I saw him. If only for a moment I was him.
Out the shower I look choose shirts to wear as I pick an S&M shirt that was my goal for so long. Not only putting it on and feeling it slip on perfectly, but realizing that this was my goal so many long ago. Looking up and noticing that this had to be a muscle shirt since it's making me look ......molded, only to realize that's not the shirt, but Me.
Not me, but Me.
Then that flash of eyes. Those eyes I have not seen in so long. The eyes that gotten me so many compliments, bed mates, and made a few people back up. That mix of Puckish playfulness and facetious spark. Those eyes that reminded me of years gone by and moments that would become my greatest stories.
I saw him. And he smiled.
I think he's coming back.
I look forward to it.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Autopsy and figuring out the next procedure.
I'm having one of those moments where I keep reading what I wrote and trying to figure out what I've done. Sometimes I'm more than amazed what get written down and sometimes I'm actually in a state of marvel that I can write this decently. It kind of hurts me a bit that I can't write fiction for shit, even though I have so many great ideas, I can not make them live the same way as I could retelling life or simply trying to get a point out that I do not have the strength to say.
So I'm just rereading it and dealing with what comes up and reliving some hard moments where I would rather just forget it. And yet, forgetting never has really worked for me. I just hope that when I'm done writing all these things down that I can find some sort of peace or at least solitude in the end and not the nightmare that when I'm done I'll still be the same person only with my inner fears written on the walls.
That kind of reminds me of the time someone asked me if I ever worried that someone could read what I wrote and figure me out enough to have their way. I've told them that it's been done and it's happened time and time before. Chances it will happen again and I just don't care. It's on the level of taking advantage of someone throwing up. You can and if you want you are able to do so, but you are just a douche and you are going to be seen as a douche and like all douches they get found out and they get the label of douche placed upon them that seem to follow them.
And yes, I've love my fair share of douches. Or did they become douches after the fact? Who am I to judge douches? I'm just content to find them out before they can do major douchey damage.
Well, whatever I guess.
If these were my fears I would never write. So....yea.
Just trying to see where to go next from here. It's not a finished tale and I still think I can pull more out before I can exhaust the issue.
So I'm just rereading it and dealing with what comes up and reliving some hard moments where I would rather just forget it. And yet, forgetting never has really worked for me. I just hope that when I'm done writing all these things down that I can find some sort of peace or at least solitude in the end and not the nightmare that when I'm done I'll still be the same person only with my inner fears written on the walls.
That kind of reminds me of the time someone asked me if I ever worried that someone could read what I wrote and figure me out enough to have their way. I've told them that it's been done and it's happened time and time before. Chances it will happen again and I just don't care. It's on the level of taking advantage of someone throwing up. You can and if you want you are able to do so, but you are just a douche and you are going to be seen as a douche and like all douches they get found out and they get the label of douche placed upon them that seem to follow them.
And yes, I've love my fair share of douches. Or did they become douches after the fact? Who am I to judge douches? I'm just content to find them out before they can do major douchey damage.
Well, whatever I guess.
If these were my fears I would never write. So....yea.
Just trying to see where to go next from here. It's not a finished tale and I still think I can pull more out before I can exhaust the issue.
Abuse that spawns abuse spawns abuse: The cause of all Secret Wars.
I said it before yesterday and I'll say it again. It's not negotiable. It's not something that you can disregard because you can. It changes forms and comes out to continue. It's as if it's a virus, a vicious meme that absorbs us and changes forms and we act out in a mixture of pain and bafflement. It's as if you are trying to find the origin of a disease instead of trying to vaccinate and cure those involved. Somehow trying to fins someone to blame is going to make everything better a la Disney ending.
Stupid dreams for a stupid mind. If you asked me this over a decade ago, I would have cared and looked for a solution. 7 years later when I realized that this goes beyond generations and the people who may be to blame are dead and my money or my right arm, what ever you hold value to, is that they're just more links in the chain.
The only way out is to know that abuse spawns abuse that spawns abuse. It changes forms and it makes families into cannibals. The only way to survive Secret Wars is to leave. You can not fight them or plan them out, you can just leave. It's something that feeds off of hatred, anger, fear, hurt, pain and tears. It's a parasite that forces those to hide their role in it all rather than to expose their disease in hopes of airing it out and finding solution and cure. And yet, all those involved hide their shame just enough to continue their act of violence and hatred.
Don't tell me it's not a parasite, disease, or sickness.
A dark room filled with the blind striking out at each out of outrage of being hit.
The first step is learning that abuse spawns abuse that spawns abuse.
Don't even dare speak to me otherwise until you can grasp that. My survival instincts refuse you dragging me in ever again.
Stupid dreams for a stupid mind. If you asked me this over a decade ago, I would have cared and looked for a solution. 7 years later when I realized that this goes beyond generations and the people who may be to blame are dead and my money or my right arm, what ever you hold value to, is that they're just more links in the chain.
The only way out is to know that abuse spawns abuse that spawns abuse. It changes forms and it makes families into cannibals. The only way to survive Secret Wars is to leave. You can not fight them or plan them out, you can just leave. It's something that feeds off of hatred, anger, fear, hurt, pain and tears. It's a parasite that forces those to hide their role in it all rather than to expose their disease in hopes of airing it out and finding solution and cure. And yet, all those involved hide their shame just enough to continue their act of violence and hatred.
Don't tell me it's not a parasite, disease, or sickness.
A dark room filled with the blind striking out at each out of outrage of being hit.
The first step is learning that abuse spawns abuse that spawns abuse.
Don't even dare speak to me otherwise until you can grasp that. My survival instincts refuse you dragging me in ever again.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Sixteen – Master and Servant
She wanted to change things.
He knew that going in when coffee was not served. She boasted on true Earl Grey and how it not only offered a superior feel of tongue than coffee, but it offered a delicate balance to the cookies she served. They were not pretty in any way or offered the heartiness of some of the cookies she offered before with chunks of bittersweet chocolate and enough nuts packed in to offer a mouthful of enjoyment and work. She is very Machiavellian that way and he more than respected her choices as would an opposing general would admire his opponent's tactics.
"Really?"
"What," she smiled. "I got these just for you. You are one to appreciate the delicateness of these as well as the anise and toasted poppy. This with the Earl Grey would only compliment our time with each other." She placed four in a small plate in front of him and smiled. Everything was chess with her and she knew all the tricks he would pull and had done what she could to prevent him from going far with them.
Was that jazz? Hmmm....seems someone has read their Casanova. Just quiet enough to be in the background and just loud enough to offer some distraction to the silent room. A good choice. He couldn't tell if it was fusion or just some of the stuff that Coltrain and Monk played with, but it was a nice feel. Upbeat and flowing.
Fuck, she's good.
He sat down and prepared his tea in the sunny, windowed room. Just enough to offer a sanctuary from the elements while giving him a view of the outside to combat his claustrophobia and desire to get up and roam. It's such a fine trap and would only be a shame to ruin how much thought she put into this. He was not only amazed, but a bit flattered at her outmaneuvering. It did remind him of being closed off and trapped like an animal, but with a pen this nice, why not go with it?
They spent several minutes getting their tea the way they want it and observing protocol and ceremony for the sake of it. She knew he wasn't one to follow the niceties, but he was a team player and knew that any complaint would be her way in. So he mimicked and observed his "prithees" and "indeeds". In a way it was fun. It wasn't just mental math or a battle of cunning thought and dancing with razor wit. It was a challenge and an opportunity to show off different aspects of who he was. It was a chance to be someone else besides the one he sees in the eyes of others.
Who said all traps were accidental in nature?
After some time, conversation moved from small things and polite talk to the heart of the matter. "So, this small blonde of yours. Last time I checked, you expressed certain reservations on those with rubio hair and privileged lives."
"Ha......five", he said as he took in another sip of tea and chased it with a bite. The cookies were delicate and very decedent and obviously offered no respite in providing a full mouth unless he mashed more than a handfuls into his mouth. His eyes flashed up to her's as she smiled enough to realized that he one upped him. No touchdown dance was needed. Simply a civil touche and an acknowledgement of what is.In response he took another dainty nibble and used his napkin, cloth of course, to whip the nonexistent crumbs from his mouth as he gave his best debutante fiddle dee dee including the toss on his wrist.
He dropped the napkin in his lap and gave in, "Fine, what do you want to know."
"Oh no......no more coy banter?"
"Nah, you got me. 'When ya hung you're hung.' There is no reason to twist and toss about."
"You are not going to make this fun, are you?"
"Nah...."
They laughed together. As he offered his applause to her gracious and humble courtesy. They discussed the matter with a bit more small talk and he reassured her that his life is an open book and he would not squirm away from any direct question asked. She understood, but assured him that beers and cigars didn't have the level of celebration as this did. With that they dive right in.
He didn't offer much opposition as she asked all the hard questions. Sexual identity, first kisses from both genders, molestation, first time acknowledging his sexuality and all the frustrations that came with it. They played with the idea of arousal and desire and need. He discussed his issues with being sexually active at a young age, sexual repression, and how he was able to convince someone sexually naive and indifferent to to allow certain aspects into their usually puritanical life. The broad questions soon began to narrow as asked what relationship defined his sexuality the most. He even waved off the indirect questions on what scents, colors and reminders, knowing the procedure and knowing a bit about getting to the point and the best way to remove a bandage is to tear it off, hair and all.
He went into details that he haven't gone into for years, yet they were a bit rehearsed as if he had given this talk/speech/interrogation many times before. And yet, just as he waved off the small need add a teaspoon of sugar to it all, she had brought back the small questions in full circle almost as if she understood that she could not press him too long or to far. Especially since she would not allow alcohol to numb the experience as he implemented so many times before. She knew she had to balance it just enough to keep him open while pulling enough to disturb him.
"So she was repressed a bit."
"Yea, she didn't have that affirmation. It was extremely negative and frustrating at times. Father issues would be a factor, but in the end she was never able to accept that she was a sexual being. I tried everything and even abstinence twice. Figured she was tired of me trying to romance her."
"And this was when you had that fight?"
"Huge. She had violence issues and she didn't have any problems expressing her concerns that way. Very contrary to her needs. In the end, things were thrown, I had a new set of bruises, but I finally cornered her and asked her her issues. I mean, our fights usually ruined us for a day or so and I knew this. I was so messed up in the head that I would just do my best to forgive and forget and swallow what abuse was given and try to have us work together. The fights were train wrecks and everyone needed normalcy."
Her head cocked to the side. "You're aroused".
.........
"Yea, I kind of am."
"The abuse.....it arouses you?"
"Ha.....never thought about it, but I guess it does. With her it was living in the paths of hurricanes. You just hunkered down and wait the hell out and all of a sudden she was sorry and we had to make things nice."
"So your sex life with her?"
"Very vanilla, with an occasional stripe of rich fudge. We didn't do anything too adventurous, but it was really charged. It was almost as if I fucked her hard enough and left her in a sweat heap it would mellow her out and we'd have peace. It's odd, our roles somehow reversed in that aspect. I wasn't powerless and she wasn't the aggressor. After a while I realized that I started .....paying her back that way. She always considered me passive aggressive and even called me a liar in some cases that even I knew a lie would be the best way to make things livable."
"But didn't you say that you are an awful liar?"
"Horrendous, but when you have not exit out you try anything. I lied as best as I could and hoped that it was enough. Never was, but like I said survival forces you to try anything even if it cost you more later on."
She steered him back."Why couldn't she just ask for it? Did you ever ask yourself that?"
"Ha.....that was the reason for the fight. She could not figure out how to tell me she wanted to have sex and seeing me just getting up to start our day pist her off. She later thought that I gave up with her sexually. And she could not word how she felt or that she was horny....."
He started to laugh with that pained look on his face.
"I mean, I've slept with a good amount of women in my time and no matter what you had a rough idea what they liked and what they wanted from you. But they are never the same. It's like relearning how to ride a bike over and over again. Just the act of eating out looks easy on paper, but every woman differs greatly. Sensitivity, technique, circles, alphabets, Greek, poetry and even math. I mean, not one woman was exactly the same and I learned to study, please, and figure out their rhythms. And here....I'm like every man on the damn planet. If you start licking my body I'll let you know where. NO MYSTERY! Maybe 10% difference, but we are simple creatures."
"She was hard to get off."
"Yes and no......it was like safe cracking with her. I would get in positions where I can hear her breathing and sometimes heart beat. I moved slowly and studied each move. She could not tell me what she wanted. I had to figure it out. And once we hit that point where she opened up she somehow abandoned everything and just let loose. So much work to get there, but damn she could fuck with the best of them. Once there moans escaped, she took initiative, and that's when I could try to push the limits with her as long as we kept it mostly vanilla. Maybe finger play here or there, but that took so much work just to let her accept it."
"I'm taking it she never got comfortable?"
"Ha....no. She used to molest me in my sleep. I always figured that she just was in the mood to wake me up that way, but one time after a huge fight she reached over and we had sex.....no....made love. She rolled over to go to sleep and I laid there thinking of what the hell I was going through. It never occured to me to leave. That must be some part of the abusive relationship. I still marvel about it. Somehow leaving was never an option.......but anyways she rolled over and I felt her arm around me. I figured she was asleep, but that arm started to caress. You know, something you'd figure was deliberate. It was gentle and even loving. I figured that she forgave me or even felt that our fight was just stupid. So we made love. I mean even on a anatomical sense she was into it. So we made love. It was actually pleasant. I still look back to it and wonder how wonderful it was. Then as soon as the afterglow started and she let out a sigh of relief. I get punched in the face."
