I'm safe as is. I'm protected as is. I've been alone for the majority of my life and I don't find it odd or annoying. It's just how things are. What is annoying is that I keep being told that I'm always alone as if I can't be. Mind you I would like to hang out now and then and I do miss having my back scrubbed in the shower and that whole benefit of living longer, but I wonder what's worse for me: being me and having space to be me or being told that it's unhealthy and I need someone attached? I've been attached to great people with some peppering of assholes and I have to say in the end of the day, I like knowing that if things work well, I will die alone.
I'm not saying that to be an ass, I'm saying it to say when you have to go, even with family by your side, you go alone unless something horrible happens. It's natural to go alone. Outside of sitting on a see-saw, I've never had an alone moment. I'm used to thinking in my head or what someone called "Secret Council" which in the end was someone's scared attempt to read all my thoughts and know what I believed no matter what, a la Big Brother. Sorry, but this seriously fucked me over to the point where I don't want people around me. You can't force people to be what you want them to. I think. I think alot. I think so much that I rethink what I just thought 7, and now 8 times, before I even mention it to SOMEONE ELSE.
I am a quiet person. If we know each other well I will make noise and be active unless I'm sad, tired or sick. If you know me very well you know that I will just become quiet. Where we share the same thought and I don't have to talk. This is me silent and at peace, or.....not thinking. I am actually feeling the moment and happy. Not withdrawing. And yet, I am an isolationist and for being one I must be shoved into limelight and autopsied. Why? Because I'm quiet? Or I seem sad? I will tell you when I am and half the time you are just assuming thoughts that I do not have.
Seriously people, this shit needs to end. People are nice, but being alone is just as nice. People wear me down. I can't explain this to you, but I see myself as a battery and I will light up the moment and make things awesome, but I need to recharge. I need to rest. I need to be alone for the sake of it. I'm not plotting against you, judging you nor am I forcing you to act out some guilt that I don't have. I have an awesome imagination. I read and write. I enjoy the moment and make memories for those quit moments. I find you after months and finish off our conversation as if we just saw each other. I don't see time and space the same. My best relationships are with people who have not seen me. They know me in a way that people who look at me or know what my voice sounds like don't and will never. If anything I'm from a time where letters offered a chance to speak minds and share thoughts.
Sorry, I don't have the ability to say, "Hi, I'm George Cloony."
I think. I'm attractive thinking. My thoughts are not only brilliant, but frightening and cause change. I'm not one to speak my mind unless I have something to share that is of worth. My words have weight and meaning. I've always said that I have a silver tongue but golden fingers, simply because my stutter, didn't you know I stutter, takes over and shuts me out from the outside world. I was the fat kid who became dangerously thin due to disease and then taxed with an insolent body that I would force to limits, so in truth I don't see myself as attractive. I speak well and in an hour I make friends. I pull people out of slumps, I motivate, love, provoke, and commit acts of blasphemy that will make you feel bad for laughing so hard, that's if you don't pee on yourself.
So no, my value does not come from others. People leave as they should leave. Thoughts are immortal. I think I've chosen well.
.....
And then again, it's nice to get you back scratched or get some soup when sick.
Oh well......I'm vex with independence.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Seventeen – Sopa de Cavalo Cansado or How Not to Tenderize your Dead Horse
There is a special place in Hell that is made for me and for me only.
A hell that seems to haunt me today, even now, as I relive the past for clues that never were and hunches that do not exist.
I'm getting ahead of myself here. I'll explain this once more even though it feels I've explained this so many times already......hence my hell.
I always feel that I've missed my calling at times, since I'm usually a marvel at the details. Things that help me wonder for hours that a small question can usually answer. For example, while running I reached a set of houses that had a giant riding mower cutting that grass. Most people would have not payed any mind, but automatically I told myself that that mower was very large and that it would make no sense to drag it around to site to site. It had to have some place to leave it when not working and by the look of the property it looked like that there was not suitable place unless they occupied one of the small garages to place this any any other landscaping equipment. Mind you, I questioned not because I wanted to find where it was or even ask the people what they did with it since it would automatically paint me as someone with an interest in the mower. It was a puzzle that I wanted to answer and it kept my mind sharp.
It wasn't until yesterday when I saw one of those giant pickups with the double tires in the rear with a massive incline in the alley. That answered my question and at the same time it fueled more. Not to ask or to investigate, but to simply assume on what information I can gather while running by for 15 seconds.
