Thoughts

Worries

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The last time I felt as full of nothing was in the dark times after I lost Sara. I don’t know where or why I feel this way. I don’t understand it.

I worry that I’m losing myself again. That this sojourn into open, honest emotion is somehow coming to a close.
I worry that I will find who I’m looking for. That I’ll be disappointed when I do.

I worry that I’ll fight for someone and do us both a disservice.

I worry that I’m sacrificing pieces of myself to write. That I take more validation from people liking my work than I do in the work itself.

I worry that if I do find someone to share my life with, I’ll fuck it up.

I worry that my obvious deficiencies are why, despite looking and trying, I’m still alone.

I worry that Sara was my one chance and by not going with her that night, I failed her. I failed us. And my not finding any lasting relationship is my just punishment for my inaction.

I worry about how I’m perceived and am hurt when people see me as other than I intend.

I worry that my need for control is becoming destructive.

I worry that my desire for chaos is a sign of a lack of empathy.

I worry about my lack of guilt.

I worry that I’m drifting away from a real friend.

I worry about all of this and more.
I’m not constant in my worry, I let my subconscious handle most of it. But it’s all there, swirling in the background, even if I don’t act like it. It sits, leaden in my brain.

It’s why I occasionally wake, heart racing from a panic attack. Deep unconscious being one of the few times I’m out of control. Some of this, I just don’t have the strength to carry. And I’m approaching a time when something will either break or some of it will fall away. And I worry what I’ll lose this time.

Conversations on conversation

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In nearly every conversation I have now, there is the element of fear. I speak about my interests and desires, my past and present. I share my work and my self with anyone that expresses genuine interest.

The fear of rejection, of pushing away those I find alluring are present during. But while we’re talking it’s like a exhibitionist high, or the submissive float. I say whatever I desire, engage in wordplay and generally have fun.

But after, it’s like an adrenaline crash. I shake and fear that what I said, while truthful, will push away someone who could be an amazing relationship but won’t be because I pushed too far, too fast in the tumultuous rush of my Rollercoaster of conversation.

And it’s hard to admit to this fear. I control my self, my emotional reactions. But no matter what I do, this fear is present. It doesn’t stop me. In a way, it pushes me forward. But I can’t seem to shake it. For someone who lives so much in his head, conversation is my way of sharing my world. But after I do, I want nothing more than to have and be held. A physical balm for the emotional tumult.

Some cuts aren’t physical

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I’m never happier than when I’ve divulged some piece of myself to the wider world and am waiting for the whole thing to come crashing down. Like a hidden and massive game of emotional Jenga. Dancing the line between salvation and despair.

Thoughts on control

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Control of the self is the only true control. Control exherted on others is either force or with the tacit consent of the other.

Force takes many forms. Physical, emotional, economical. These forms of control are illusion. They only exist as long as the recipient allows it. This is not to say that breaking free from force as control is easy. Merely to say that the first step to breaking that control is to realize that you are giving them the power. As long as you remain a prisoner in the mind, freedom from force cannot be.

I know, if someone is beating you, that you feel like this is bullshit. Until your mind is free, you cannot free your body. It’s the hardest part.

You may wonder why someone who writes about BDSM, Inflicting pain and suffering would care. Someone who is into the lifestyle and if you know me personally someone who seems so cold.

The reality is, it is because I am in the life that I care. That I think about control. I don’t enjoy inflicting pain, most days anyway. I enjoy control, but only when control is given. The submissive grants control. It may seem like the Master takes it. But without consent, it is NOT Bdsm, it is abuse. Abuse is betrayal. I am a being of rules. I do not betray.

Pledge

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In these days of falls awakening, I reaffirm my pledge to not date vanilla. It was miserable and confusing. Give me your artists, your goths, your philosophers. Give me the ones who want to be tied up, who want to be spanked, who want complicated pleasures. The mainstream is not for me.

Memories

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Memory for me is immediate and real. I don’t see things through a haze. Or misremember and take this as fact. I remember in scenes.

I remember body positions. The way someone moves. The emotional context of their words and the impact of the phrasing, but not the exact words themselves.

These memories are stones in an ice river. Ever flowing downstream, but upstream, these moments of frozen time, playing out a silent film, again and again. It is a very personal and comforting type of memory. I hold these moments in my heart forever.