"What? She did that alot."
"Yea.....it seems that she was asleep and during the act she was.....uninhibited and receptive. And here she was, screaming at me for ....."
"What?"
"Taking advantage of her.."
"She didn't call it that did she?"
"No. She didn't."
He became stiff. She moved him along.
"So...."
"Yea...her she was beating the shit out of me. Pummeling me, really. And I'm confused as she spouted accusations and the such. And I finally realized that she was really.......fragmented. Broken apart so much that she had no idea what she was. Here I thought we had a loving moment and all the while she's calling me a rapist. Busted my mouth and nose. So much blood. I don't know how I did it, but I finally convinced her that she was the one who approached me and she had been doing this for most of our relationship. I had no idea she was fast asleep. The tables turned then. I became the aggressor and I took her to task. I told her she was so fucked up that she couldn't get off unless she was asleep. That our greatest moments were never shared. It was like finding out who Kaiser Soze was....it was ......fucked up."
He drank a bit more and asked if he could spike his tea. She offered a head shake, but smiled in sympathy. It was hard. It was very hard on him and his face told it all. A silent horror that never found words. All part of the cosmic joke, he called it. It made him mad in some sense that all of this endured was not out of some divine plan to endure hell for some ideal of redemption. In fact, the idea of redemption is what broke him from Antediluvian superstition of sadistic deities who would sim the live of fools in some hope of a cosmic reason. No, a cosmic joke from an absent jester that never was.
"So what happened? How does this connect?"
"Ha.....no one has patience for a storyteller anymore. Must be something we lose at 9 or something. Fine. Onwards, Onwards with my story!" He added a flourish that made her smile. Even with this much shit in his life he was still trying to make her feel better. He lived this hell and he was trying to keep her from being bummed.
"For the lack of words, I went off. I let loose. It was....as if I exploded. Here I was bloodied and accused of rape, right after the most loving moment of our relationship. A moment where I wondered if we could make things work......and it never existed. It just never existed. I was having this with this.....sleeping woman. Oh I went the fuck off. I didn't even know who it ended because I just saw red. What little I remember was her crying and apologizing.....kneeling and trying to wash the blood from my face. I ended up sleeping in the bathroom, locking myself in."
He took his time to continue. She knew he was....processing. Reliving the moment. Realizing that he had actually lived through something he had forced himself to forget. She waited until he went on, refreshing his tea and pulling more cookies out.
He started again.
" I don't know why, but somehow it meant nothing. Like groundhog day. No matter how much you changed, the nest morning just placed everything back to start and a start you never wanted to be in. I became meek again and she apologized and even tried to talk about what happened. I told her I didn't want to. It was not important. That's when I realized that I was stuck. I was in this relationship where this person's dysfunction has become my own. She could not realize that he lack of connection had pulled me into it also. I finally realized that you can't love someone who does not love them self. So.....I went back to my meek ways,but I got a bit wiser. I realize if I could not read her, I could hack her."
"What do you mean?"
"I come to realize that we would never have a touching moment like that again. That she somehow craved something that she could not admit or even imagine about herself. She would try here and there. Lingerie, perfume, what ever bullshit she would learn from other women to make our relationship loving or whatever. Just bullshit. I was already out. I would never have her the way that moment never was. That loving moment that made couples couples. I was just there to scratch the itch, mellow her out, and try to reduce the violence. All that sex would do was to mellow her out and make things somewhat bearable."
"Why didn't you leave?"
He just looked at her and she realized it was a brilliant question asked stupidly. Especially since she knew his reasons, stupid as they were. You always are willing to make things work when hostages are involved. The only questions were who were the hostages.
"Anyways, I started to use sex as a weapon. As a way to get her to open up. No wait....not really. It was a way to force her to face things."
"What do you mean?"
"I started to turn the tables on her. I became Dom. I realized that she would either let herself go in those moments or I would just tease her enough to mess with her. Either way it was never loving. It was just a way to reach the eye of the hurricane. Wear her down and make her pass out and sleep. Sometimes just tease the fuck out of her and make her feel like I felt....if only a moment. I tied her up once." He shook his head as he reached over to nibble a cookie with both hands. He was trying to deal with this anyway he could.
"Did she respond well?"
"Oh no. In fact, we fought afterwards. 'Why did you do that to me?' 'Where did you learn that?' 'Is that what you want me to do?' 'Am I your slut?' I did it again. And again. Other times I just grabbed her from behind and took her. Other times, I just teased the hell out of her. Anything to make her feel.....out of control. I mean, why not?"
"And?"
"She hated it, but in a good way. I took on a heavy dom role and made sure she was worked. When we got to the point where I had her begging and cursing....always cursing.....I finally told her what I wanted from her. Took me a while, but I realized that she has no way of feeling attractive. Ha.....she just didn't know how to feel attractive or what to do. Her repressive roots didn't help any, but she needed something and I started to feel shitty over making her feel like meat. She started to like it, but I just started to hate myself more and more. I mean, that was the end result. I had to get my hands dirty to make things work. I could not talk my way to a resolution or make things work. I needed to spank the bitch and pull her hair while fucking her. I needed to 'break the horse in' ......just..."
He looked as if he stepped in something revolting and put the cookie he was nibbling down.
"So what did you do?"
He explained his system of 'special underwear' that would be her way of expressing her needs without saying a word. There would be no need to say those embarrassing words of desire and need. She would wear certain things and make sure he saw enough and that would be his consent and ok to take the initiative. He was hoping that he could convince her to be expressive or even to acknowledge her own sexuality, but that was a working compromise. She could be reserve and "innocent" and he would 'put her to her paces'. The blame would be on him if they did anything she considered 'nasty' and he was ok with it. It was one way of making peace. Tie her down and 'make full use of her'? Fine. He was the 'dirty one' and he just overwhelmed her."
"Did that work?"
"Ha.....it almost did. Even got her to acknowledge that I found her attractive and beautiful. So much so that her ego grew just big enough to leave me. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAhahahah!"
He laughed, but she remained quiet. It was certain that he crossed humor and pain easily. It was his defense mechanism and also knew it. He explained a while ago that there was a point where crying hurt more than the pain and laughing became his way of shrugging off most of it. It was his way of making the "victory" of others a bit bitter to enjoy.
He sipped his tea, but realized it was empty. Not the first time he done this. She filled his cup once more.
"So yea.....I know I have issues with that alone. No pillow talk. No flirting or even lovemaking. Just sex when sex was needed. I stopped loving her and just loved the idea of loving her. Like I said, when things were getting better she ended up realizing that I was the root of her problems and she decided that I was not enough anymore. She came back one day realizing that she was different than me. She was smarter, advanced even. I was nothing and I offered nothing to her. I was so much less than her. I was not worth her time. Someone else was and I wasn't. So in the end, just getting he to realize that she was beautiful and desirable worked against me. She figured out that she could do better and I was nothing remotely better. So in the end, she left and I was out."
"Out?"
"Well, not really. There would be some yoyo effects. A pattern that I would learn to live with and even prevent. Women who I would end up with would somehow leave me one day only to try and come back. It seemed that I not only made them realize that the grass was greener, but once they got there they wanted to come back and see the green grass where where they were."
He laughed bitterly. She could only watch him and knew that reaching out to him would be a slap in his face. She could understand why he didn't like to be touched. You had to let others get close enough to touch you and every touch he had faced ended up in some sort of slap. You either began to associate touch with pain or you consider it part of love's by product. A caring caress can always become a slap. you just had to have some faith on what you were getting. And yet, he lost all faith in touch also.
This was not going to be easy. This was not going to be clean either.
"I think we had enough for now."
"That's not what is happening. I'm just getting tired of writing this. You know we went on from this."
"You're breaking the 4th wall?"
"Yea.......hard to write this straight. I need some sort of way to bend reality, even if I can use my 'writer's pen' to break time and space. I told you I would do this."
"But we will continue, right. You will tell all of it?"
"Of course. You will be the first to tell me off if I do otherwise. I just can't relive this much hell or continue on without some comical relief or sorts. No one is that fucking patient."
"So....."
"So....we end here. For now."
Time and place has no power here, remember. It's always on my terms.
*hears police sirens*
Hmmmm.....looks like life is calling again.
He knew that going in when coffee was not served. She boasted on true Earl Grey and how it not only offered a superior feel of tongue than coffee, but it offered a delicate balance to the cookies she served. They were not pretty in any way or offered the heartiness of some of the cookies she offered before with chunks of bittersweet chocolate and enough nuts packed in to offer a mouthful of enjoyment and work. She is very Machiavellian that way and he more than respected her choices as would an opposing general would admire his opponent's tactics.
"Really?"
"What," she smiled. "I got these just for you. You are one to appreciate the delicateness of these as well as the anise and toasted poppy. This with the Earl Grey would only compliment our time with each other." She placed four in a small plate in front of him and smiled. Everything was chess with her and she knew all the tricks he would pull and had done what she could to prevent him from going far with them.
Was that jazz? Hmmm....seems someone has read their Casanova. Just quiet enough to be in the background and just loud enough to offer some distraction to the silent room. A good choice. He couldn't tell if it was fusion or just some of the stuff that Coltrain and Monk played with, but it was a nice feel. Upbeat and flowing.
There's a new game
We like to play you see
He sat down and prepared his tea in the sunny, windowed room. Just enough to offer a sanctuary from the elements while giving him a view of the outside to combat his claustrophobia and desire to get up and roam. It's such a fine trap and would only be a shame to ruin how much thought she put into this. He was not only amazed, but a bit flattered at her outmaneuvering. It did remind him of being closed off and trapped like an animal, but with a pen this nice, why not go with it?
They spent several minutes getting their tea the way they want it and observing protocol and ceremony for the sake of it. She knew he wasn't one to follow the niceties, but he was a team player and knew that any complaint would be her way in. So he mimicked and observed his "prithees" and "indeeds". In a way it was fun. It wasn't just mental math or a battle of cunning thought and dancing with razor wit. It was a challenge and an opportunity to show off different aspects of who he was. It was a chance to be someone else besides the one he sees in the eyes of others.
Who said all traps were accidental in nature?
A game with added reality
It's a lot like life
After some time, conversation moved from small things and polite talk to the heart of the matter. "So, this small blonde of yours. Last time I checked, you expressed certain reservations on those with rubio hair and privileged lives."
"Ha......five", he said as he took in another sip of tea and chased it with a bite. The cookies were delicate and very decedent and obviously offered no respite in providing a full mouth unless he mashed more than a handfuls into his mouth. His eyes flashed up to her's as she smiled enough to realized that he one upped him. No touchdown dance was needed. Simply a civil touche and an acknowledgement of what is.In response he took another dainty nibble and used his napkin, cloth of course, to whip the nonexistent crumbs from his mouth as he gave his best debutante fiddle dee dee including the toss on his wrist.
He dropped the napkin in his lap and gave in, "Fine, what do you want to know."
"Oh no......no more coy banter?"
"Nah, you got me. 'When ya hung you're hung.' There is no reason to twist and toss about."
"You are not going to make this fun, are you?"
"Nah...."
They laughed together. As he offered his applause to her gracious and humble courtesy. They discussed the matter with a bit more small talk and he reassured her that his life is an open book and he would not squirm away from any direct question asked. She understood, but assured him that beers and cigars didn't have the level of celebration as this did. With that they dive right in.
He didn't offer much opposition as she asked all the hard questions. Sexual identity, first kisses from both genders, molestation, first time acknowledging his sexuality and all the frustrations that came with it. They played with the idea of arousal and desire and need. He discussed his issues with being sexually active at a young age, sexual repression, and how he was able to convince someone sexually naive and indifferent to to allow certain aspects into their usually puritanical life. The broad questions soon began to narrow as asked what relationship defined his sexuality the most. He even waved off the indirect questions on what scents, colors and reminders, knowing the procedure and knowing a bit about getting to the point and the best way to remove a bandage is to tear it off, hair and all.
He went into details that he haven't gone into for years, yet they were a bit rehearsed as if he had given this talk/speech/interrogation many times before. And yet, just as he waved off the small need add a teaspoon of sugar to it all, she had brought back the small questions in full circle almost as if she understood that she could not press him too long or to far. Especially since she would not allow alcohol to numb the experience as he implemented so many times before. She knew she had to balance it just enough to keep him open while pulling enough to disturb him.
"So she was repressed a bit."
"Yea, she didn't have that affirmation. It was extremely negative and frustrating at times. Father issues would be a factor, but in the end she was never able to accept that she was a sexual being. I tried everything and even abstinence twice. Figured she was tired of me trying to romance her."
"And this was when you had that fight?"
"Huge. She had violence issues and she didn't have any problems expressing her concerns that way. Very contrary to her needs. In the end, things were thrown, I had a new set of bruises, but I finally cornered her and asked her her issues. I mean, our fights usually ruined us for a day or so and I knew this. I was so messed up in the head that I would just do my best to forgive and forget and swallow what abuse was given and try to have us work together. The fights were train wrecks and everyone needed normalcy."
Her head cocked to the side. "You're aroused".
.........
"Yea, I kind of am."
"The abuse.....it arouses you?"