That is how my mind works. To some that would be exhausting and yes, there are moment in the darkness of predawn where I am up hunting down google wondering if Stephen King's monster in It was in any way Lovecraftian only to discover a few essays and vast information on youtube. I've been woken up from the slumber of a dead sleep only to drag myself in front of a computer to find out a random thought here and there only to look up and realize dawn had arrived and left.
Mind you, all of this is quite brilliant and it often times fuel amazing conversations with people who out of rudeness and a lack of "hallo" I've simply continued our last conversation with a few more thoughts and analysis that I've had the chance to reflect on. To say I'm a spur of the moment thinker is to say that turtles are excellent sprinters. I may take actions in a heart beat and some may even complain that I move faster than most, but within my head I often am reliving conversations had and moments that simply baffle me.
What's my point?
Getting there.
I'm going to start showing the links to this chained thought, so please hold on and remember that I'm working to the end even though you may feel that I am simply waxing on poetically or painting a scene. I'm working hard at completing the thought so that it can be put to rest and allow my mind to clear if only for a moment.
Try to follow along.
I can't recall from where or want to really, seeing that I will investigate why I focus on one link and not the whole chain or at least that is what I will say now, there is a mystique about the idea of a mix tape. I know I am dating myself a wee bit, but there was a time when music was hard to get hold of and getting music was an amazing thing even if you could just drop a few songs on a CD and burn them. So in my time on this planet and about, I've made a few if only for my enjoyment and since the creation of the MP3 we can say that this have mutated to the playlist and some sort of cloud, is it? Either way it was meaningful to get a CD from someone. To discover new music or a band that was just starting to bud. Music is a personal expression and sometimes just getting a batch of music means so much.
And yet, I have never equated it to getting flowers or candy. Not only due to my gender, but I've always been someone to share things I've always felt were great. I'm the person who offers everyone in the room a bite of what is tasty even if I only got a bite from the experience. I'm one to promote the qualities of others and to boast the greatness of all things not me. I've always been a giver and connect the act of giving with good feelings and even joy. And yet, I'm not one to see others giving to me and see it as anything. I'm usually one to say 'no thank you' or 'I'm good, thanks' and yet I've been told that sometimes you have to accept things if only to offer the person joy and appreciation. I understand that but something sick and twisted in my life had me equate keeping things with loosing them or watching them become destroyed so if I ever get something of value I either give it away in order to allow it a chance to survive or even protect it with my life, but only for things that I'm able to carry out of a fire in an undaunted hand while dragging someone with the other. I don't put importance to things because when someone can that something you find joy in and destroy it in front of you to see you suffer you wither learn not to place joy in things or to hide that joy from the world in fear of someone finding it and destroying it.
I know. Sick and twisted, no?
So I try not to accept things and offer much thanks and kindness. That kind of shit sticks to you.
And yet......mix tape.
.........
There are few people in my life that had honestly either changed me or tried to make that attempt to a better person or who loved me in some sort of way that was not completely destructive to either of us. I'm one to say that in the mix of psychopaths and narcissists who have wrecked my life in their ways, I'm met people....women who have fostered some hope and kindness in my heart. Their leaving for one reason or another has in many ways inspired me to take more steps in life and at the same time caused an ache in my heart that only strong bourbon and the blues can relieve. I used to cut them out of my mind in the past and deal with moments that they would show up time to time in my dreams and thoughts. They haunt my mind and inspire my imagination as Muses lost and desires unrelieved. I use them as a bar at times when wondering who is worth my time and other times they are the vexing torment that has me shake my enraged fist at a world who had taken them away from me,even if I can understand why. When someone arrives that this place I can not remember their flaws nor recall what difficulties they may have offered. They become more myth than human at times and yet I know that I have to detach myself from this in order to have any future at all.
So when I hear that some people give these items as a show of affection and even desire I panic. I remember and look back and I even pull apart my things to that I can hold them or in this case the CD. Holding it now in my hand it baffles me now on how stupid or oblivious I can be to someone. Looking at the writing on each song, times, titles and artist as well as a small bit on how I should think of this just hurts me now in the same way a Blues Man would relive a moment of pain to inspire numerous songs that still do not reach bottom the well of despair in their heart. To hear B.B. King moan or John Lee Hooker literally weep out words that convey so much agony only those who live such a moment can look up and realize someone else feels what I can not set to words or music.
