bluecollar
30-09-2009, 07:46 PM
I though this tale would fit perfectly over here on the David Icke forums :)
Crouching Girlfriend, Hidden Boyfriend
My name is Robert Michaels. I have a girlfriend. Her name is Sophia, the Greek name meaning ‘wisdom’. She has a black belt in four forms of martial arts. Unfortunately I found this out the hard way but have learnt to deal with it. She’s a real show off, always looking for an opportunity to flex her muscles as a martial artist, whether it's play fighting in the living room, to which I always shamefully lose, or real life incidents in which she has demonstrated her ability to hold her own in an actual fight. I observed the latter, after a thug had tried to mug us at knifepoint two weeks ago. Sophia had kept her cool during the incident, delivering a swift roundhouse kick to the unsuspecting assailant, disarming him within split seconds. Her following kick delivered such impact, that the poor guy literally rose off his feet. She had broken the guy’s jaw, leaving him in a half-dazed and sprawling state on the sidewalk, while I looken on in utter shock.
Stuttering with the impact of the rapid flow of events that had just taken place before my eyes, I asked Sophia if she was OK, playing the role of the protective and reassuring boyfriend. Only, it had felt awkward. In fact, Sophia herself had played the role of protector that day, while I just stood in a state of inaction. It had felt like a complete reversal of roles. I did not know what was worse. Each day, I feel slightly more emasculated than the last when I spend my time with Sophia. I love her though; she’s a beautiful girl, a breath of fresh air on a midsummer’s day. You wouldn’t expect such an innocent looking hazel-eyed, chestnut haired girl to be able to break your arm in three different places in a space of a few seconds. You wouldn’t believe that she occasionally punches the thick bark surfaces of trees in our backyard to toughen her fists or that after attaching small weights to her calves, is able to repeatedly kick a sandbag in a motionless blur. Watching her when she is practicing like this can be quite intimidating.
I don’t know anything about martial arts. My preferred art lies within the likes of poetry and prose. One day, I hope to write like Seamus Heaney or even Raymond Carver. That slight and subtle glorification of the ordinary has always appealed to me. Sophia is extraordinary, sometimes to the point where I am in complete awe of her. I know she thinks of me in the same light. Sophia loves to burn within the inward, fiery passion of my heart when I read her my latest literary offering. The sex is great. Sophia is extremely supple, to the point where one could issue music from her long and slender legs like fiddling with the chords of a violin. Those same silky legs however, can be considered lethal. I think that is what attracts us to each other; our different arts that we have chosen to excel in. Hers physical and outward, mine intellectual and inward. One is creative while the other is destructive. Opposites attract. Ying and Yang.
But why do I feel threatened all of the time? Sophia has that effect on me. I don’t think she means it and is certainly not aware of it. Every time we tease each other and play fight, as couples usually do, I ask her not to go easy on me, taking advantage of the misconception that because I am male, I can easily overpower her and wrestle her to the ground, black-belt in taekwondo or not. Sophia obliges. I think she considers, that if she purposefully let me win, I would immediately sense it and pick it up. She would rather beat me, than to let me win a play fight under false pretences. So whenever we do have a playful scuffle, I am quickly overwhelmed by a flurry of soft kicks and half-serious punches to the point where I cannot even get a single grasp of her teasing body. It is frustrating at times, especially afterwards when Sophia chuckles and suggests I take up a class with her.
One time, I actually came close to pinning her to the soft carpet in our apartment, where I planned to surprise her with a passionate kiss, only to have her playfully flip me over with her leg, landing solidly on my back. Sophia likes to tease. She’s lightning fast, so much to the point where I’m afraid that she might hurt me. However, she is as controlled as the flowing lines of prose that I write on a regular basis. She can deliver scores of seemingly exotic kicks gracefully and only inches away from my perplexed self. The air around my head swirls with motion as she performs her martial dance. Her energy sometimes transfigures itself into my being, enabling me to write for hours at a time while Sophia watches on with shining eyes. Later on in the evening, we feverishly explore each other in passionate awe and dispel our excess energy on the carpet or in bed, creating a cataclysmic eruption that is too profound to comprehend.
Can two such powerful forces co-exist like this in perfect harmony? I am learning that my fears of Sophia are nothing more than an inherent discourse, they are merely learned societal conventions that have a grip on my sense of the way things should seem to be. So what if I have a girlfriend that could kick my ass? She would never do such a thing in the first place. So what if she is a black-belt that is passionate about the arts she has chosen to dedicate herself to? I have my own arts that I pursue as well. All that matters is Sophia’s love…which can be as strong as her graceful kicks.