"Ha.....never thought about it, but I guess it does. With her it was living in the paths of hurricanes. You just hunkered down and wait the hell out and all of a sudden she was sorry and we had to make things nice."
"So your sex life with her?"
"Very vanilla, with an occasional stripe of rich fudge. We didn't do anything too adventurous, but it was really charged. It was almost as if I fucked her hard enough and left her in a sweat heap it would mellow her out and we'd have peace. It's odd, our roles somehow reversed in that aspect. I wasn't powerless and she wasn't the aggressor. After a while I realized that I started .....paying her back that way. She always considered me passive aggressive and even called me a liar in some cases that even I knew a lie would be the best way to make things livable."
"But didn't you say that you are an awful liar?"
"Horrendous, but when you have not exit out you try anything. I lied as best as I could and hoped that it was enough. Never was, but like I said survival forces you to try anything even if it cost you more later on."
She steered him back."Why couldn't she just ask for it? Did you ever ask yourself that?"
"Ha.....that was the reason for the fight. She could not figure out how to tell me she wanted to have sex and seeing me just getting up to start our day pist her off. She later thought that I gave up with her sexually. And she could not word how she felt or that she was horny....."
He started to laugh with that pained look on his face.
"I mean, I've slept with a good amount of women in my time and no matter what you had a rough idea what they liked and what they wanted from you. But they are never the same. It's like relearning how to ride a bike over and over again. Just the act of eating out looks easy on paper, but every woman differs greatly. Sensitivity, technique, circles, alphabets, Greek, poetry and even math. I mean, not one woman was exactly the same and I learned to study, please, and figure out their rhythms. And here....I'm like every man on the damn planet. If you start licking my body I'll let you know where. NO MYSTERY! Maybe 10% difference, but we are simple creatures."
"She was hard to get off."
"Yes and no......it was like safe cracking with her. I would get in positions where I can hear her breathing and sometimes heart beat. I moved slowly and studied each move. She could not tell me what she wanted. I had to figure it out. And once we hit that point where she opened up she somehow abandoned everything and just let loose. So much work to get there, but damn she could fuck with the best of them. Once there moans escaped, she took initiative, and that's when I could try to push the limits with her as long as we kept it mostly vanilla. Maybe finger play here or there, but that took so much work just to let her accept it."
"I'm taking it she never got comfortable?"
"Ha....no. She used to molest me in my sleep. I always figured that she just was in the mood to wake me up that way, but one time after a huge fight she reached over and we had sex.....no....made love. She rolled over to go to sleep and I laid there thinking of what the hell I was going through. It never occured to me to leave. That must be some part of the abusive relationship. I still marvel about it. Somehow leaving was never an option.......but anyways she rolled over and I felt her arm around me. I figured she was asleep, but that arm started to caress. You know, something you'd figure was deliberate. It was gentle and even loving. I figured that she forgave me or even felt that our fight was just stupid. So we made love. I mean even on a anatomical sense she was into it. So we made love. It was actually pleasant. I still look back to it and wonder how wonderful it was. Then as soon as the afterglow started and she let out a sigh of relief. I get punched in the face."
"What? She did that alot."
"Yea.....it seems that she was asleep and during the act she was.....uninhibited and receptive. And here she was, screaming at me for ....."
"What?"
"Taking advantage of her.."
"She didn't call it that did she?"
"No. She didn't."
He became stiff. She moved him along.
"So...."
"Yea...her she was beating the shit out of me. Pummeling me, really. And I'm confused as she spouted accusations and the such. And I finally realized that she was really.......fragmented. Broken apart so much that she had no idea what she was. Here I thought we had a loving moment and all the while she's calling me a rapist. Busted my mouth and nose. So much blood. I don't know how I did it, but I finally convinced her that she was the one who approached me and she had been doing this for most of our relationship. I had no idea she was fast asleep. The tables turned then. I became the aggressor and I took her to task. I told her she was so fucked up that she couldn't get off unless she was asleep. That our greatest moments were never shared. It was like finding out who Kaiser Soze was....it was ......fucked up."
You treat me like a dog
Get me down on my knees
He drank a bit more and asked if he could spike his tea. She offered a head shake, but smiled in sympathy. It was hard. It was very hard on him and his face told it all. A silent horror that never found words. All part of the cosmic joke, he called it. It made him mad in some sense that all of this endured was not out of some divine plan to endure hell for some ideal of redemption. In fact, the idea of redemption is what broke him from Antediluvian superstition of sadistic deities who would sim the live of fools in some hope of a cosmic reason. No, a cosmic joke from an absent jester that never was.
"So what happened? How does this connect?"
"Ha.....no one has patience for a storyteller anymore. Must be something we lose at 9 or something. Fine. Onwards, Onwards with my story!" He added a flourish that made her smile. Even with this much shit in his life he was still trying to make her feel better. He lived this hell and he was trying to keep her from being bummed.
"For the lack of words, I went off. I let loose. It was....as if I exploded. Here I was bloodied and accused of rape, right after the most loving moment of our relationship. A moment where I wondered if we could make things work......and it never existed. It just never existed. I was having this with this.....sleeping woman. Oh I went the fuck off. I didn't even know who it ended because I just saw red. What little I remember was her crying and apologizing.....kneeling and trying to wash the blood from my face. I ended up sleeping in the bathroom, locking myself in."
He took his time to continue. She knew he was....processing. Reliving the moment. Realizing that he had actually lived through something he had forced himself to forget. She waited until he went on, refreshing his tea and pulling more cookies out.
He started again.
" I don't know why, but somehow it meant nothing. Like groundhog day. No matter how much you changed, the nest morning just placed everything back to start and a start you never wanted to be in. I became meek again and she apologized and even tried to talk about what happened. I told her I didn't want to. It was not important. That's when I realized that I was stuck. I was in this relationship where this person's dysfunction has become my own. She could not realize that he lack of connection had pulled me into it also. I finally realized that you can't love someone who does not love them self. So.....I went back to my meek ways,but I got a bit wiser. I realize if I could not read her, I could hack her."
And that's what's appealing
Except in one you're fulfilled
At the end of the day
"What do you mean?"
"I come to realize that we would never have a touching moment like that again. That she somehow craved something that she could not admit or even imagine about herself. She would try here and there. Lingerie, perfume, what ever bullshit she would learn from other women to make our relationship loving or whatever. Just bullshit. I was already out. I would never have her the way that moment never was. That loving moment that made couples couples. I was just there to scratch the itch, mellow her out, and try to reduce the violence. All that sex would do was to mellow her out and make things somewhat bearable."
"Why didn't you leave?"
He just looked at her and she realized it was a brilliant question asked stupidly. Especially since she knew his reasons, stupid as they were. You always are willing to make things work when hostages are involved. The only questions were who were the hostages.
"Anyways, I started to use sex as a weapon. As a way to get her to open up. No wait....not really. It was a way to force her to face things."
This play between the sheets
With you on top and me underneath
"What do you mean?"
"I started to turn the tables on her. I became Dom. I realized that she would either let herself go in those moments or I would just tease her enough to mess with her. Either way it was never loving. It was just a way to reach the eye of the hurricane. Wear her down and make her pass out and sleep. Sometimes just tease the fuck out of her and make her feel like I felt....if only a moment. I tied her up once." He shook his head as he reached over to nibble a cookie with both hands. He was trying to deal with this anyway he could.
"Did she respond well?"
"Oh no. In fact, we fought afterwards. 'Why did you do that to me?' 'Where did you learn that?' 'Is that what you want me to do?' 'Am I your slut?' I did it again. And again. Other times I just grabbed her from behind and took her. Other times, I just teased the hell out of her. Anything to make her feel.....out of control. I mean, why not?"
"And?"
"She hated it, but in a good way. I took on a heavy dom role and made sure she was worked. When we got to the point where I had her begging and cursing....always cursing.....I finally told her what I wanted from her. Took me a while, but I realized that she has no way of feeling attractive. Ha.....she just didn't know how to feel attractive or what to do. Her repressive roots didn't help any, but she needed something and I started to feel shitty over making her feel like meat. She started to like it, but I just started to hate myself more and more. I mean, that was the end result. I had to get my hands dirty to make things work. I could not talk my way to a resolution or make things work. I needed to spank the bitch and pull her hair while fucking her. I needed to 'break the horse in' ......just..."
He looked as if he stepped in something revolting and put the cookie he was nibbling down.
He explained his system of 'special underwear' that would be her way of expressing her needs without saying a word. There would be no need to say those embarrassing words of desire and need. She would wear certain things and make sure he saw enough and that would be his consent and ok to take the initiative. He was hoping that he could convince her to be expressive or even to acknowledge her own sexuality, but that was a working compromise. She could be reserve and "innocent" and he would 'put her to her paces'. The blame would be on him if they did anything she considered 'nasty' and he was ok with it. It was one way of making peace. Tie her down and 'make full use of her'? Fine. He was the 'dirty one' and he just overwhelmed her."
"Did that work?"
"Ha.....it almost did. Even got her to acknowledge that I found her attractive and beautiful. So much so that her ego grew just big enough to leave me. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAhahahah!"
If you despise that throwaway feeling
From disposable fun
He laughed, but she remained quiet. It was certain that he crossed humor and pain easily. It was his defense mechanism and also knew it. He explained a while ago that there was a point where crying hurt more than the pain and laughing became his way of shrugging off most of it. It was his way of making the "victory" of others a bit bitter to enjoy.
He sipped his tea, but realized it was empty. Not the first time he done this. She filled his cup once more.
"So yea.....I know I have issues with that alone. No pillow talk. No flirting or even lovemaking. Just sex when sex was needed. I stopped loving her and just loved the idea of loving her. Like I said, when things were getting better she ended up realizing that I was the root of her problems and she decided that I was not enough anymore. She came back one day realizing that she was different than me. She was smarter, advanced even. I was nothing and I offered nothing to her. I was so much less than her. I was not worth her time. Someone else was and I wasn't. So in the end, just getting he to realize that she was beautiful and desirable worked against me. She figured out that she could do better and I was nothing remotely better. So in the end, she left and I was out."
"Out?"
Domination's the name of the game
In bed or in life
They're both just the same
"Well, not really. There would be some yoyo effects. A pattern that I would learn to live with and even prevent. Women who I would end up with would somehow leave me one day only to try and come back. It seemed that I not only made them realize that the grass was greener, but once they got there they wanted to come back and see the green grass where where they were."
He laughed bitterly. She could only watch him and knew that reaching out to him would be a slap in his face. She could understand why he didn't like to be touched. You had to let others get close enough to touch you and every touch he had faced ended up in some sort of slap. You either began to associate touch with pain or you consider it part of love's by product. A caring caress can always become a slap. you just had to have some faith on what you were getting. And yet, he lost all faith in touch also.
This was not going to be easy. This was not going to be clean either.
"I think we had enough for now."
"That's not what is happening. I'm just getting tired of writing this. You know we went on from this."
"You're breaking the 4th wall?"
"Yea.......hard to write this straight. I need some sort of way to bend reality, even if I can use my 'writer's pen' to break time and space. I told you I would do this."
"But we will continue, right. You will tell all of it?"
"Of course. You will be the first to tell me off if I do otherwise. I just can't relive this much hell or continue on without some comical relief or sorts. No one is that fucking patient."
"So....."
"So....we end here. For now."
Time and place has no power here, remember. It's always on my terms.
*hears police sirens*
Hmmmm.....looks like life is calling again.
Shower Epiphany: Contemplating extreme solutions
I'm working on a piece that's is bothersome to say the least. I am in no way comfortable talking about it or even talking about it the way I am. It's a bit too personal and it really pulls roots in many directions. It's a way I rather not consider my self as. It's a part of me that if I can go under a surgeon's knife, take a pill or go for electric shock I would in a drop of a hat. I see it more as a nuisance and a hindrance. It may be a way to actually equate me as human to some of you, but to me it's been a bane of my existence and if I could resolve it I would, but it seems easier and less trouble to cut it off and move along. It's closing off the doors to which people have keys. It's finally realizing that no one can get in even if they mean no harm and even if the price means never going out. It's a piece of mind that some would recoil in horror at the thought. It's my way of embracing some sort of way to become a psychotic in order to kill off certain aspects of me and allowing me to fake it better than I can feel it, if only for your amusement. It's a subject that I see as a flaw rather than a strength and it causes me more harm than good. That and seeing how I interact with others when this is negligible makes me more worthy of attention and it makes me able to give to others what they really want.
And you ask me now, would you really do this? Something that is equated to an emotional lobotomy? Have you honestly thought through this? Are you aware that you will remove that small part of you that may be the root of your entrophic nature?
Yea......in a heart beat. Because even trying to make the move to living from surviving I can see me living without it. It's sick. It's twisted. And if it was a physical appendage I would have hacked it off a long time ago and walked the rest of it off. It has cause more harm than good and just knowing that if can not be used against me ever again would at least provide me with some night's rest.
I'm saying this now, mind you. There is a paradox where I can not be 100% certain just for the fact there is always a sense of error even if the limitations are implemented and the math worked out. And yet, if the genie gave me the wish and magi was a thing.....drop of a hat.
.....
Outside of that, I just have to endure the pain of writing it out, chasing a mood down like a madman and trying to gain the strength to reread it once the madness is placed into words and hope that they have not failed me. Only to find a glimpse of sanity.
I've given up on acceptance and peace. I just want resolution.