Beware of Artists for they blend with all of us.
Ha.....sorry....I'm feeling this now.
So to say that I loved this girl is saying so little. So little to the point that I've told myself no matter what I must keep my distance if only to save the the trouble of my chaotic life. I still see myself as a source of chaos now and carefully limit my time with people I care most now if fear that I may cause them some sort of anguish. I would rather cause myself pain that any one else. So you can see why I'm apprehensive on why I spend time with others and who.
Speaking to a friend, who I shall call The Philosophical Punk, I've always remarked that she had a harem, or to say a collection of men who follow her about in with puppy dog eyes and unsettling photos of their genitalia on hand. We've traded horror stories and laugh at the blatant actions of those who would gather her attention even though much of the time they are either seeking an ideal she can/won't supply or are simply sub par to her, i.e. 'as soon as I get out of this ankle bracelet I'll move near you'. Something not to be enjoyed even if it provides suitable laughs. And yet, she has on quite amount of times shown that I have a 'sidekick' of sort. Not a harem in comparison of her minion count, but a female sidekick that may change actresses but usually is an active role. At some point I can usually shrug it off, saying that sometimes you get paired with someone from work or is just someone to pass the time here and there and to go for a meal, but to say that this has no merit is to lie, even if there is nothing I may want from them than a meal mate and someone to hold an intelligent conversation.
And yet, there is always a sidekick. If not one there is usually someone who I can confide enough to have a moment respite in my chaotic life. Someone who I can have coffee with, talk about the thoughts of the day or even laugh with. So there is a need, even if I do not look for these people. I can even think if I placed a call and gathered them together I can. They are not minions or people who would do something for me, but individuals who I in some part adore and care about as one would a sister. I've even told some that I would never want to sleep with them if only to tell them that I'm pulling myself out of any race that others may stubble over others in desire for their attention. I'm not one to fight for someone's time and have always seen it as what little I can get is more than enough. So I'm not collecting people in the traditional sense especially my strays are something all together different.
But that's for another day.
So spending my time with someone .....anyone is not a huge thing for me. It's a treat and I enjoy it, even if we are too busy chewing to talk. It's just someone to take my mind off my life. Someone to share a kind moment. Someone who I don't expect to be there in my life. If anything it's Me featuring Them. Just something that I'm not concerned with outside of just a moment. Are they unattractive? No. Do they not have qualities that I would find attractive or even desirable? Sure they do. I truth I just don't see myself as anyone/thing worth the time of others. Yes, I know. Sick and twisted, but this is what I'm dealing with. I'm at the point where I figure out that people like me enough to get near me, but I'm not aware that I am worth their time in the long run. Especially when I've look back and see my relationships never made it past the two year mark. There is something faulty in this and I'm now at the point that it has to be me. So I am not one to chance at losing a friend for a chance of a bed mate anymore.
I've already lost too many brilliant people I could have had as friends who I lost as a lover. In the end, I have to say it's me somehow. And that is what my mind had been doing. Something that the Philosopher Punk, calls something between masochistic and hateful circular thought where I am to blame no matter what. I call it regathering the evidence and trying to figure out what was. Mentally returning to Cold Cases and trying to see if new thoughts and views offer any new insight that I may have missed. Reliving history long gone for the sake of never having to relive it again. Mentally pulling and searching the wreckage of the downed moments, searching through fields and crevices for what is missing and what never was to rebuild it over and over and over again only to realize it is never enough. I can find an answer but it is never enough nor is it the answer I've been looking for.
The last one who had left my hear was just 5 years ago. I still think about her still and wonder, but never one question. No matter how I put it out of mind, I somehow rush back and rebuild it all even though I am more than tired of this, I still obsessively look thought it to realize what was.
But never .......
And I see it all and think that I could have done something different and could have somehow salvaged or even made it better. That I for some reason ended up overlooking something and this something is the mix tape. Perhaps, mayhaps I could have changed things I could have made things better for both of us. I could have somehow salvaged enough of us so that I would not be haunted by her or her absence. That I could have only made things better and maybe even find that one thing in me tha is of fault and that I can repair so that I do not feel that I am at at fault and I am to blame. If I only listened to that mix tape more or studied it longer or even....
Stop it.....
If I can not solve this puzzle how am I going to live with myself and allow myself to sleep and rest and move on. It's my fault somehow and unless I find out how or why......
