
Maybe . . .
maybe not . . .
But I will
I promise you this.

I cannot say whether I wasted my time or whether I wasted my talents.
I don’t know if I lived up to my best potential.
Hence, this is why I insist that art was created and this is why music is said to soothe the savage beast.
I am a beast.
of course, I am.

I can say that there are different moments or so-called scenes in my life where I felt the need for change.
Only, I was not brave enough to dare the uphill worries.
I was too invested in the thoughts that believed I would be insufficient or unlikable and otherwise, I would be undesired.

It is true.
I have met and spent time with some of the most beautiful people in this world. I have lost the most amazing people because I delayed or paused or assumed that once they saw me, they would realize that I was not who they assumed. I did this and hence, I knew that inevitably; I would find myself alone
(again)

Did I ever tell you about my fascination for the human body or how I love the way legs stem down to the ankles or how her toes seem to look like a sweet little delicacy to me?
And see? I am afraid to admit to this because I am afraid that I will be seen as perverse or gross.
I am afraid to come forward about my passion and tastes, when in all reality; I appreciate the body from head to toe.
And so, therefore, when I worship you,—I want to worship all of you, as a whole or in total.
I need to explore. I can’t say it in any other way.
I need to touch and taste everything.
literally everything.
I want to sip you. I want to drink you; and if I am with you, I want to be with all of you.

I do not believe in taboo, or that things should be left out.
I do not believe in this because when two people combine, I think that limits are meant for those who have never dared to love perfectly
Or totally . . .
I think that everything should be explored.
Everything should be tried at least three times, once.
If you get my meaning.
Everything should be investigated without judgement.
I believe this.
I believe that life and love should equally have a soundtrack, —and mine?
My soundtrack would vary from speed to mood and to soft to loud.
Or like the way volcanoes explode, my soundtrack would erupt as well, and spout all over her . . . excessively.
And I dare say all of this.
Do anything you want to me
Please . . .

I dare to admit that I have weaknesses like, say, my so-called kryptonite which only “she” possesses and can bring me to my knees, —willingly

I love the world.
I really do.
But I never dared to live in it.

I never dared to sway to the extent of my dreams and dance salsa in the summer heat or beneath the full moon over Little Havana.

I never dared to follow my truths and allow myself to submit to the fact that I have a certain flavor and a thirst or hunger that refuses to be satisfied.
I want more and no . . .
there will never be enough
(when I finally have her)

I am not so old nor so young, but I am somewhere in-between.
I am between the stages of different generations to the point where I find myself repeating what the older generations told me about music.

“You don’t know what music is,” I was told.

I know what music is.
I know why music changes me.
And I know the benefits of a song or how music can inspire me to be hungry for more.

I think back to when I was first introduced to songs that changed me.
I think back to the first time I ever heard a guitar played to perfection—or at least, I can say this was perfection to me.

I look around now at the kids I see.
And I wonder if they know what they missed.

I wonder if they realize what it was like to walk across town and head over to a music store. I wonder if they know about the joy that comes when you sift through different albums from different artists.

I wonder if they know what it’s like to be so moved by a song that they went home and spent hours in their room, just to learn every change, every note, and every lyric to a song.

And I?
I can say that my taste varies. I can say that I appreciate all kinds of music. I can say that I appreciate all genres and all artists.

I can say that as I have grown older, I appreciate softer things. I enjoy quieter music, or something with calm or bluesy notes.
At the same time, I can say that I still appreciate the loudness and the fast-paced music that I grew up with.

I remember nights alone or times when I was brave enough to walk away from the crowd and sit somewhere, which was far away from everyone else.
I loved the moments when I was fine to be alone and fine to let the music play or fine to watch the sun go down or come up.

I know that some music appeals to different people and that my choices might not appeal to anyone.
However, same as I have fetishes, I have my own taste and my own flavor. And to add more, the same as I have my chemistry, I hope and believe that my love has a chemistry which compliments me.

I think too much.
I know.

I think about my missed opportunities because I always wondered what would have happened if I dared the world.
I wonder what would have happened if I was brave enough to claim what I want.
I wish,

I can say that if it happens for me; I will see it, take it, and execute the plans to find a strategy to make my dreams come true.

If I am being fair, I can understand why I am where I am or why I am alone.
I can understand why I mistook chances for dangerous occasions and I understand why I balked or paused when I should have dared and pushed ahead.

Therefore, I swear that nothing will ever stand in my way again.
I will dance when the music plays.
I will make love at the drop of a hat.
I will dance at her say-so, and willingly, I will climb to the nearest rooftop and take her beneath the sky.
I swear . . .
I refuse to let myself be silenced or muted by my fears and if ever, or whenever the chance comes again, I will hold her, touch her, kiss her for hours, and as for the rest—
well, I’m sure you know what else I would do.

I question myself however.
And the question is not what I would do or wouldn’t do . . .
My question is what music would be the best to listen to when the moment arrives?

I don’t know the answer to a lot of this.
But for now, I will leave this here with you

I will leave this with you so that hopefully, when you find this, you will know that you left such an impact on me. You left a mark so deep that when I see you again, I swear, I will never let you go and if I may be so bold, there is not a part of you that I will not lick, kiss, or suck on . . .
for hours . . .