Crouching Girlfriend, Hidden Boyfriend
My name is Robert Michaels. I have a girlfriend. Her name is Sophia, the Greek name meaning ‘wisdom’. She has a black belt in four forms of martial arts. Unfortunately I found this out the hard way but have learnt to deal with it. She’s a real show off, always looking for an opportunity to flex her muscles as a martial artist, whether it's play fighting in the living room, to which I always shamefully lose, or real life incidents in which she has demonstrated her ability to hold her own in an actual fight. I observed the latter, after a thug had tried to mug us at knifepoint two weeks ago. Sophia had kept her cool during the incident, delivering a swift roundhouse kick to the unsuspecting assailant, disarming him within split seconds. Her following kick delivered such impact, that the poor guy literally rose off his feet. She had broken the guy’s jaw, leaving him in a half-dazed and sprawling state on the sidewalk, while I looken on in utter shock.
Stuttering with the impact of the rapid flow of events that had just taken place before my eyes, I asked Sophia if she was OK, playing the role of the protective and reassuring boyfriend. Only, it had felt awkward. In fact, Sophia herself had played the role of protector that day, while I just stood in a state of inaction. It had felt like a complete reversal of roles. I did not know what was worse. Each day, I feel slightly more emasculated than the last when I spend my time with Sophia. I love her though; she’s a beautiful girl, a breath of fresh air on a midsummer’s day. You wouldn’t expect such an innocent looking hazel-eyed, chestnut haired girl to be able to break your arm in three different places in a space of a few seconds. You wouldn’t believe that she occasionally punches the thick bark surfaces of trees in our backyard to toughen her fists or that after attaching small weights to her calves, is able to repeatedly kick a sandbag in a motionless blur. Watching her when she is practicing like this can be quite intimidating.
I don’t know anything about martial arts. My preferred art lies within the likes of poetry and prose. One day, I hope to write like Seamus Heaney or even Raymond Carver. That slight and subtle glorification of the ordinary has always appealed to me. Sophia is extraordinary, sometimes to the point where I am in complete awe of her. I know she thinks of me in the same light. Sophia loves to burn within the inward, fiery passion of my heart when I read her my latest literary offering. The sex is great. Sophia is extremely supple, to the point where one could issue music from her long and slender legs like fiddling with the chords of a violin. Those same silky legs however, can be considered lethal. I think that is what attracts us to each other; our different arts that we have chosen to excel in. Hers physical and outward, mine intellectual and inward. One is creative while the other is destructive. Opposites attract. Ying and Yang.
But why do I feel threatened all of the time? Sophia has that effect on me. I don’t think she means it and is certainly not aware of it. Every time we tease each other and play fight, as couples usually do, I ask her not to go easy on me, taking advantage of the misconception that because I am male, I can easily overpower her and wrestle her to the ground, black-belt in taekwondo or not. Sophia obliges. I think she considers, that if she purposefully let me win, I would immediately sense it and pick it up. She would rather beat me, than to let me win a play fight under false pretences. So whenever we do have a playful scuffle, I am quickly overwhelmed by a flurry of soft kicks and half-serious punches to the point where I cannot even get a single grasp of her teasing body. It is frustrating at times, especially afterwards when Sophia chuckles and suggests I take up a class with her.
One time, I actually came close to pinning her to the soft carpet in our apartment, where I planned to surprise her with a passionate kiss, only to have her playfully flip me over with her leg, landing solidly on my back. Sophia likes to tease. She’s lightning fast, so much to the point where I’m afraid that she might hurt me. However, she is as controlled as the flowing lines of prose that I write on a regular basis. She can deliver scores of seemingly exotic kicks gracefully and only inches away from my perplexed self. The air around my head swirls with motion as she performs her martial dance. Her energy sometimes transfigures itself into my being, enabling me to write for hours at a time while Sophia watches on with shining eyes. Later on in the evening, we feverishly explore each other in passionate awe and dispel our excess energy on the carpet or in bed, creating a cataclysmic eruption that is too profound to comprehend.
Can two such powerful forces co-exist like this in perfect harmony? I am learning that my fears of Sophia are nothing more than an inherent discourse, they are merely learned societal conventions that have a grip on my sense of the way things should seem to be. So what if I have a girlfriend that could kick my ass? She would never do such a thing in the first place. So what if she is a black-belt that is passionate about the arts she has chosen to dedicate herself to? I have my own arts that I pursue as well. All that matters is Sophia’s love…which can be as strong as her graceful kicks.