And you ask me now, would you really do this? Something that is equated to an emotional lobotomy? Have you honestly thought through this? Are you aware that you will remove that small part of you that may be the root of your entrophic nature?
Yea......in a heart beat. Because even trying to make the move to living from surviving I can see me living without it. It's sick. It's twisted. And if it was a physical appendage I would have hacked it off a long time ago and walked the rest of it off. It has cause more harm than good and just knowing that if can not be used against me ever again would at least provide me with some night's rest.
I'm saying this now, mind you. There is a paradox where I can not be 100% certain just for the fact there is always a sense of error even if the limitations are implemented and the math worked out. And yet, if the genie gave me the wish and magi was a thing.....drop of a hat.
.....
Outside of that, I just have to endure the pain of writing it out, chasing a mood down like a madman and trying to gain the strength to reread it once the madness is placed into words and hope that they have not failed me. Only to find a glimpse of sanity.
I've given up on acceptance and peace. I just want resolution.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
How to be an Ass in a Nightmare
I had a long dream that consisted of three nightmares and I'm going to discuss them so if you don't want to be disturbed, move along.
Go on.
Ok, First one I was being driven into this desert there every now and then you would see the remains of someone hanging. Kind of disturbing, yes, but I could not understand why I was being taken there or why my companions where brutish and silent. One I've reached a hill I was told to get out when a woman from my past walks out.
The ultimatum was this. Forced marriage or I will end up hanging from some sort of cactus tree which would puncture me as I slowly strangled to death. Before hand papers would be "signed" to endure I still got married and my possessions would just be transferred over and that would be that.
Well, good people it seems I'm an asshole in my dreams as well. I've had my share of Nightmares and I know that if I'm not being chased or completely horrified, then I can reason my way out. I started to laugh, and then said that this tree is too short and I wanted something in a curved spike like the one across the way. The thuggish men pulled out rifles and I laughed even harder. It was so sad that "she", and she will only be known as she, tried everything to convince me even kissing some of the brutish men to insight jealousy.
Laughed even harder as I started to fit the noose around the neck and readjust it to just make me strangle and not pop my neck. All the while stating that last time I checked that I'm worth nothing, I'm looking for legitimate work and last time I checked she left for someone like this brutish thug who showed his adoration by pummeling her. At which she threw a tantrum and they all got into a car so that they can just strand me in the desert. I kept laughing as I said that I could not hang myself.
They left with her screaming I ruined everything, this was supposed to be romantic, and I was an ass and she would call me.
Yea.....walk back to civilization from there to arrive at the end of the world. I mean, earthquakes, zombies walking about, Glen Beak leading an army of glue sniffers (hey, I never said my nightmares where not funny). I arrive at a torn down building as certain people wanted me to start planning for graduation. I looked at them and said, um....we been through this. I don't want to and that I think the world has a bit more on it's hands than me planning a dinner, getting photos and getting tons of like on Facebook (boom! Facebook slam). They stared at me wondering what I meant as I was continually bashing in a zombie's head with a shovel. And yet, I get tossed on a gown and cap and they start taking photos of me as I wonder, am I the only one realizing there is a bigger picture. Well, a huge atom bomb drops in the remains of the room as I smile and run off with a mushroom cloud behind me.
Now for some reason I'm in a fancy kitchen being instructed by some huge Asian cook who spoke and automatically had a voice over. I was instructed to take a small suckling piglet and prepare it for a delicious meal. It was already buttered, and stuffed, and with a tiny apple in it's mouth, as I asked why do I need to prep it since it looked done. He was translated into this long speech of ultimate flavor and how life is the ultimate spice as I slowly and horrified realized that it was still alive.
And crying.
I was to slit it's throat and toss it into the oven. This little buttered covered pig was crying and so abused as I was instructed to do this horrible thing. I was ensured that the piglet was already half dead from the forced stuffing and it would be merciful to end it's life now since the people wanted it cooked longer than prescribed. Well, I simply ran off into the distance with a crying buttered piglet in arms as the bombs fell.
Yea.....bloody moon. Don't worry too much. I can see little signs of my day yesterday in these dreams so I doubt that this is the kind of nightmare that is to frighten me, but more of my jerk subconscious trying to tell me things that I am not ready to listen to.
Just wanted to share and get it off my molested chest.
Go on.
Ok, First one I was being driven into this desert there every now and then you would see the remains of someone hanging. Kind of disturbing, yes, but I could not understand why I was being taken there or why my companions where brutish and silent. One I've reached a hill I was told to get out when a woman from my past walks out.
The ultimatum was this. Forced marriage or I will end up hanging from some sort of cactus tree which would puncture me as I slowly strangled to death. Before hand papers would be "signed" to endure I still got married and my possessions would just be transferred over and that would be that.
Well, good people it seems I'm an asshole in my dreams as well. I've had my share of Nightmares and I know that if I'm not being chased or completely horrified, then I can reason my way out. I started to laugh, and then said that this tree is too short and I wanted something in a curved spike like the one across the way. The thuggish men pulled out rifles and I laughed even harder. It was so sad that "she", and she will only be known as she, tried everything to convince me even kissing some of the brutish men to insight jealousy.
Laughed even harder as I started to fit the noose around the neck and readjust it to just make me strangle and not pop my neck. All the while stating that last time I checked that I'm worth nothing, I'm looking for legitimate work and last time I checked she left for someone like this brutish thug who showed his adoration by pummeling her. At which she threw a tantrum and they all got into a car so that they can just strand me in the desert. I kept laughing as I said that I could not hang myself.
They left with her screaming I ruined everything, this was supposed to be romantic, and I was an ass and she would call me.
Yea.....walk back to civilization from there to arrive at the end of the world. I mean, earthquakes, zombies walking about, Glen Beak leading an army of glue sniffers (hey, I never said my nightmares where not funny). I arrive at a torn down building as certain people wanted me to start planning for graduation. I looked at them and said, um....we been through this. I don't want to and that I think the world has a bit more on it's hands than me planning a dinner, getting photos and getting tons of like on Facebook (boom! Facebook slam). They stared at me wondering what I meant as I was continually bashing in a zombie's head with a shovel. And yet, I get tossed on a gown and cap and they start taking photos of me as I wonder, am I the only one realizing there is a bigger picture. Well, a huge atom bomb drops in the remains of the room as I smile and run off with a mushroom cloud behind me.
Now for some reason I'm in a fancy kitchen being instructed by some huge Asian cook who spoke and automatically had a voice over. I was instructed to take a small suckling piglet and prepare it for a delicious meal. It was already buttered, and stuffed, and with a tiny apple in it's mouth, as I asked why do I need to prep it since it looked done. He was translated into this long speech of ultimate flavor and how life is the ultimate spice as I slowly and horrified realized that it was still alive.
And crying.
I was to slit it's throat and toss it into the oven. This little buttered covered pig was crying and so abused as I was instructed to do this horrible thing. I was ensured that the piglet was already half dead from the forced stuffing and it would be merciful to end it's life now since the people wanted it cooked longer than prescribed. Well, I simply ran off into the distance with a crying buttered piglet in arms as the bombs fell.
Yea.....bloody moon. Don't worry too much. I can see little signs of my day yesterday in these dreams so I doubt that this is the kind of nightmare that is to frighten me, but more of my jerk subconscious trying to tell me things that I am not ready to listen to.
Just wanted to share and get it off my molested chest.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Fifteen – Instrumental
I think this is a post that has a long time to be written, especially now that I'm feeling a bit stronger than before. The act that I'm not writing this in the third person or trying to mask this in the veil of fiction is saying alot. I'm kind of proud of the bounds made so far in an astonished and disbelieving sort of mind. Being so long under a rain cloud that after a few days of sunshine I'm quite frighten at the fact that it's not there, not in any way saying that I would love to return to my mind filled with difficulty and a constant state of misery, but that if you remove anything/anyone from their natural state and place them in a complete and different environment you will have them marvel and often time recoil in some sort of minor horror that their existence can be different.
Don't believe? Feed a stray animal some moist chicken or beef from your own plate and they will enter a kind of epiphany where all their suffering has been worth that one moment and you will never be alone since they will stand by your side as companion and confidant. In fact, don't do so unless you are ready to look after them and take them in since that little sliver of hope and gratitude can crush their little heart quickly if you are not ready to have them into your life.
Huh.....that's what this is all about, isn't it? That sliver of hope that can crush us if it's unfed. Not like the first embers of what can be life giving fire it does not punish you for not being unless you count that lost opportunity to have it as grave. BBQ not so much, but in the wilderness with nothing else on your side you will understand that there is nothing more devastating that lost hope.
So yes, I'm here to plead my case, tell my tale and to offer confession to all who watch me now. I do not kneel to any deity but to the universe that spawned me and made me cry out into the coldness of the world. Ha.....no....no I can't blame people for what is done, no matter how much I may want to nor am I going to begin now. Sometimes shit just happens and we can choose to see it as it is or as it could have been. And yet, in my odd case I never had taken time to look at it, but simply force another step forward to this figurative place where I could finally arrive and lose my burdens.
Well, this is it. I'm there. To be honest, I never really believed I would get here. That eye of the storm or the safe harbor where I can find enough solitude to feel.....safe. In fact, the idea of feeling safe has never occurred to me. I can not tell you how safe I finally feel and that work has been done not by my reluctant hands and numb hands, but the work of individuals who I love more than anything in the world. They have done much to offer me some sort of anchor to moor myself to and to finally feel that I am no on the run. Even nomads much know where home lies to travel away from it. And yet with my vagrant soul I had fond no peace or shelter. The last time I've held a concept of 'HOME' that was not chaotic, poisonous or heavy was in the years where I was young. At least early double digits.
Abuse spawns abuse which spawns abuse.
So I'm flying blind right now. I haven't found a song to accompany this or even a direction. I just know I have to say certain things that prose, verse or meter will not allow. I'm quite certain that words may fail me as it had failed me at times when I needed them most. In fact, the only thing I can say that I have intact in my very being is my name. I've been stripped from every bit of human need that can be and after a point, every thing left over, whole or tattered, was cut off by myself to ensure that nothing will ever hold me back again. I must move on. I must arrive to that mythical promise land that never is, was, or will be. And yet, I am here. Almost as if the lie I told myself to keep me from buckling and falling down for the last time has came true in some sort of cruel act.
If I can help you understand what I'm going through it would be that scene in Shawshank when the Older Man and Red get out of prison. Anyone would say that it's a good thing to leave, specially if prison is as horrible as it is said. You can even imagine that the freed individual may even laugh and celebrate until something happens and they are sent back. Sometimes, sometimes you realize that your life has been molded by the horror you had endured for so long and not suffering leaves you alien and not understanding what is next. I've knew this day would come when I realized that I'm close. I never believed it, but I am not one to refuse research. I've looked into much and realized that I am, for the lack of a better word, institutionalized in a mind frame that can be dangerous. The natural thing to do is to run out from a situation where the pressure has been consistent only to fall down and die. Just like returning from the depths of the ocean you have to decompress so that you are able to survive without that constant pressure.
This in fact is my constant theme in everything I've written really. Lovecraft is haunted by the insanity of his parents. King by the lack of a father and the need to feel whole. I have lived a lifetimes worth of trauma and in many times continued to run back in to pull others out, even when they pull me back in, only to realize that I've never decompressed. I have not dealt with many things and it all hit one single nerve that is almost so prevalent that I've worn it upon my breast as my letter and raised it as a banner. My biggest weakness and the whole reason I've built enough defenses and protection and layers and inner circle and the ability to leave anything behind as a man would cut a finger off to survive gangrene. The ability to pile on suffering, hatred, mockery, and ridicule as a defense is that it is also my greatest weakness.
If you strip everything from someone. Anything and everything that they find value and joy, not just figuratively but physically, what do you have left?
Me.
You end up with me.
Except the only thing I had left in the worst moment of my life was my name and that was being torn apart as I sat with nothing left. I realized that this was the moment when most people would take their lives and simply be remembered as a sad story. A moral to scare insolent children from venturing out too far. The "you don't want to be like them/their child/him". I was my own after school special. Ha......if you asked me then if death was a mercy I would tell you it wasn't. And yet with nothing left but my name and that being sullied I had not choice but to take a step forward. It didn't even matter the direction. Just that I was moving forward in circles proved to many that I was still swinging. Back then you physically seen me as how I feel then and sometimes today. As someone said that there are moments when I'm beside myself. This is why.
In time, I've realize that I because the joke of the cosmos although my religious self called it God's Joke. And yet there is something in me that I still have today. Something that will strengthen me, push me, drive me, and make me move forward and give me patience if that movement was only inches: Rage. An anger took me. An insolent, disgruntled, and dismayed feeling that some would equate to tossing me off the mountain to see if I would claw up in survival. Well, I survived. I survived when only my rage fed me. I move forward when my anger was the only thing that kept me warm, safe, and in some sick sense positive. In the matter of over a decade I've finally arrived at the point when the act of me breathing is a huge "fuck you". I've made it and I've sacrificed anything and everything to get to this point to prove to others who have abandoned me in worse and have consoled me in mockery that I can do it.