Yes......ask it.....ask it the right way.....
.....why it's my fault....
No, but you are close....a little more.
Why it's my fault?
Come on, one more time.....
Why is it .....
No....don't run from it. Face it.
......my fault.......
Come on. Say it all.
......why is it my fault? Why is it my fault?
There you go.....answer that one. Answer the one that you always turn blind eyes to.
........ok.
.....I'm doing all of this to find a solution. I want to know why I screwed it up, but in truth I'm just .....hurting myself. I'm tearing myself apart in hopes that I can make amends for making someone feel unloved.
Keep going.
To make them feel that I've hurt someone. So cause someone to feel unwanted and unneeded. To make them feel like I was made to feel. Unwanted, unneeded, a hindrance and someone to blame. I would even love them if I didn't because it's a horrible feeling that I can....
No, not you.....stop it....you didn't do it and you never done it.
.....I'm afraid of making anyone feel like how I felt. That feeling of hurt and worthlessness. That abusive feeling of nothingness that equates all the problems to.......
Come on. Say it.
.....to me. That it's my fault. That I somehow made things worse and believe that I am to blame for everything. That I am so willing to accept blame and swallow all the blame to make things right. And that is my problem. I automatically blame myself...because...
....watch it......don't do that.....
....it's my fau...
STOP IT.
......I'm afraid it may be me?
All of it.
I'm afraid that I'm to blame no matter what. That in truth I'm only responsible for my actions and in truth I can only be responsible for my actions.
There.
.....but if I can somehow....
WHAT? You can control the actions of others over what you have done? NO, it does not work that way. You are making your self worse than you ever were. It's not your fault. And if it was, so what? That does not make anyone else less responsible. You did everything right and you even try harder than anyone else. If no one can see that than what good are they?
......but I.....
Feel better if its your fault? Really? How is that? Where is the math attached to that?
.....
You are only digging in an area that has been dug and nothing may come out of it. There is no answers there. You know this.THINK. What do you tell others. Use that now.
.......*sigh* Yea......I tell others that if someone wants your attention they will cross Hell and back if only to see you for 5 minutes. And when someone does not want anything to do with you they will disappear off the face of the world.
Yea...
Yea. Yeah. In the end I'm beating up a dead horse and I'm the horse. There is no use and there is nothing wrong with me outside that I think there is something wrong with me. I mean, there has been people I could not get rid of nor could I even shake. Some people hunt me down today and I do what ever I can not make sure they can't get to me. At the same time I know others who are able to walk off. And .....that's ok. It's ok if I was never worth the time. I'm not worth their time as much as in truth they were never worth mine.
If somethings fall apart it's not just me. I try to make things better, but it's not all on me.
It's not.
And here is where I stop trying. Because I'm just finding new ways of kicking myself down when others just run off and keep going. Some just to cause the same shit over and over again. So.....no. Just no. I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm just not going to kick myself down for something I had no control over and could not do alone. In truth, every one has to share in the blame as well as in the rewards.
So why dish out double the hell just to give up on any reward? Do I honestly deserve any? Am I not allowed to pat my own back even if I deserve more? I know others can't step on my throat if I'm not doing the yogi miracle and doing it myself, but damn......really?
Really? I know I'm mess up and twisted, but I'm not even doing this for something I want outside of hating myself more?
Really....what the fuck?
*throws CD into trash and moves on*
There you go. Good for you.
A hell that seems to haunt me today, even now, as I relive the past for clues that never were and hunches that do not exist.
I'm getting ahead of myself here. I'll explain this once more even though it feels I've explained this so many times already......hence my hell.
I always feel that I've missed my calling at times, since I'm usually a marvel at the details. Things that help me wonder for hours that a small question can usually answer. For example, while running I reached a set of houses that had a giant riding mower cutting that grass. Most people would have not payed any mind, but automatically I told myself that that mower was very large and that it would make no sense to drag it around to site to site. It had to have some place to leave it when not working and by the look of the property it looked like that there was not suitable place unless they occupied one of the small garages to place this any any other landscaping equipment. Mind you, I questioned not because I wanted to find where it was or even ask the people what they did with it since it would automatically paint me as someone with an interest in the mower. It was a puzzle that I wanted to answer and it kept my mind sharp.
