R.Y. Swint is my pen name. I've been writing since I was seven years old, wrote my first book when I was 11, published my first book when I was 42, and launched my publishing house, New Renaissance Ink, when I was 43. It's safe to say that I found my way into writing very early in life, and through life I've discovered that I am good at many things, but I was born to do this.
Writing lights my dark places and fills my empty spaces. It is my life's air and my heart's blood. It is every cliche that ever was about what it means to love. Whether the words flow easily, or are delivered through great pains, I stick with writing because I'm trying to be obedient to what I believe is God's purpose for me; and that is to give and receive energy and lifeblood through the people I reach with my words.
I respect and believe in the value of words. I mourn for wasted words like a barren woman for unborn children. In that revelation lay the discovery and execution of my purpose. How could I not embrace something as real to me as that?
In politics, most is spin, very little is truth, and perception is reality; but except for a very few, most people find politics too boring, or too confusing to dig into the weeds of it to figure things out for themselves.
Politics is so ugly, especially around election time. I mostly hate engaging in any sort of debate or dialogue about it, because the truths that are, will hardly ever been seen or discussed, and suddenly everything is personal. We only get accusations and innuendo, and elections depend on people being too emotional to be rational.
We've seen accusation and innuendo tear apart friendships, sever what you once believed were strong family ties, rip nations in half, while the truth stays buried, except to the players of the game. Voters are looked upon as pawns, and smear campaigns and red herring tactics are how they use us to their own advantage, to advance personal or political agendas.
But the reason politicians play emotional cards, like race, religion, and social class, is because those cards always strike the most exposed nerves. THESE ARE THE CARDS that make people, normally peaceful, agreeable, and non-confrontational people, sit up and pay attention, and consider how they may be being affected by someone's words or intentions.
Doing this is the easiest way for politicians to get people riled up and to take sides; and taking sides, unfortunately, is what it takes to win an election.
Unfortunately, it's not just any one political party guilty of it. They all do it. Democrats, Republicans, et. al. We just only notice it more when "the other side" does it.
The race and religion card topics and tactics, as well as those that discuss the military (we're always a handy buzz-word to have), appeal to our basest natures, and people are easily manipulated by the emotions that drive our deep beliefs. It only takes one or two trigger words for the things that mean the most to us will be laid bare.
I've learned that when these "icebergs" are exposed, that the difference between perception and truth is non-existent, and what's underneath our surface thoughts gets revealed in none-too-pleasant ways.
Most of these "icebergs" are not even identified until someone (e.g., a politician, campaign manager) plays and exploits a card of a sensitive nature, and then wait for the voters to draw the lines in the sand. We may even surprise ourselves at where our loyalties lie and why.
All that said, remember that countless people have gone the distance for you; many beaten, battered, burned and blown to hell for your right to vote. Vote your conscience, whatever it is, and allow your friends and family to do the same. The bottom line is: If you don't vote, YOU'RE A POO-POO HEAD. Your mind may as well be on mute, so your mouth should stay on mute.
So...the hunk across the way apparently already has a love-lust interest. My chances of ravishing his body are a dwindling by the moment. Well, if that don't beat all.
I suppose I knew this was possible. Not that my nameless neighbor would get his own potential boo-bunny-sex slave just when I was warming up to him. But that I've created a post that leads to another post. So be it.
He really is completely lust-worthy. To the point that if even says anything else to me, I'm just going to jump on him. Nobody ovulates THAT much.
I think I must blame everything on ovulating. How else do I explain my lingering thoughts and sudden tinges of envy? Just when I was ready to flaunt my feminine wiles and let nature take its course. Hmph. That heffa.
All I know is that he just better not come around me talking and smiling, or I'm just gonna pass out and let him let me have my way with him.
Scene set up:
Me: Walking to the mailbox is bare, freshly pedicured feet, wearing a white camisole and black yoga pants. (I'm still fine enough to pull it off.)
Him: Just happening to be coming home from work. Flashes smile. Says something. It doesn't matter what.
He holds the door. I "clumsily" drop my mail, and perform one of those kneel down to pick it up in slow motion moves. Smiling on the way down and on the way back up. He says something else. I jump his bones right there at the mailbox.