And sadly, I am still angry. I'm angry to the point that it's killing me. I'm angry to the point that it's my primary feeling. I'm angry to the point that every other emotion is derived from anger. This is why I could not keep friends long. This is why I have a shelf life of two years as a lover and even as a father I could not console out of tenderness, but another manifestation of anger. I have done things with my hands that I have nightmares still and yet I can tell you that I done it out of survival, not as an excuse, but as explanation of my sickness. I am angry to the point that every breath in and is chaotic fuel for some change and entropy. It am the embodiment of what Rage can do for you.
And yet, I am very alone and I accept it fully. I know that swinging this weapon takes as much or not more from me than anyone else. That my anger kills me more than you would know. That my introverted ways comes from my own fear of hurting those around me if left too long around them. Like nuclear fuel, I feel spent and need to go away, even now, from those who make me happy because I feel I will in some way harm them. That my very being would bring chaos. It's not something that I take lightly because I've seen it time and time again. It's easier to pull away from others than to rick hurting them. I do what ever possible to make sure that, even if it means leaving them for some times when I'm the most happiest. I fear losing what little I've somehow managed to gather in this life.
And living many times in solitude I have the strength now to say I need others.
If you watch closely as some of you with keen eyes have already seen this anger does make me self sufficient, but there is a deep sorrow that dwells in me. A sorrow that proved the hardest moments that no one is going to help. No one is going to save you. The Calvary does not exist.Superman will not turn the planet back for you. You are nothing but a shrug in time. You are worthless. If someone dropped you as some spare change, they would not bother picking you back up.
I am not worth the trouble.
That is the feeling I wear all the time. I am not worth the trouble and no matter how you show me, tell me, or prove it to me, from what I've seen the majority of life I, as a human being and as someone who is trying to make life a bit more ....I don't know....I constantly feel that I do not have any value in this life, place, moment. I know my blood is valuable and can save lives. Take it. I know that my hair can help small children hide their sickness and offer some chance to normalcy. Take it. I know my body can do good while I'm here and that I can change the tide for others who may need someone to help them. I'm there. I have always been there. I stalk the human dumping grounds and pull people up and move them forward in hopes that they never need me or anyone else again, not using anger, but the belief that they are valuable. It's why I love you, you reading this now....I love you.....I love you so much that I would give what I have to make you feel loved.....so that no one else can feel what I feel, even if my love comes from my anger......or hurt....or sadness that I am not worth anything. Just because I paid a deep price, why must I leave others to suffer the same if I can just give a little bit more.
And that is who I am. Disposable. Unimportant. Worth a shot and then tossed aside. No one has ever came after me when I leave and I don't expect that they will, even if I look back stupidly. I'm used to it really, damn me to what ever hell you can find I'm used to it. I lift these banners high, with what pride I can muster if only to say I have some pride, as worthless as it is. I do not make attachments, because something disposable do not have that privilege. I do not make future plans because I've had moments, razor at hand and then smiling in the sun. I can not make many promises that I can not deliver under a small amount of time, because I am not promised tomorrow. I know that something may happen. I may fall somehow, and as happy as I am now I know real horror and despair that I know that I am more than capable to take my life and know that this works against me just as using anger to exist. I know I do not have a future and not only feel guilt for living this long when others I've lost could have had another day, but I know I'm in overtime. I know when I should have died. I know the moment and the second when I should have not been here to write this. I write this now not to justify my exit, but to let people understand why I struggle now and will probably struggle forever. I do not want to leave you with questions and I do not want any image of myself that is not true.
The truth must be exposed regardless of how it may paint us. And I say now that I am greatly flawed.
I didn't want to leave you thinking it was ever you. Any of you. I just struggle at times with something so much more greater than myself that I do not take our small times together for granted. I cherish it as the starved eat every grain of rice. Small sittings with nothing said may seem dull to you, but I savor them as my last taste ever. I love our meaningless moments and yes, even our misunderstandings and arguments. I'm sorry and I want to make amends quickly because I don't want to leave you in this state.
And so, with all of this I actually realize that my greatest windmill is not just existing or reaching some milestone, but to be happy.
Can you imagine me happy? Well, I have been happy on and off for the past 5 months. It's in a way my last revenge: to actually live well. I know. It's backwards. I'm saying this because if something .....horrible.....happens, it's not because I was "sad" or "depressed' but struggling with surviving. I don't want people to cry that I am gone or that put a sad label on me that I was just hellbent or "lost". I want all of you to understand that I'm fighting to be happy. I'm trying my best to sustain myself not on sadness, worthlessness, or ever rage, but joy. I want you to remember me as someone who did everything in his ability to be happy. Even if I fail miserably. I want you to know that I'm happy now and I'm growing this little ember of hope as if my life depends on it, because it does. I'm gambling everything to make this work and if I fall to far I know I won't be able to get back up. I'm treating this as serious as it feels.
I've actually worked on my smiling muscles to hold a smile for a minute straight.
Really.
You should be proud of me, not sad because I'm going to hold it for two minutes next and then one day I'll forget that I ever had a problem with my face hurting when I finally smiled and then I won't look like I'm having a stroke.
Do you know how sad it is not being able to smile? That actually made me cry.
Well, fuck that. I may feel worthless, but I'm going to make my smile priceless.
Someone made me realize that.
It helped alot.
Alot.
.....
*smiles for a minute*
So yea.....see why I couldn't find a song to go with this?
So, yes. Even if I'm smiling at you, I feel worthless. I feel my anger at a low simmer that can boil over in times. I have the strongest feeling that if someone has to go I will vote myself off before giving others the idea that they should vote someone off. I am disposable and can withstand hell and suffering like no one you meet. And with that damnation I seek a kind of salvation that my weaknesses and fears can only offer me. I help those who need it, without thanks. I give what I can and will go hungry if possible. I rally others forward because I have no inner strength for myself, but all for those who even think about faltering. I cheer the loudest for you because I know what it's like to not only be cheerless, but also boo'ed.I know what it's like to be despised, hated, and feared. I'm a sacrifice that keeps on living and giving. What's not to love?!?!
ha ha....yea.....that's topic for another day. Not today. I don't want to hamper my happy too much. Just enough to let you on, but not today.
Ok.....I'm actually tired. I'm going to nap. Please don't commit me or have another fucking intervention. Spend time with me. Do what you always do and that will keep me happy. Do not do anything out of the ordinary or you will make me feel funny.
I'll leave you with this because.....why not? Hope and all.
You know who you are.
Thanks.
*goes outside and sit in the sun to fall asleep*
Don't believe? Feed a stray animal some moist chicken or beef from your own plate and they will enter a kind of epiphany where all their suffering has been worth that one moment and you will never be alone since they will stand by your side as companion and confidant. In fact, don't do so unless you are ready to look after them and take them in since that little sliver of hope and gratitude can crush their little heart quickly if you are not ready to have them into your life.
Huh.....that's what this is all about, isn't it? That sliver of hope that can crush us if it's unfed. Not like the first embers of what can be life giving fire it does not punish you for not being unless you count that lost opportunity to have it as grave. BBQ not so much, but in the wilderness with nothing else on your side you will understand that there is nothing more devastating that lost hope.
So yes, I'm here to plead my case, tell my tale and to offer confession to all who watch me now. I do not kneel to any deity but to the universe that spawned me and made me cry out into the coldness of the world. Ha.....no....no I can't blame people for what is done, no matter how much I may want to nor am I going to begin now. Sometimes shit just happens and we can choose to see it as it is or as it could have been. And yet, in my odd case I never had taken time to look at it, but simply force another step forward to this figurative place where I could finally arrive and lose my burdens.
Well, this is it. I'm there. To be honest, I never really believed I would get here. That eye of the storm or the safe harbor where I can find enough solitude to feel.....safe. In fact, the idea of feeling safe has never occurred to me. I can not tell you how safe I finally feel and that work has been done not by my reluctant hands and numb hands, but the work of individuals who I love more than anything in the world. They have done much to offer me some sort of anchor to moor myself to and to finally feel that I am no on the run. Even nomads much know where home lies to travel away from it. And yet with my vagrant soul I had fond no peace or shelter. The last time I've held a concept of 'HOME' that was not chaotic, poisonous or heavy was in the years where I was young. At least early double digits.
Abuse spawns abuse which spawns abuse.
So I'm flying blind right now. I haven't found a song to accompany this or even a direction. I just know I have to say certain things that prose, verse or meter will not allow. I'm quite certain that words may fail me as it had failed me at times when I needed them most. In fact, the only thing I can say that I have intact in my very being is my name. I've been stripped from every bit of human need that can be and after a point, every thing left over, whole or tattered, was cut off by myself to ensure that nothing will ever hold me back again. I must move on. I must arrive to that mythical promise land that never is, was, or will be. And yet, I am here. Almost as if the lie I told myself to keep me from buckling and falling down for the last time has came true in some sort of cruel act.
If I can help you understand what I'm going through it would be that scene in Shawshank when the Older Man and Red get out of prison. Anyone would say that it's a good thing to leave, specially if prison is as horrible as it is said. You can even imagine that the freed individual may even laugh and celebrate until something happens and they are sent back. Sometimes, sometimes you realize that your life has been molded by the horror you had endured for so long and not suffering leaves you alien and not understanding what is next. I've knew this day would come when I realized that I'm close. I never believed it, but I am not one to refuse research. I've looked into much and realized that I am, for the lack of a better word, institutionalized in a mind frame that can be dangerous. The natural thing to do is to run out from a situation where the pressure has been consistent only to fall down and die. Just like returning from the depths of the ocean you have to decompress so that you are able to survive without that constant pressure.
This in fact is my constant theme in everything I've written really. Lovecraft is haunted by the insanity of his parents. King by the lack of a father and the need to feel whole. I have lived a lifetimes worth of trauma and in many times continued to run back in to pull others out, even when they pull me back in, only to realize that I've never decompressed. I have not dealt with many things and it all hit one single nerve that is almost so prevalent that I've worn it upon my breast as my letter and raised it as a banner. My biggest weakness and the whole reason I've built enough defenses and protection and layers and inner circle and the ability to leave anything behind as a man would cut a finger off to survive gangrene. The ability to pile on suffering, hatred, mockery, and ridicule as a defense is that it is also my greatest weakness.
If you strip everything from someone. Anything and everything that they find value and joy, not just figuratively but physically, what do you have left?
Me.
You end up with me.
Except the only thing I had left in the worst moment of my life was my name and that was being torn apart as I sat with nothing left. I realized that this was the moment when most people would take their lives and simply be remembered as a sad story. A moral to scare insolent children from venturing out too far. The "you don't want to be like them/their child/him". I was my own after school special. Ha......if you asked me then if death was a mercy I would tell you it wasn't. And yet with nothing left but my name and that being sullied I had not choice but to take a step forward. It didn't even matter the direction. Just that I was moving forward in circles proved to many that I was still swinging. Back then you physically seen me as how I feel then and sometimes today. As someone said that there are moments when I'm beside myself. This is why.
In time, I've realize that I because the joke of the cosmos although my religious self called it God's Joke. And yet there is something in me that I still have today. Something that will strengthen me, push me, drive me, and make me move forward and give me patience if that movement was only inches: Rage. An anger took me. An insolent, disgruntled, and dismayed feeling that some would equate to tossing me off the mountain to see if I would claw up in survival. Well, I survived. I survived when only my rage fed me. I move forward when my anger was the only thing that kept me warm, safe, and in some sick sense positive. In the matter of over a decade I've finally arrived at the point when the act of me breathing is a huge "fuck you". I've made it and I've sacrificed anything and everything to get to this point to prove to others who have abandoned me in worse and have consoled me in mockery that I can do it.
And sadly, I am still angry. I'm angry to the point that it's killing me. I'm angry to the point that it's my primary feeling. I'm angry to the point that every other emotion is derived from anger. This is why I could not keep friends long. This is why I have a shelf life of two years as a lover and even as a father I could not console out of tenderness, but another manifestation of anger. I have done things with my hands that I have nightmares still and yet I can tell you that I done it out of survival, not as an excuse, but as explanation of my sickness. I am angry to the point that every breath in and is chaotic fuel for some change and entropy. It am the embodiment of what Rage can do for you.
And yet, I am very alone and I accept it fully. I know that swinging this weapon takes as much or not more from me than anyone else. That my anger kills me more than you would know. That my introverted ways comes from my own fear of hurting those around me if left too long around them. Like nuclear fuel, I feel spent and need to go away, even now, from those who make me happy because I feel I will in some way harm them. That my very being would bring chaos. It's not something that I take lightly because I've seen it time and time again. It's easier to pull away from others than to rick hurting them. I do what ever possible to make sure that, even if it means leaving them for some times when I'm the most happiest. I fear losing what little I've somehow managed to gather in this life.
And living many times in solitude I have the strength now to say I need others.
If you watch closely as some of you with keen eyes have already seen this anger does make me self sufficient, but there is a deep sorrow that dwells in me. A sorrow that proved the hardest moments that no one is going to help. No one is going to save you. The Calvary does not exist.Superman will not turn the planet back for you. You are nothing but a shrug in time. You are worthless. If someone dropped you as some spare change, they would not bother picking you back up.
I am not worth the trouble.