It wasn't until yesterday when I saw one of those giant pickups with the double tires in the rear with a massive incline in the alley. That answered my question and at the same time it fueled more. Not to ask or to investigate, but to simply assume on what information I can gather while running by for 15 seconds.
That is how my mind works. To some that would be exhausting and yes, there are moment in the darkness of predawn where I am up hunting down google wondering if Stephen King's monster in It was in any way Lovecraftian only to discover a few essays and vast information on youtube. I've been woken up from the slumber of a dead sleep only to drag myself in front of a computer to find out a random thought here and there only to look up and realize dawn had arrived and left.
Mind you, all of this is quite brilliant and it often times fuel amazing conversations with people who out of rudeness and a lack of "hallo" I've simply continued our last conversation with a few more thoughts and analysis that I've had the chance to reflect on. To say I'm a spur of the moment thinker is to say that turtles are excellent sprinters. I may take actions in a heart beat and some may even complain that I move faster than most, but within my head I often am reliving conversations had and moments that simply baffle me.
What's my point?
Getting there.
I'm going to start showing the links to this chained thought, so please hold on and remember that I'm working to the end even though you may feel that I am simply waxing on poetically or painting a scene. I'm working hard at completing the thought so that it can be put to rest and allow my mind to clear if only for a moment.
Try to follow along.
I can't recall from where or want to really, seeing that I will investigate why I focus on one link and not the whole chain or at least that is what I will say now, there is a mystique about the idea of a mix tape. I know I am dating myself a wee bit, but there was a time when music was hard to get hold of and getting music was an amazing thing even if you could just drop a few songs on a CD and burn them. So in my time on this planet and about, I've made a few if only for my enjoyment and since the creation of the MP3 we can say that this have mutated to the playlist and some sort of cloud, is it? Either way it was meaningful to get a CD from someone. To discover new music or a band that was just starting to bud. Music is a personal expression and sometimes just getting a batch of music means so much.
And yet, I have never equated it to getting flowers or candy. Not only due to my gender, but I've always been someone to share things I've always felt were great. I'm the person who offers everyone in the room a bite of what is tasty even if I only got a bite from the experience. I'm one to promote the qualities of others and to boast the greatness of all things not me. I've always been a giver and connect the act of giving with good feelings and even joy. And yet, I'm not one to see others giving to me and see it as anything. I'm usually one to say 'no thank you' or 'I'm good, thanks' and yet I've been told that sometimes you have to accept things if only to offer the person joy and appreciation. I understand that but something sick and twisted in my life had me equate keeping things with loosing them or watching them become destroyed so if I ever get something of value I either give it away in order to allow it a chance to survive or even protect it with my life, but only for things that I'm able to carry out of a fire in an undaunted hand while dragging someone with the other. I don't put importance to things because when someone can that something you find joy in and destroy it in front of you to see you suffer you wither learn not to place joy in things or to hide that joy from the world in fear of someone finding it and destroying it.
I know. Sick and twisted, no?
So I try not to accept things and offer much thanks and kindness. That kind of shit sticks to you.
And yet......mix tape.
.........
There are few people in my life that had honestly either changed me or tried to make that attempt to a better person or who loved me in some sort of way that was not completely destructive to either of us. I'm one to say that in the mix of psychopaths and narcissists who have wrecked my life in their ways, I'm met people....women who have fostered some hope and kindness in my heart. Their leaving for one reason or another has in many ways inspired me to take more steps in life and at the same time caused an ache in my heart that only strong bourbon and the blues can relieve. I used to cut them out of my mind in the past and deal with moments that they would show up time to time in my dreams and thoughts. They haunt my mind and inspire my imagination as Muses lost and desires unrelieved. I use them as a bar at times when wondering who is worth my time and other times they are the vexing torment that has me shake my enraged fist at a world who had taken them away from me,even if I can understand why. When someone arrives that this place I can not remember their flaws nor recall what difficulties they may have offered. They become more myth than human at times and yet I know that I have to detach myself from this in order to have any future at all.
So when I hear that some people give these items as a show of affection and even desire I panic. I remember and look back and I even pull apart my things to that I can hold them or in this case the CD. Holding it now in my hand it baffles me now on how stupid or oblivious I can be to someone. Looking at the writing on each song, times, titles and artist as well as a small bit on how I should think of this just hurts me now in the same way a Blues Man would relive a moment of pain to inspire numerous songs that still do not reach bottom the well of despair in their heart. To hear B.B. King moan or John Lee Hooker literally weep out words that convey so much agony only those who live such a moment can look up and realize someone else feels what I can not set to words or music.
