Branding, Algorithms, Pain in the Arse: Dancing around Ourselves

What kind of music do you play? What race are you? Who did you vote for?

FACEBOOK PRAYER

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Strange Love in the Time of Kali Yuga

You realize that most of the things that you have taken in with your mother’s milk, are a collection of folklore. Random approximations, inaccurate statements seeded with a possibility for love.

Humans Love Humans (Immigrant’s Observations)

When I look around hoping to see freedom, I see survival and maybe content. It bothers me because it screams of emotional poverty. And I know it’s conditioned because everybody is born with bright eyes.

Being Squashed for Being a Whore, Or…?

On that day, I avoided the path of a linguist / ethnomusicologist turned sex slave by an inch.

Girls, Books, and Lies

It started with an email from my high school best friend. She told me that our shared first boyfriend published a sci-fi trilogy.

The fact that he published a trilogy made me feel surprisingly warm and fuzzy, given how long I have not spoken to him and how we parted. The guy has achieved something sweet, good for him, good for the world I live in! But it’s not what shocked me.

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Bellydancer

A moment stuck in my head: A friendly, all-American belly dancer and a boring guy dropping five one-dollar bills on her shoulders as if he is covering her in furs and diamonds. Bestowing five one-dollar bills on her naked skin with royal confidence known only to testosterone that is completely unaware of own irrelevance. And she is dancing with more fervor.

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Misfucked

I made our fucking divine for a second.

I, I did that. You, you received it. You commented on how good the sex was.

Not. Fair.

It gives me cramps. Not the fact that you ended up being a special nobody seeking me out during special moments of your loneliness – but the fact that I exercised wrong judgment. I hastily beautified you. I eyeballed perfection and forced you in. I built a pedestal for you. I got so carried away with this phantom of your love that it still haunts me. As if it is real.

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Pain Excites You More Than I Do

So, once again I independently decide that you don't love me. You deny it, you say it's not it. I have a hard time buying it because I know how people act when they are in love. They can't bear long separation, they can't help responding to texts, it's the Force that...

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A Letter of Heartbreak

Last week, you were my baby. You were undoubtedly my baby. My own. You are now some dude. I can stop talking to you in my head. I am pacing my apartment, even my cat looks half-orphaned. I miss you horribly. I think about all the good things we've had and I...

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Little Deaths

A ghost of you is everywhere. I feel dumb, helpless and enlightened. I think about all the places where we used to go every weekend. Restaurants, our faces, laughing. Trust, ease, feeling comfortable. Where the fuck did it all go? I refuse to think about quantum...

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Tessa is a strongly opinionated singer and musician living in New York. Her background is in classical piano, linguistics, computers, ethnomusicology, and Tibetan studies. She fronts Tessa Makes Love.

Robots are on her shit list, and this blog is about not taking shit from the machine.