I dance in joy, breathe the night air, answer a question as I dance blindly(glasses off) at a club, marvel at the moon, talk with women, talk with men, sex, and the prelude to sex, brush the hair from eyes, shake my hair out, drink a mojito, flirt with a waiter, hear a horrible truth, the weight of a secret lifting. Thousands of moments, minutes, people and actions.

All culminating into life, my life. And yet, somehow empty. Empty without you.

My morrigan

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I love the broken way you hold yourself
The shadows on your tongue
your tattered innocence peaking through your tilted smile
Your eyes flashing green when you’re happy and grey when you’re mad. My stormcloud. The soft sound of your voice.
My memories come sharp and clear. And I’m not sure how many more years I can endure without you.

I wrote this song for you. I wrote it awhile ago. But I can’t bring myself to sing it. As if singing it would drive the point home.

She’s smiling and I’m laughing
She’s sleeping and I’m watching
She’s incandescent and I’m night

It’s all in my rear view
And I can’t fight the fight

Each day that passes and I’m further away from you
I’m losing those moments, those minutes, those days.
Each time I wake, I walk farther away
Each time I sleep, I remember.

It wasn’t the loss that I could not endure
It’s this litany of days and hours without you

She’s dancing and I’m clapping
She’s yelling and I’m screaming
She’s cold and I’m colder

It’s all in my rear view
And I’m another year older

Each day that passes and I’m further away from you
I’m losing those moments, those minutes, those days
Each time I wake, I walk farther away
Each time I sleep, I remember

It wasn’t the loss that I could not endure
It’s this litany of day and hours without you

She’s going and I’m watching
She’s bleeding and I’m sleeping

She’s dying

Each day that passes and I’m further away from you
I’m losing those moments, those minutes, those days
Each time I wake, I walk farther away
Each time I sleep, I remember

Doesn’t seem like much, does it. And it’s not real. I remember you. each minute, each touch, each laugh.  I remember. Sometimes, to endure, I tell myself that I don’t remember. But like all lies, the truth will shine through.  And when it does its like losing you again. I cry and cry and nothing makes the pain ebb. sometimes I am happy and I’ll turn or think to tell you about something then it comes crashing back down. the days like this are getting further apart and I’m not sure that I can endure losing you in my memories as well.

Top 5 questions I really want an answer to on a date.

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1. What is the worst experience of your life? What is the story of it.

Why: Our experiences shape us and I’m rather a dark cat. If your life has been mostly sunny then there may be some compatibility issues.

2. What experience or experiences have been the best? What makes you feel at peace, happy?

Why: What we see as worthwhile and how we experience beauty is a part of our fundamental selves.

3. Do you like music? What do you like about it?

Why: If you don’t like music then we’re going to have issues. Music is a major part of who I am, I honestly have a hard time relating to someone who doesn’t like music or worse just sees it as background noise.

4. Do you like reading? What do you like about it?

Why: pretty much the same why as 3.

5. What types of art do you like? Why?

Why: Art reveals what we are passionate about.

Top 5 things to do if money was not an issue

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1 open a every day of the week private goth club, make it the anchor of every goth and industrial bands tour, open 24 hours a day

2. Open a dungeon and a members only dungeon. Invite Dom’s and Sub’s in for demonstrations and classes. 

3. Buy a radio station, staff it with the Cemetery Confessions people

4. Start a defense contractor business (thought it was gonna be all goth stuff, didn’t you)

5. Buy a few elections

This is all stuff I want, sure there are other things that I would do but they are boring and so standard they are not worth mentioning.

Drinks tonight?

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The frenetic shift as humanity gears up for one last throw of the dice. One last prayer to the gods of hedonistic delight. Otherwise known as Friday night happy hour.

The work week done and the salaryman, soft and pallid beneath his suit, drinks from Lethe’s waters in the form of cheap vodka dressed up in its father’s clothes. Martini glasses, olives and onions making that Stolichnaya beautiful to weary eternally hopeful eyes.

A thrum fills the air with people throwing out energy, a little too loud, a little too free. Crutch in one hand and a all too brittle smile in the other. Tonight’s the night to have fun or lay weeping in the gutter. Caution fluttering in the wind.

Bound for pleasure, bound to forget, shackled into lives we take this escape deeper into the grave. So happy to be let loose that we slip the cuffs back on in the morning. The crushing weight of a society that neither knows nor cares. Held together by people dreaming in a future that’s long dead.