That is the feeling I wear all the time. I am not worth the trouble and no matter how you show me, tell me, or prove it to me, from what I've seen the majority of life I, as a human being and as someone who is trying to make life a bit more ....I don't know....I constantly feel that I do not have any value in this life, place, moment. I know my blood is valuable and can save lives. Take it. I know that my hair can help small children hide their sickness and offer some chance to normalcy. Take it. I know my body can do good while I'm here and that I can change the tide for others who may need someone to help them. I'm there. I have always been there. I stalk the human dumping grounds and pull people up and move them forward in hopes that they never need me or anyone else again, not using anger, but the belief that they are valuable. It's why I love you, you reading this now....I love you.....I love you so much that I would give what I have to make you feel loved.....so that no one else can feel what I feel, even if my love comes from my anger......or hurt....or sadness that I am not worth anything. Just because I paid a deep price, why must I leave others to suffer the same if I can just give a little bit more.
And that is who I am. Disposable. Unimportant. Worth a shot and then tossed aside. No one has ever came after me when I leave and I don't expect that they will, even if I look back stupidly. I'm used to it really, damn me to what ever hell you can find I'm used to it. I lift these banners high, with what pride I can muster if only to say I have some pride, as worthless as it is. I do not make attachments, because something disposable do not have that privilege. I do not make future plans because I've had moments, razor at hand and then smiling in the sun. I can not make many promises that I can not deliver under a small amount of time, because I am not promised tomorrow. I know that something may happen. I may fall somehow, and as happy as I am now I know real horror and despair that I know that I am more than capable to take my life and know that this works against me just as using anger to exist. I know I do not have a future and not only feel guilt for living this long when others I've lost could have had another day, but I know I'm in overtime. I know when I should have died. I know the moment and the second when I should have not been here to write this. I write this now not to justify my exit, but to let people understand why I struggle now and will probably struggle forever. I do not want to leave you with questions and I do not want any image of myself that is not true.
The truth must be exposed regardless of how it may paint us. And I say now that I am greatly flawed.
I didn't want to leave you thinking it was ever you. Any of you. I just struggle at times with something so much more greater than myself that I do not take our small times together for granted. I cherish it as the starved eat every grain of rice. Small sittings with nothing said may seem dull to you, but I savor them as my last taste ever. I love our meaningless moments and yes, even our misunderstandings and arguments. I'm sorry and I want to make amends quickly because I don't want to leave you in this state.
And so, with all of this I actually realize that my greatest windmill is not just existing or reaching some milestone, but to be happy.
Can you imagine me happy? Well, I have been happy on and off for the past 5 months. It's in a way my last revenge: to actually live well. I know. It's backwards. I'm saying this because if something .....horrible.....happens, it's not because I was "sad" or "depressed' but struggling with surviving. I don't want people to cry that I am gone or that put a sad label on me that I was just hellbent or "lost". I want all of you to understand that I'm fighting to be happy. I'm trying my best to sustain myself not on sadness, worthlessness, or ever rage, but joy. I want you to remember me as someone who did everything in his ability to be happy. Even if I fail miserably. I want you to know that I'm happy now and I'm growing this little ember of hope as if my life depends on it, because it does. I'm gambling everything to make this work and if I fall to far I know I won't be able to get back up. I'm treating this as serious as it feels.
I've actually worked on my smiling muscles to hold a smile for a minute straight.
Really.
You should be proud of me, not sad because I'm going to hold it for two minutes next and then one day I'll forget that I ever had a problem with my face hurting when I finally smiled and then I won't look like I'm having a stroke.
Do you know how sad it is not being able to smile? That actually made me cry.
Well, fuck that. I may feel worthless, but I'm going to make my smile priceless.
Someone made me realize that.
It helped alot.
Alot.
.....
*smiles for a minute*
So yea.....see why I couldn't find a song to go with this?
So, yes. Even if I'm smiling at you, I feel worthless. I feel my anger at a low simmer that can boil over in times. I have the strongest feeling that if someone has to go I will vote myself off before giving others the idea that they should vote someone off. I am disposable and can withstand hell and suffering like no one you meet. And with that damnation I seek a kind of salvation that my weaknesses and fears can only offer me. I help those who need it, without thanks. I give what I can and will go hungry if possible. I rally others forward because I have no inner strength for myself, but all for those who even think about faltering. I cheer the loudest for you because I know what it's like to not only be cheerless, but also boo'ed.I know what it's like to be despised, hated, and feared. I'm a sacrifice that keeps on living and giving. What's not to love?!?!
ha ha....yea.....that's topic for another day. Not today. I don't want to hamper my happy too much. Just enough to let you on, but not today.
Ok.....I'm actually tired. I'm going to nap. Please don't commit me or have another fucking intervention. Spend time with me. Do what you always do and that will keep me happy. Do not do anything out of the ordinary or you will make me feel funny.
I'll leave you with this because.....why not? Hope and all.
"The antidote for 50 enemies is one friend" ~Aristotle
You know who you are.
Thanks.
*goes outside and sit in the sun to fall asleep*
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Fourteen – Hawkmoon 269
The darkness was unfathomable as the black sedan roared through the desert. Time and space never felt more intangible then it does now. It reminded him of what it may have been early in the birth of the world as eons passed over before life had enough sentient thought to look up towards the think and heavy blanket of stars and know that they were alone. How the need to understand and define what could not be explained with sight alone cause them to look above and find any meaning to why they were and why they leave. If he knew his history well, as we all know he does, the Kachina look down upon the Hopi when have simply passed on the mantel of mortality to join their ancestors with understanding, love and the precious rain that had fallen some time ago. The blessing of rain is in many of their songs that they were questioned if all of their music had a desire for rain. The elder smiled and responded to the anthropologist that humanity has always sang for what they needed most and that his people living in such arid landscape had always looked up towards those favorable Kachina and asked for the water that falls from the sky to make their existence passable. He also remarked to the anthropologist that his own people sing for love and yet they still sing for it now.
His voice joins them tonight.
The sedan's V8 was a suitable choice for the venture and even though he would have favored something a bit more sleeker the engine alone made the return pilgrimage forgiving. Not everyone can say that they had spent their last moment of time with someone they love dearly only to discover that just a few hours from now they would be gone. Perhaps with the Kachina. He held that thought closely since his conflict with faith would take another decade to manifest in a night of blood. Time did not exist here and simply moving took on sinister notes as he floored the engine to what he could. He understood that he could be pulled over at any moment, but he was against a clock that did not exist here and needed to be ready for an hour of time that he spent under books and the bedside of a dying woman. He needed to punish himself as well of all humanity around him, yet for now he took it out on the engine as he roared the beast forward across the dark sands.
His companions have fallen into slumber that is not restful, yet only enough to chew up hours of time. They lay back as far as the ample seats will allow only to know that even in this beast it's not as favorable to deep REM as one's own bed, something he has given up in some form of penance since the age of 16. He had never had his own bed and chances are he will never have it again. Nomads with vagabond tendencies somehow do not find solace in such material safety nets as he had either slept near some sort of 'fuck it' bag, packed and ready to leave into the oblivion of a new venture or depended on the comfort of a stranger. Having no sense of peace that some rely on sleep to deliver he has opted on drifter shoes and lain on floors, couches and yes, if lucky in the bed of a warm and sympathetic being. He favored the first two, yet secretly dreaded/yearned the latter. The passing of flesh has lacked some restful aspect that if lucky his eager and dedicated action would earn his bedmate some respite, yet for him it had never gave him true peace. Sex would silence Prometheus bound, yet it would never give him those moments that he yearned most for.
They say heroin is the same way, yet he had chosen his vice and found it's choice just as destructive. Thankfully it is the kind of destruction that would only incinerate him as moth to flame.
And how that moth burned.
And will continue to burn. Flames change, yet the moth still burns.
Being the only one somewhat awake for the passage, his mind wanders as it has always wandered. Without methods of keeping his subconscious at bay, his thoughts run rampant after such a noble attempt at preparing for his fast approaching task. Plant phyla can only keep certain thoughts away without thoughts of reproduction. His mind wanders the last time he had slept with anyone and the names change as quickly as a child runs through the alphabet with fear of loosing such attained knowledge as a tower of blocks would fall. His enslaved mind always worked in chains that interlocked into the depths of his mind he didn't want to approach, much less be trapped in a speeding car towards what he called civilization. Here, time has no bound as he would then add several more names and issues to his long list of lovers who had either left him empty or had torn off another sliver of heart that would soon be up for the price of sustenance and Shakespearean spending cash. Here time warped and changed. His appearance would change with the length and color of his hair. Words would haunt him and let him know that his most primal of needs will not be met, yet you should take consolation in guttural sexual satisfaction that would just leave him in dire needs of more. The fist hit of the white serpent always promised more and neglected much. It would never be the same as he slowly spoke each of their names and how devastating they had left him. Some left some lingering need. Others left him shaking and enraged at his weakness and folly to have chanced a moment of joy under such deaf and insolent stars. Others would only be a mystery and have suffered the fool to hoard and nurture hope that would only leave him willing to fling himself against the self mutilating affect of his only addiction.
Yes, he can admit that now. He is addicted. There will be a time that he would understand that he only wanted on thing for individuals who would only want him for conquest or even fodder for their own needs. Some would foster his delusion. Other would simply take use of it to squeeze out of him what they could not from others. In a matter of a small time he would be tossed aside time and time again. He would grown calluses and simply understand that he had some unwanted attribute that would attract just enough attention to be tossed aside. An expiration date that he would either cut relations close to the end to make sure his moments remain sweet yet unfulfilled or wait his time longer and simply fall out of favor. Other times he would chase flames that would call to him time and time again and like the fool he would fling himself close only to suffer enough pain to force him to recollect another attempt.
Jaded? Of course. Hopeful? Damn him, he would always be. When one's vice is the love of strays he would always have hope. He would offer sanctuary using the tatters of his heart. He would build them up and offer them advice and hope and love just to reach an endgame where time was reached and strays would leave despite his need to reach out and love those who needed it most. His choice would only be self destructive and if he dared numb himself in the belief that they would find permanent homes in the hearts of others as he would remain as tattered and worthless as the shelter that took them in. And yet, some still returned only to have him raise them back up to have another, mainly themselves, to tear them back down.
Such a stupid fool masquerading as a being of pure logic, your chaotic nature always betrayed you. So much as to have others take hold of what remains as a heart. So much as he still pulls away from others and yet know he starves himself from a need that only a vice can make feel as urgent and needed. He suffered and laughs and wakes up broken and worthless. He cleans up and calls his shield men to grow in ranks and adds another layer to his own protective beast.
He floors it once more hitting state lines as he trades one desert for another. It would be hours before he can close his eyes for only a moment, drag himself into a shower, drive to his obligation and do what needs done until his eye sight ends the cartoon and all the caffeine and nicotine would finally fail him. He would slumber shamelessly on wet grass until he could walk towards his mule, slumber for a few hours more to allow him to drive home safely enough. Such a noble whipping boy. Sleepless moments would only grow as he traveled to floor where he would sleep two days more to recover his senses.
Yet that was then, and the desert still had hold of him. It would always have hold of him.
He brings up that immortal puzzle once more. As the moth returns to it's flame. As the criminal to it's crime. As a masochistic fool who returns to his beating somehow expecting new results that only a brilliant man can call madness. He punishes himself over the constant details and the continual scrutiny of staring over the same information as if a hidden detail or a new lead would just appear in the right angel or frame of mind. Each and every time he compares and think. He wears many shoes and takes on all the roles only to arrive the baffling answer of 'I don't know' and a more frightening realization of 'because they could'. He changes the perpetrator and their role only to arrive at the only x factor between them all: himself. He is the x factor that links all these different people together. It has to be him.
And just as any good horror writer can convey, the forbidden answer arrives. It chills him to the point where he swerves the beast roaring at 90 mph, waking his fellow travelers as they sheepishly question their rude awakening. "Rabbit" is the easiest answer he can muster and lets them know he needs to fill up at the next station. He'd tore into that tank of gas and made great time. He might get back my 4 am. They mumble their incoherent comments and return to slumber.
He walks over to the pump and fills the beast with the best. At least one of them will dine and work well. Why not? It has doesn't better than anything else in his life. Funny, the concept of rewarding one's work and loyalty does not go to far past machinery. His own sustenance differs as he walks over to the small store light with florescent light. He is not looking for a decent meal, but what will get him by. He reaches over to two silver cans and some sort of packaged food stuff as he walks over to the counter. The pretty cashier smiles and comes awake with his arrival. Small talk is had as she offers a bit too much kindness for his taste. How is it that you would turn from this? They smile and he even makes an effort to flirt while asking for the restroom key. She obliges and smiles, making a comment that all the cuties seem to be in a rush somewhere else. It would take him 5 years to discover that charm is only an act that is mastered by the bored, sales workers and serial killers.
Splashing cold water under this harsh light made him see his understand that he is a child of a future past. The lines will appear in time and hard earned gray would creep into his temples. His brow held some doubt lines, but he always held doubt closely. A few more hard lessons must be learned and a handful of women must pass through his life. He stares into his face as is the truth is on the surface and time was being bent to tell him small preventative secrets to prevent hell his way.
"She will use you to clean her conscious and toss you aside."
"She will only want you as a fetish and abandon recant once you shared he bed."