Beware of Artists for they blend with all of us.
Ha.....sorry....I'm feeling this now.
So to say that I loved this girl is saying so little. So little to the point that I've told myself no matter what I must keep my distance if only to save the the trouble of my chaotic life. I still see myself as a source of chaos now and carefully limit my time with people I care most now if fear that I may cause them some sort of anguish. I would rather cause myself pain that any one else. So you can see why I'm apprehensive on why I spend time with others and who.
Speaking to a friend, who I shall call The Philosophical Punk, I've always remarked that she had a harem, or to say a collection of men who follow her about in with puppy dog eyes and unsettling photos of their genitalia on hand. We've traded horror stories and laugh at the blatant actions of those who would gather her attention even though much of the time they are either seeking an ideal she can/won't supply or are simply sub par to her, i.e. 'as soon as I get out of this ankle bracelet I'll move near you'. Something not to be enjoyed even if it provides suitable laughs. And yet, she has on quite amount of times shown that I have a 'sidekick' of sort. Not a harem in comparison of her minion count, but a female sidekick that may change actresses but usually is an active role. At some point I can usually shrug it off, saying that sometimes you get paired with someone from work or is just someone to pass the time here and there and to go for a meal, but to say that this has no merit is to lie, even if there is nothing I may want from them than a meal mate and someone to hold an intelligent conversation.
And yet, there is always a sidekick. If not one there is usually someone who I can confide enough to have a moment respite in my chaotic life. Someone who I can have coffee with, talk about the thoughts of the day or even laugh with. So there is a need, even if I do not look for these people. I can even think if I placed a call and gathered them together I can. They are not minions or people who would do something for me, but individuals who I in some part adore and care about as one would a sister. I've even told some that I would never want to sleep with them if only to tell them that I'm pulling myself out of any race that others may stubble over others in desire for their attention. I'm not one to fight for someone's time and have always seen it as what little I can get is more than enough. So I'm not collecting people in the traditional sense especially my strays are something all together different.
But that's for another day.
So spending my time with someone .....anyone is not a huge thing for me. It's a treat and I enjoy it, even if we are too busy chewing to talk. It's just someone to take my mind off my life. Someone to share a kind moment. Someone who I don't expect to be there in my life. If anything it's Me featuring Them. Just something that I'm not concerned with outside of just a moment. Are they unattractive? No. Do they not have qualities that I would find attractive or even desirable? Sure they do. I truth I just don't see myself as anyone/thing worth the time of others. Yes, I know. Sick and twisted, but this is what I'm dealing with. I'm at the point where I figure out that people like me enough to get near me, but I'm not aware that I am worth their time in the long run. Especially when I've look back and see my relationships never made it past the two year mark. There is something faulty in this and I'm now at the point that it has to be me. So I am not one to chance at losing a friend for a chance of a bed mate anymore.
I've already lost too many brilliant people I could have had as friends who I lost as a lover. In the end, I have to say it's me somehow. And that is what my mind had been doing. Something that the Philosopher Punk, calls something between masochistic and hateful circular thought where I am to blame no matter what. I call it regathering the evidence and trying to figure out what was. Mentally returning to Cold Cases and trying to see if new thoughts and views offer any new insight that I may have missed. Reliving history long gone for the sake of never having to relive it again. Mentally pulling and searching the wreckage of the downed moments, searching through fields and crevices for what is missing and what never was to rebuild it over and over and over again only to realize it is never enough. I can find an answer but it is never enough nor is it the answer I've been looking for.
The last one who had left my hear was just 5 years ago. I still think about her still and wonder, but never one question. No matter how I put it out of mind, I somehow rush back and rebuild it all even though I am more than tired of this, I still obsessively look thought it to realize what was.
But never .......
And I see it all and think that I could have done something different and could have somehow salvaged or even made it better. That I for some reason ended up overlooking something and this something is the mix tape. Perhaps, mayhaps I could have changed things I could have made things better for both of us. I could have somehow salvaged enough of us so that I would not be haunted by her or her absence. That I could have only made things better and maybe even find that one thing in me tha is of fault and that I can repair so that I do not feel that I am at at fault and I am to blame. If I only listened to that mix tape more or studied it longer or even....