Okay. Well, yeah. That needs work.
Okay, so yeah. I posted on my other blog
about some of the dirty things I want to do my neighbor. Don't worry. It's relatively clean.
Sure, I think a lot about ravishing him, in a wholly two consenting adults kind of way, in one of those perfect conditions, perfect opportunity, risk-free fantasies that only come up in romance novels or pornos, but that got me to thinking. What if the opportunity did happen to present itself? I mean, it's not astronomically unlikely. I'm single. He's single. And we are neighbors, after all.
Like at this moment, if he were to knock on my door and throw himself at me. I wouldn't be ready. It occurs to me that I wouldn't even let him cross the threshold.My hair's not done. My nails are complete crap. I need a pedicure. I could use a few waxing touch-ups, and I could stand to lose SEVERAL pounds in a several select places.
Sometimes, I wonder just how much attention a man actually pays to a woman's body during sex. I know that men don't mind imperfection, any more than women do. I mean, it's not like you're starring in love scene on the big screen, or making a home porno, but still. But h
ow much do men really mind a little back fat, or muffin top, or a little extra meat on the thighs? Do they really notice when our legs aren't freshly shaved? Eh. Probably not.
The point is, we notice it on ourselves, and for me, well...I get a little embarrassed thinking about what he might be thinking. Yeah. Silly, I guess.
I just want to feel attractive. I want to feel like I look like somebody whose bones he wants to jump all the time. *Sigh* I miss being in a relationship. I mean, I ain't gon' miss no meals because of it, but I'm just thinking of how great it would be to look great when opportunity comes knocking...literally or figuratively speaking.
And for those women out there with steady beaus and husbands who have your periodic, but inexplicable losses of interest in sex, what is your deal? Sex on demand, and you have no interest?
Okay, if it's a vanity thing, I totally get it. That whole "I'm not feeling sexy right now," or "I need to tidy up" type of issue, I get it. The self esteem thing is heavy, and probably drives down the sex drive for most of us.
But for all else, such as that, "I'm tired," "I got a headache," "the kids are in the next room," (y'all KNOW you can have quiet sex), or "I'm mad at you right now" type of stuff, all the damn time...you bitches make me sick.I mean really. What is up with that? I totally get not wanting to be touched by, ogled at, or groped on by some guy in which you have absolutely no interest. And damnit, ain't nothing worse than when some jerk is all up in my face and space, assuming that just because I don't have a man, or, in this case, have the hots for another guy, that it's okay for him to come sniffing around and propositioning me. Wrong, buster. Get the hell away from me.But hell, if you're in a relationship with, or married to him, what...the hell...is up?
That's a completely rhetorical question, because I've already made up in my mind that if you say it's anything but vanity, you're on some lame-lazy excuse-making, denial-having, lying ass bullshit. If you don't want him, then why the hell are you with him? Y'all are the bitches who make me sick.And don't get me started with those of you
who've somehow settled up with the wrong poor bastard, for haste, or spite, or fear of failure. Or you call yourself being "bored" with him. You heffas really get on my nerves. Ain't nobody made you settle up with the wrong man. Got him thinking that all women want to pull the "hold out" card once they get a man; but no. It's just YOU. And your specific disinterest in HIM.And please don't get it into your head that just because you don't want him that somebody else is just waiting for you to cut him lose so she can jump on him. If that's your line of thinking, oh grow up, already. And consider and check your own shady inner circle before you make general assumptions. Despite what many ill-informed people would like to believe about single women, being single IS a conscious choice, not a chronic condition. I've been celibate for this long because I'm selective, not thirsty. It actually opens my mind for some pretty clear thoughts to jot down here and there. Including some pretty vivid sex scenes. But I digress. I'm just saying that if you don't want to have sex with you own man, tell his ass the truth about why. Stop making excuses. Save everybody a lot of trouble.
Okay. I guess I'm done thinking, for now.
I received a blog tag from a writer friend today called, "Tell Me About Yourself." I'm supposed to post seven random things. Here goes:
1. Kindness and generosity are at the top of my 25 character strengths; yet, forgiveness and mercy are near the bottom. Some grudges will have to be pried from my cold, dead fingers.