"She will only keep you at arms length, yet leave you on a shelf so no one touches you"
"You are the 'other man' and you will know when she leaves. She will then try to burn all bridges only to build faulty rafts from the charred remains"
The cold water washes it all away. He is not a creature to understand a warning, but one who must pay his price in blood. He would learn his lessons in time and the answer will fade away and return as the song of the turtle does. Funny, the cosmic joke plays on and he still does not understand how on who is miserly with things hard earned could ever survive. He would become that miser and hold back what he always wanted the most. A small circle of companions not met yet would help him more than he would know and yet, he will hold on to his need with a fury. It's funny how those who hunger are willing to share measly morsels of food with others. Those with nothing give their coppers willingly. It's always those who know how important and valuable something is are more than willing to give you all that they have in hopes of fostering ......love? Is that even right? Love? And yet, after so many times he would give it up his trust willingly it would be his trust that would crush him once more.
Or as Stephen King would write, "Their love.....he used their love to kill them both."
Oh cosmic joke, how can you make anyone laugh?
He paid for his items and made the beast roar once more. Time was being burned and time must move on for now before it moves on. The beast roars onto the 10 once more and head to the respite of Angels and land of the deviant. He calls this city home now and ever and would not call it any other way. Many would come and go, beg him to leave and curse him for staying not wondering that his soul is more than attached there, it's the city itself. Not one where others would be disenfranchised with phonies, posers and "insincere" but one where small plants struggle against the pavement and heat to live, an ocean that washes more sins way that any preacher can market, and hidden places where he can disappear and call holy. Those who toss aside his home would never understand that they seek only an ideal that never was and will never be. An ideal built by fools to entrance more fools. The city was a test to see if those who had eyes can see and if they can understand that using one's illusion was more than a means of presenting, but a way of life. A filter that pulled those who can not see from those who see him as he suits them leaving those who see him as he is.
Simply a fool giving what little he values most to those who would only step above him to their own goals and ideals.
Not all sacrifices are killed. Some are tossed aside and allowed to bleed out meaning and thought as the cosmic joke plays on. Some will call it culture. He would call it survival and simply limit his moment of joy to less that two years at best. As much as he wonders, the truth is disturbing and harsh as he spurs the beast out of the desert and into what some would call civilization. Time slowly beings to have meaning and this timeless moment will end and moments move forward. He realizes now that if he knew what was in store he would bleed himself out at that border of time close enough to see himself disappear from existence. Yet who will please the Cosmic joke, but Ka's fool? Salvation and enlightenment for all who bleeds him, yet none for him.
See......funny. How else would you treat a sacrifice than to make them immortal?
That would not matter now. He had a test to take and suffering to live. He had to prove a point that only the shallow will never understand unless they have twitter to question, yet not to search.
Ah.......why not? Legends are born of suffering for those who know not the meaning.
And his Legend was only budding now.
Like a runaway train
Like thunder needs rain
His voice joins them tonight.
Like a desert needs rain
The sedan's V8 was a suitable choice for the venture and even though he would have favored something a bit more sleeker the engine alone made the return pilgrimage forgiving. Not everyone can say that they had spent their last moment of time with someone they love dearly only to discover that just a few hours from now they would be gone. Perhaps with the Kachina. He held that thought closely since his conflict with faith would take another decade to manifest in a night of blood. Time did not exist here and simply moving took on sinister notes as he floored the engine to what he could. He understood that he could be pulled over at any moment, but he was against a clock that did not exist here and needed to be ready for an hour of time that he spent under books and the bedside of a dying woman. He needed to punish himself as well of all humanity around him, yet for now he took it out on the engine as he roared the beast forward across the dark sands.
When the night has no end
And the day yet to begin
His companions have fallen into slumber that is not restful, yet only enough to chew up hours of time. They lay back as far as the ample seats will allow only to know that even in this beast it's not as favorable to deep REM as one's own bed, something he has given up in some form of penance since the age of 16. He had never had his own bed and chances are he will never have it again. Nomads with vagabond tendencies somehow do not find solace in such material safety nets as he had either slept near some sort of 'fuck it' bag, packed and ready to leave into the oblivion of a new venture or depended on the comfort of a stranger. Having no sense of peace that some rely on sleep to deliver he has opted on drifter shoes and lain on floors, couches and yes, if lucky in the bed of a warm and sympathetic being. He favored the first two, yet secretly dreaded/yearned the latter. The passing of flesh has lacked some restful aspect that if lucky his eager and dedicated action would earn his bedmate some respite, yet for him it had never gave him true peace. Sex would silence Prometheus bound, yet it would never give him those moments that he yearned most for.
As the room spins around
Like a rhythm unbroken
Like honey on her tongue
Like a sheet stained
Like oxygen
Like the hot needs the sun
Like sunlight
Like a Phoenix rising needs a holy tree
Like the sweet revenge of a bitter enemy
And will continue to burn. Flames change, yet the moth still burns.
Like tongues of flame
Like a thought unchained
Being the only one somewhat awake for the passage, his mind wanders as it has always wandered. Without methods of keeping his subconscious at bay, his thoughts run rampant after such a noble attempt at preparing for his fast approaching task. Plant phyla can only keep certain thoughts away without thoughts of reproduction. His mind wanders the last time he had slept with anyone and the names change as quickly as a child runs through the alphabet with fear of loosing such attained knowledge as a tower of blocks would fall. His enslaved mind always worked in chains that interlocked into the depths of his mind he didn't want to approach, much less be trapped in a speeding car towards what he called civilization. Here, time has no bound as he would then add several more names and issues to his long list of lovers who had either left him empty or had torn off another sliver of heart that would soon be up for the price of sustenance and Shakespearean spending cash. Here time warped and changed. His appearance would change with the length and color of his hair. Words would haunt him and let him know that his most primal of needs will not be met, yet you should take consolation in guttural sexual satisfaction that would just leave him in dire needs of more. The fist hit of the white serpent always promised more and neglected much. It would never be the same as he slowly spoke each of their names and how devastating they had left him. Some left some lingering need. Others left him shaking and enraged at his weakness and folly to have chanced a moment of joy under such deaf and insolent stars. Others would only be a mystery and have suffered the fool to hoard and nurture hope that would only leave him willing to fling himself against the self mutilating affect of his only addiction.
Like a town needs a name
Like a drifter needs a room
Yes, he can admit that now. He is addicted. There will be a time that he would understand that he only wanted on thing for individuals who would only want him for conquest or even fodder for their own needs. Some would foster his delusion. Other would simply take use of it to squeeze out of him what they could not from others. In a matter of a small time he would be tossed aside time and time again. He would grown calluses and simply understand that he had some unwanted attribute that would attract just enough attention to be tossed aside. An expiration date that he would either cut relations close to the end to make sure his moments remain sweet yet unfulfilled or wait his time longer and simply fall out of favor. Other times he would chase flames that would call to him time and time again and like the fool he would fling himself close only to suffer enough pain to force him to recollect another attempt.
Like a needle needs a vein
Like drums in the night
Like sweet soul music
Like the muzzle of a gun
Like powder needs a spark
Such a stupid fool masquerading as a being of pure logic, your chaotic nature always betrayed you. So much as to have others take hold of what remains as a heart. So much as he still pulls away from others and yet know he starves himself from a need that only a vice can make feel as urgent and needed. He suffered and laughs and wakes up broken and worthless. He cleans up and calls his shield men to grow in ranks and adds another layer to his own protective beast.
He floors it once more hitting state lines as he trades one desert for another. It would be hours before he can close his eyes for only a moment, drag himself into a shower, drive to his obligation and do what needs done until his eye sight ends the cartoon and all the caffeine and nicotine would finally fail him. He would slumber shamelessly on wet grass until he could walk towards his mule, slumber for a few hours more to allow him to drive home safely enough. Such a noble whipping boy. Sleepless moments would only grow as he traveled to floor where he would sleep two days more to recover his senses.
Like black coffee
Like nicotine
Yet that was then, and the desert still had hold of him. It would always have hold of him.
He brings up that immortal puzzle once more. As the moth returns to it's flame. As the criminal to it's crime. As a masochistic fool who returns to his beating somehow expecting new results that only a brilliant man can call madness. He punishes himself over the constant details and the continual scrutiny of staring over the same information as if a hidden detail or a new lead would just appear in the right angel or frame of mind. Each and every time he compares and think. He wears many shoes and takes on all the roles only to arrive the baffling answer of 'I don't know' and a more frightening realization of 'because they could'. He changes the perpetrator and their role only to arrive at the only x factor between them all: himself. He is the x factor that links all these different people together. It has to be him.
And just as any good horror writer can convey, the forbidden answer arrives. It chills him to the point where he swerves the beast roaring at 90 mph, waking his fellow travelers as they sheepishly question their rude awakening. "Rabbit" is the easiest answer he can muster and lets them know he needs to fill up at the next station. He'd tore into that tank of gas and made great time. He might get back my 4 am. They mumble their incoherent comments and return to slumber.
He walks over to the pump and fills the beast with the best. At least one of them will dine and work well. Why not? It has doesn't better than anything else in his life. Funny, the concept of rewarding one's work and loyalty does not go to far past machinery. His own sustenance differs as he walks over to the small store light with florescent light. He is not looking for a decent meal, but what will get him by. He reaches over to two silver cans and some sort of packaged food stuff as he walks over to the counter. The pretty cashier smiles and comes awake with his arrival. Small talk is had as she offers a bit too much kindness for his taste. How is it that you would turn from this? They smile and he even makes an effort to flirt while asking for the restroom key. She obliges and smiles, making a comment that all the cuties seem to be in a rush somewhere else. It would take him 5 years to discover that charm is only an act that is mastered by the bored, sales workers and serial killers.
Like lies need the dark
Splashing cold water under this harsh light made him see his understand that he is a child of a future past. The lines will appear in time and hard earned gray would creep into his temples. His brow held some doubt lines, but he always held doubt closely. A few more hard lessons must be learned and a handful of women must pass through his life. He stares into his face as is the truth is on the surface and time was being bent to tell him small preventative secrets to prevent hell his way.
"She will use you to clean her conscious and toss you aside."
"She will only want you as a fetish and abandon recant once you shared he bed."
"She will only keep you at arms length, yet leave you on a shelf so no one touches you"
"You are the 'other man' and you will know when she leaves. She will then try to burn all bridges only to build faulty rafts from the charred remains"
The cold water washes it all away. He is not a creature to understand a warning, but one who must pay his price in blood. He would learn his lessons in time and the answer will fade away and return as the song of the turtle does. Funny, the cosmic joke plays on and he still does not understand how on who is miserly with things hard earned could ever survive. He would become that miser and hold back what he always wanted the most. A small circle of companions not met yet would help him more than he would know and yet, he will hold on to his need with a fury. It's funny how those who hunger are willing to share measly morsels of food with others. Those with nothing give their coppers willingly. It's always those who know how important and valuable something is are more than willing to give you all that they have in hopes of fostering ......love? Is that even right? Love? And yet, after so many times he would give it up his trust willingly it would be his trust that would crush him once more.
Or as Stephen King would write, "Their love.....he used their love to kill them both."
Oh cosmic joke, how can you make anyone laugh?
Like a preacher needs pain
Like faith needs a doubt
Like a freeway out
Simply a fool giving what little he values most to those who would only step above him to their own goals and ideals.
Not all sacrifices are killed. Some are tossed aside and allowed to bleed out meaning and thought as the cosmic joke plays on. Some will call it culture. He would call it survival and simply limit his moment of joy to less that two years at best. As much as he wonders, the truth is disturbing and harsh as he spurs the beast out of the desert and into what some would call civilization. Time slowly beings to have meaning and this timeless moment will end and moments move forward. He realizes now that if he knew what was in store he would bleed himself out at that border of time close enough to see himself disappear from existence. Yet who will please the Cosmic joke, but Ka's fool? Salvation and enlightenment for all who bleeds him, yet none for him.
Like coming home
And you don't know where you've been
See......funny. How else would you treat a sacrifice than to make them immortal?
That would not matter now. He had a test to take and suffering to live. He had to prove a point that only the shallow will never understand unless they have twitter to question, yet not to search.
Ah.......why not? Legends are born of suffering for those who know not the meaning.
And his Legend was only budding now.
Cookie Talk
So this happened.
Nameless Person: I've been reading your writing.
Me: Ok.
NP: DO you really mean it? What you write?
Me: That's either too vague or a loaded question.
NP: The stuff you write about. It's actually touching. I'm kind of shocked that....
Me: .....that I wrote it
NP: ....that you feel that way. It's sad, sometimes heartbreaking. Other times I'm laughing so hard that I can't breath. But then you turn the tables and drop something heavy.
Me: .......
NP:.........you don't want to talk about this?
Me: I don't ever talk about my writing.
NP: Why?
Me: It's my way of making sure I can write the hard things. I don't talk about it nor do I want other talking to me about it.
NP: Then how do you get over it? How do you move past it?
Me: Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I just need to see it as it is and then it lets go enough.
NP: Is this therapeutic to you?
Me: Helps me sleep. Helps me get through some of the things I have to take with me.
NP: Take with you?
Me: To the grave.
NP: .....why?
Me: Because I can keep a promise. If someone makes me promise I keep it. My word isn't cheap, even if it tears me apart sometimes.
NP: But if you don't....
Me: I like cookies.
NP: ....huh...
Me: I like cookies. They're tasty and good.
NP: I don't understand....
Me: This is my way of changing the subject so I don't have to relive things and we can still stay friends. I like cookies.
NP: Yea......cookies are good.
Me: I know. They're the one thing I love most of all that never change. It's like being 7 for a small amount of time. It's my way of being safe and little and innocent and not having to put on a farce and not having to drag myself on when things get so heavy that I can't bear the weight of it all. It's a moment of peace that helps me stay strong for those who would fall apart if I gave up. I like cookies damn lot.