Stop it.....
If I can not solve this puzzle how am I going to live with myself and allow myself to sleep and rest and move on. It's my fault somehow and unless I find out how or why......
Yes......ask it.....ask it the right way.....
.....why it's my fault....
No, but you are close....a little more.
Why it's my fault?
Come on, one more time.....
Why is it .....
No....don't run from it. Face it.
......my fault.......
Come on. Say it all.
......why is it my fault? Why is it my fault?
There you go.....answer that one. Answer the one that you always turn blind eyes to.
........ok.
.....I'm doing all of this to find a solution. I want to know why I screwed it up, but in truth I'm just .....hurting myself. I'm tearing myself apart in hopes that I can make amends for making someone feel unloved.
Keep going.
To make them feel that I've hurt someone. So cause someone to feel unwanted and unneeded. To make them feel like I was made to feel. Unwanted, unneeded, a hindrance and someone to blame. I would even love them if I didn't because it's a horrible feeling that I can....
No, not you.....stop it....you didn't do it and you never done it.
.....I'm afraid of making anyone feel like how I felt. That feeling of hurt and worthlessness. That abusive feeling of nothingness that equates all the problems to.......
Come on. Say it.
.....to me. That it's my fault. That I somehow made things worse and believe that I am to blame for everything. That I am so willing to accept blame and swallow all the blame to make things right. And that is my problem. I automatically blame myself...because...
....watch it......don't do that.....
....it's my fau...
STOP IT.
......I'm afraid it may be me?
All of it.
I'm afraid that I'm to blame no matter what. That in truth I'm only responsible for my actions and in truth I can only be responsible for my actions.
There.
.....but if I can somehow....
WHAT? You can control the actions of others over what you have done? NO, it does not work that way. You are making your self worse than you ever were. It's not your fault. And if it was, so what? That does not make anyone else less responsible. You did everything right and you even try harder than anyone else. If no one can see that than what good are they?
......but I.....
Feel better if its your fault? Really? How is that? Where is the math attached to that?
.....
You are only digging in an area that has been dug and nothing may come out of it. There is no answers there. You know this.THINK. What do you tell others. Use that now.
.......*sigh* Yea......I tell others that if someone wants your attention they will cross Hell and back if only to see you for 5 minutes. And when someone does not want anything to do with you they will disappear off the face of the world.
Yea...
Yea. Yeah. In the end I'm beating up a dead horse and I'm the horse. There is no use and there is nothing wrong with me outside that I think there is something wrong with me. I mean, there has been people I could not get rid of nor could I even shake. Some people hunt me down today and I do what ever I can not make sure they can't get to me. At the same time I know others who are able to walk off. And .....that's ok. It's ok if I was never worth the time. I'm not worth their time as much as in truth they were never worth mine.
If somethings fall apart it's not just me. I try to make things better, but it's not all on me.
It's not.
And here is where I stop trying. Because I'm just finding new ways of kicking myself down when others just run off and keep going. Some just to cause the same shit over and over again. So.....no. Just no. I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm just not going to kick myself down for something I had no control over and could not do alone. In truth, every one has to share in the blame as well as in the rewards.
So why dish out double the hell just to give up on any reward? Do I honestly deserve any? Am I not allowed to pat my own back even if I deserve more? I know others can't step on my throat if I'm not doing the yogi miracle and doing it myself, but damn......really?
Really? I know I'm mess up and twisted, but I'm not even doing this for something I want outside of hating myself more?
Really....what the fuck?
*throws CD into trash and moves on*
There you go. Good for you.
Shower Epiphany: the horror.....the horror.....
I've realize something that chilled me to my bones.
I've never said I wanted to write fiction. Even young I never told people that I wanted to be a great writer. A writer of stories and epic novels that would have people clinging to every word from my imagination. Or even I wanted to write to fans of millions who would crowd a bookstore one day for a glimpse of me and even have a small bit of talk while I sign their books.
I said I wanted one thing only.
I said, I want to write horror.
....
I've never said I wanted to write fiction. Even young I never told people that I wanted to be a great writer. A writer of stories and epic novels that would have people clinging to every word from my imagination. Or even I wanted to write to fans of millions who would crowd a bookstore one day for a glimpse of me and even have a small bit of talk while I sign their books.
I said I wanted one thing only.
I said, I want to write horror.
....
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Shower Epiphany: Looking Back
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