2. I hate driving. I'd rather buy ALL of the gas for a road trip than spend one minute behind the wheel.
3. When I'm really amused, I laugh like Betty Rubble. My shoulders shake and everything.
4. I sing in the shower.
5. Given the choice between sleeping and eating, I always choose sleeping. I'll eat when I wake up.
6. I still have my wisdom teeth.
7. I can retire from the Army in about two years. After that, I want to be a barber, and pursue writing and publishing part time.
Well, that's it. While we're sharing, feel free to share something or things about yourself. :
I think I'm just about bothered to the point of disturbed by folks giving the holy roll a bad name. It's one thing to be genuinely happy and thankful, but a whole other thing to be too confused to know if it's Spirit moving you, or the guilt/embarrassment being poured on you by janky praise leaders.
THIS is why there are generations and generations of fakers in the church, telling folks what they want to hear and showing folks what they want to see, with no truth to the trick.
If you've got to be baited, persuaded, eyeballed, and otherwise cued into jumping up, clapping, stomping, dancing and yelling, "Hallelujah," at the top of your lungs, then that's not the Spirit moving you.
And for all of you janks in the church, here's a hint: If folks are not jumping to their feet, sangin', swaying, and a wailin' and a moanin' (without cue), while you're whooping and hollering (AND off key), it's because they're not moved. Talmbout, "If you love the Lord, you'll..." this that and the other thing. That's like rap stars shouting, "All the ugly people be quiet! All the cool people make some noise!" in the middle of a concert. Know where they got it from? The church!
Now, I'm not a holy roller by any stretch, but I know what it's like to be really moved by the Spirit. It's awesome. And not something to be trifled with, in my opinion. Especially not for the awe of the congregation, or some other audience. It's okay, to slow your roll. You're in church, not a concert. If you're going to be moved, God doesn't need any help to do it.
Don't go through too much trouble trying to hide, forget about, or dismiss your speckled past. So what if you've had a few scrapes, scuffles, and scandalous goings on? Just think of all the great stories and lessons you'll be able to share with your grandchildren one day.
I was just sitting here thinking about the stories my grandma used to tell me of her hell-raising and ho-hopping days in her 20s, and I smiled; thinking now of how I should have done way more dirt in my "youthier" youth. But then, to whose children would I tell those stories anyhow? So, it's a good thing I'm a writer.
Be someone who finally does it, not someone who wishes s/he had done it. Time is a commodity. Use it.
If you want to write, to publish, to be read, there's no better time than now to see it through. If you've stopped writing, just start again. You'll never know if the words you could share will help others if you never share them. Make the time to write because you want to. You can do this.
Whenever Taps is played on Fort Drum, there is a double echo. I'm not sure if it's intentional, but time seems to stand still, and it makes me feel numb all over. This may sound weird, but whenever it plays, I feel sort of haunted.
I just commented to a few friends that I just got caught thinking again.
Taps is one of those songs that reminds you of where you were when it meant something when you heard it, and why. For me, it reminds me that I am one of the less than one percent who have or will serve in the U.S armed forces. I am one of the fewer than that who will serve in combat. Of the fewer than that who will survive combat. I am among those who should never forget.
Perspective. Self-awareness. Connection. Geez Louise. People usually give me way too much credit for having more of any of that than I actually have; except for when Taps plays. More than anything, I think it always puts me to bed with a better perspective. It helps me with that "don't go to bed angry" thing. I just go to bed thinking. And thankful.
Although many of us celebrate Memorial Day as a day of exclusive remembrance for those fallen in combat, I am humbled and honored by all those who have reached out to me and my comrades who have served and are still serving, though we be not casualties of war.
The sentiment is overwhelming and difficult to put into adequate words of appreciation. It is a sobering reminder to me that, "there, but for the grace of God..."
1SG Billy Siercks (Pathfinder Co., 27 Sep 11)
CW4 David Carter (Extortion 17, 6 Aug 11)
CW2 Bryan Nichols (Extortion 17, 6 Aug 11)
SGT Patrick Hamburger (Extortion 17, 6 Aug 11)
SPC Alexander Bennett (Extortion 17, 6 Aug 11)
SPC Spencer Duncan (Extortion 17, 6 Aug 11)