NP: ......
*awkward silence for a few minutes*
NP: Is there anything I can do for you?
Me: Besides sharing a cookie with me. I've gotten over that whole selfish vein when it comes with food.
NP: I mean.....
Me: Just keep reading. I feel good that someone is reading. I feel good knowing that someone knows even if I don't have the strength to make the words or even have them near me to pull the words up. Just keep reading until you can't stand it anymore. Just don't tell me about it.
NP: Ok.....I can do that.
Me: ok.........thank you. This cookie talk has made me peckish. Let's go to the bakery. I can use one right about now.
NP: They have good coffee too.
Me: Do they?
Moral: I don't know yet. I don't think I'll ever know.
Nameless Person: I've been reading your writing.
Me: Ok.
NP: DO you really mean it? What you write?
Me: That's either too vague or a loaded question.
NP: The stuff you write about. It's actually touching. I'm kind of shocked that....
Me: .....that I wrote it
NP: ....that you feel that way. It's sad, sometimes heartbreaking. Other times I'm laughing so hard that I can't breath. But then you turn the tables and drop something heavy.
Me: .......
NP:.........you don't want to talk about this?
Me: I don't ever talk about my writing.
NP: Why?
Me: It's my way of making sure I can write the hard things. I don't talk about it nor do I want other talking to me about it.
NP: Then how do you get over it? How do you move past it?
Me: Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I just need to see it as it is and then it lets go enough.
NP: Is this therapeutic to you?
Me: Helps me sleep. Helps me get through some of the things I have to take with me.
NP: Take with you?
Me: To the grave.
NP: .....why?
Me: Because I can keep a promise. If someone makes me promise I keep it. My word isn't cheap, even if it tears me apart sometimes.
NP: But if you don't....
Me: I like cookies.
NP: ....huh...
Me: I like cookies. They're tasty and good.
NP: I don't understand....
Me: This is my way of changing the subject so I don't have to relive things and we can still stay friends. I like cookies.
NP: Yea......cookies are good.
Me: I know. They're the one thing I love most of all that never change. It's like being 7 for a small amount of time. It's my way of being safe and little and innocent and not having to put on a farce and not having to drag myself on when things get so heavy that I can't bear the weight of it all. It's a moment of peace that helps me stay strong for those who would fall apart if I gave up. I like cookies damn lot.
NP: ......
*awkward silence for a few minutes*
NP: Is there anything I can do for you?
Me: Besides sharing a cookie with me. I've gotten over that whole selfish vein when it comes with food.
NP: I mean.....
Me: Just keep reading. I feel good that someone is reading. I feel good knowing that someone knows even if I don't have the strength to make the words or even have them near me to pull the words up. Just keep reading until you can't stand it anymore. Just don't tell me about it.
NP: Ok.....I can do that.
Me: ok.........thank you. This cookie talk has made me peckish. Let's go to the bakery. I can use one right about now.
NP: They have good coffee too.
Me: Do they?
Moral: I don't know yet. I don't think I'll ever know.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Shower Epiphany: Gone, back again, and onwards
After hitting 20.0% body fat yesterday I checked again and it's a bit higher than 20.0% today, but understanding how homeostasis works I know that it's going to drop down to my goal and even lower soon. It's part of that rebalancing that your body does when you introduce enough chaos to for it to change. Something that I've followed from my classes in Biology, Chemistry, Kin, Physics and even in English literature. There is no level of normalcy that a selected place or point of time we shall call the universe for whatever we choose to be our goal. And yet, I'm not going to talk about this. Having already explained this many times before that I have some difficulty cutting to the bone when it hits layers that are long forgotten and dormant. So I have to start out with somewhere I'm comfortable in order to sink lower to where I want to go.
So please excuse my cowardice. I'm going to cut to the bone.
To say that I am a child of chaos is saying very little. I can honestly say that I have not had any form of normalcy in my life since I was 14 and then it's only for a few good years or so. So the past few months have been my crucible of sorts as I decide to put my schooling up against my experience. In truth, I wanted to see if I can have some sort of control over my own body. I'm not one to make weak statements and understanding a bit more of my past that I've long buried may give you a bit more insight.
At the age of 16-17 I've contracted Tuberculosis while working in Westwood cleaning brokerage offices. While friends were enjoying their increase in muscle and leanness in their hormonal growth spurts mine was used to survive as I dropped weight from a healthy 180 lbs to a painfully sick 128 lbs. If you need a mental image think of the survivors of the concentration camps. I would eat constantly and yet not keep a lb. It would be two years after my infection to find out what I had and it would come at the right time, since I was having breathing problems. Having been cured by body would not begin to recover for another 5 years.
A huge difference from growing up the chubby kid.
My 20's were great, yet not understanding what I know now I can say that I was harder on my health than any disease. Not understanding the basics of nutrition, exercise, or general maintenance I caused more damage than you can imagine. And yet it would take me 7 years to get my body back on track and healthy enough even with strong moments of sickness and not being able to breath. And yet I fought to increase my lung capacity and to gain strength. I think it was 6 years when I would arrive at my physical best, hence the 20% at 200 lbs.
Sadly a long series of injuries would derail me once more. Tearing my shoulder, catching pneumonia, and having a thrombosis in my leg just stopped my from attaining any physical success. That with studying for long hours and eating whatever was at hand can wreak havoc on anyone. I jumped to my highest at 255 lbs and a body fat in the obese area of 31% or so. Thankfully my studies have picked up and I had many great instructors who helped me keep hope even if moving meant that I would bleed out. I understood that I'm not where I want to be and I had to stop beating myself up. I had to depend on what I was learning and to take small steps. If you worked with me you now that I always talk about small changes and efforts always add up over one huge attempt. Focusing effort on myself I've made myself my own guinea pig, knowing that I can not or would not tell anyone to do anything that I can not do. If this had any way of working then I would have to be my success story.
And so, over two years ago I dragged a very heavy me out into the road. I shuffled when I could not run. I pushed my body when my lungs screamed for air. I continued to push from the most modified or "girl" position imaginable (for those of you who are too stupid to realize that there are women power lifters who can lift us like nothing). I knew my ego was in the dumps, but I kept saying soon. My faith was placed in math and measurement over rolling in whatever shame I can feel. I took up all the insults and arrogance that those who never have fallen could sling. My mantra was one word: Soon.
In over one year, I was able to move decently without reopening my wound. In January, I would face my greatest weakness and start running with a running journal. In March, my body fat dropped to 25%, which removed me from any health related risks. And now, it's in the far range of ideal for my age range. My resting heart rate had dropped to 48 bpm with not only is amazing that I can have that much control of my body, but it has given me an X factor against age and the loss of ability. This is not only where I was before, but I'm past it.
If you told me that I would be back 5 years ago, I would not believe it. If you old me that I would be stronger and have a greater condition, I would have laughed. If you told me that I'm at the point where I can push on and change my body as I see if I would have never believed you. This is new for me since I never grew up "handsome" or "fit" or even "attractive". I have a great sense of humor, a brilliant intellect, and enough humility to know that if I don't work hard on these I basically have nothing to offer people. My positive traits are earned rather than genetic. I have to work hard to be interesting and I do so as the Moon reflects the Sun, I surround myself with brilliant and interesting people and reflect them. And these same people have been pushing me along when I really wanted to quit.
At this point I don't see myself quitting until ......hmmm.....I'll make it to my 50's and then see.
So, if anything it has taught me that anyone and everyone can make a change with enough desire and with plenty of positive reinforcement. You can do it, because I am doing it. And to be honest, I can be a bit lazy at time. And yet, my defeatist attitude is waning. Thanks to my dearest friends.
So thank you for giving me back my time in the Sun. I promise to spend it well and pull as many as I can with me.
So please excuse my cowardice. I'm going to cut to the bone.
To say that I am a child of chaos is saying very little. I can honestly say that I have not had any form of normalcy in my life since I was 14 and then it's only for a few good years or so. So the past few months have been my crucible of sorts as I decide to put my schooling up against my experience. In truth, I wanted to see if I can have some sort of control over my own body. I'm not one to make weak statements and understanding a bit more of my past that I've long buried may give you a bit more insight.
At the age of 16-17 I've contracted Tuberculosis while working in Westwood cleaning brokerage offices. While friends were enjoying their increase in muscle and leanness in their hormonal growth spurts mine was used to survive as I dropped weight from a healthy 180 lbs to a painfully sick 128 lbs. If you need a mental image think of the survivors of the concentration camps. I would eat constantly and yet not keep a lb. It would be two years after my infection to find out what I had and it would come at the right time, since I was having breathing problems. Having been cured by body would not begin to recover for another 5 years.
A huge difference from growing up the chubby kid.
My 20's were great, yet not understanding what I know now I can say that I was harder on my health than any disease. Not understanding the basics of nutrition, exercise, or general maintenance I caused more damage than you can imagine. And yet it would take me 7 years to get my body back on track and healthy enough even with strong moments of sickness and not being able to breath. And yet I fought to increase my lung capacity and to gain strength. I think it was 6 years when I would arrive at my physical best, hence the 20% at 200 lbs.
Sadly a long series of injuries would derail me once more. Tearing my shoulder, catching pneumonia, and having a thrombosis in my leg just stopped my from attaining any physical success. That with studying for long hours and eating whatever was at hand can wreak havoc on anyone. I jumped to my highest at 255 lbs and a body fat in the obese area of 31% or so. Thankfully my studies have picked up and I had many great instructors who helped me keep hope even if moving meant that I would bleed out. I understood that I'm not where I want to be and I had to stop beating myself up. I had to depend on what I was learning and to take small steps. If you worked with me you now that I always talk about small changes and efforts always add up over one huge attempt. Focusing effort on myself I've made myself my own guinea pig, knowing that I can not or would not tell anyone to do anything that I can not do. If this had any way of working then I would have to be my success story.
And so, over two years ago I dragged a very heavy me out into the road. I shuffled when I could not run. I pushed my body when my lungs screamed for air. I continued to push from the most modified or "girl" position imaginable (for those of you who are too stupid to realize that there are women power lifters who can lift us like nothing). I knew my ego was in the dumps, but I kept saying soon. My faith was placed in math and measurement over rolling in whatever shame I can feel. I took up all the insults and arrogance that those who never have fallen could sling. My mantra was one word: Soon.
In over one year, I was able to move decently without reopening my wound. In January, I would face my greatest weakness and start running with a running journal. In March, my body fat dropped to 25%, which removed me from any health related risks. And now, it's in the far range of ideal for my age range. My resting heart rate had dropped to 48 bpm with not only is amazing that I can have that much control of my body, but it has given me an X factor against age and the loss of ability. This is not only where I was before, but I'm past it.
If you told me that I would be back 5 years ago, I would not believe it. If you old me that I would be stronger and have a greater condition, I would have laughed. If you told me that I'm at the point where I can push on and change my body as I see if I would have never believed you. This is new for me since I never grew up "handsome" or "fit" or even "attractive". I have a great sense of humor, a brilliant intellect, and enough humility to know that if I don't work hard on these I basically have nothing to offer people. My positive traits are earned rather than genetic. I have to work hard to be interesting and I do so as the Moon reflects the Sun, I surround myself with brilliant and interesting people and reflect them. And these same people have been pushing me along when I really wanted to quit.
At this point I don't see myself quitting until ......hmmm.....I'll make it to my 50's and then see.
So, if anything it has taught me that anyone and everyone can make a change with enough desire and with plenty of positive reinforcement. You can do it, because I am doing it. And to be honest, I can be a bit lazy at time. And yet, my defeatist attitude is waning. Thanks to my dearest friends.
So thank you for giving me back my time in the Sun. I promise to spend it well and pull as many as I can with me.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Shower Epiphany: No mind
Funny, I was going to write about something I can finally go into some details, but......I really don't care. No, really. I don't care. Ever since that moment of peace this week nothing and I mean nothing sticks to me. I have not felt irritation or even anger. It's like being dipped into Teflon, nothing bothers me. It's this peace that just makes me feel comfortable in my own skin and that nothing can bother me unless I choose to let it. I do know it' s going to make my writing suffer a bit, but in truth this feeling of peace is worth more than anything. It's that feeling of being connected to the universe, everyone, you and me and yet, I don't need any vindication.
I've come to realize that this is feel of peace and serenity was only found in No Mind and the only time I felt No Mind is when I'm in a match. Not even sparring, but a full contact match where after months of perpetration I am the closest thing to me in those few minutes where I feel that I'm fighting for my life.
No Mind. Except now. No harm or violence. Flowing peace as if a cool calm river flows through me and keeps me calm and cool.
So, I'm sorry. I'll write again to some worth soon, but I'm too patient and kind and loving to tap into any anger, pain or confusion.
Please forgive me.
I'll do what I can.
I've come to realize that this is feel of peace and serenity was only found in No Mind and the only time I felt No Mind is when I'm in a match. Not even sparring, but a full contact match where after months of perpetration I am the closest thing to me in those few minutes where I feel that I'm fighting for my life.
No Mind. Except now. No harm or violence. Flowing peace as if a cool calm river flows through me and keeps me calm and cool.
So, I'm sorry. I'll write again to some worth soon, but I'm too patient and kind and loving to tap into any anger, pain or confusion.
Please forgive me.
I'll do what I can.
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