Thoughts

Who we can be

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We say “If there was any justice…” as a way of saying that there isn’t any.  And there isn’t.  The world is a vicious place without mercy or justice.  Because we invented those concepts, so any justice or mercy must be enacted by us. 

If you find the world to be unjust, then do all that you can to correct that.  As those that have husbanded the concept into being it is on us to act in its best interest. 

We cannot allow ourselves to give up agency to an uncaring world or condemn each other to live in that world.  We act. We are the predominant sentient specie. It is our responsibility to see justice, mercy, and honor flourish. 

I’ll admit, I’m not built for the task.  But none of us are. We can hide our eyes from truth or we can accept this. 

You don’t need to radically change your life.  Commit to helping one person each day.  Act with mercy, be justice in an unjust world, live a life of honor.  This is hard.  But do this a single time each day? You can do it, we all can.

Paying

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Do not pay council to your fantasies.
Those honey drenched daydreams whispering their sweet lies. Candy coated what ifs that elevate your grey mundane and ordinary existence to technicolor. They drip like venom in the ear. Poisoning the joy of what is with what may be. Turn tangible success into ashes made bitter.

The person who said they’re not interested? They’re not interested. The scenario where you get back at your boss? Not gonna happen.

Let go your day by day fantasies. Fill those moments of false flag emotions with someone or something real. Or let it all drift away.

But whatever you do, Do not pay council to your fantasies. They are just as destructive as your fears.

Just saying

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I don’t care what sexual organs you have. I’m attracted to whom I’m attracted to. It’s all just skin on skin, pleasures ragged and jaded. A kissable mouth wrapped in a dirty mind. That’s my type.

Rambling thoughts

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There is a surprising degree of romantic thought that goes into Bdsm play. As master, I construct the scene. I create the space, the framework that my submissive can step into. We’ll have had the Negotiation well ahead of time. I prefer a date somewhere public to have that discussion. It allows me to gauge the degree of exhibitionist they are, allows me to see how comfortable with the lifestyle and degree of interest in the various acts. For many, the public setting puts them off balance and allows space for honesty. That’s just the initial meeting, I use text and fantasy scenarios to see what space they want to explore. Pleasure is all well and good, but discovery of something new or a variation is often better.

I say romantic because the scenario preplay is idealized and postplay it’s often misremembered through the haze, (if it was good). I, unfortunately, can’t do that. Forget enough to fill in pieces, I mean. I have a specific type of sense memory. I remember people I have been romantically entangled with. I remember each touch, and a few minutes after touch with crystalline clarity. It is a curse.

Dream on Monday in July

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I dreamed of that I, a friend, his wife (another friend) and a couple of others had created something technological and interesting, a game that tapped into sociological, psychological archetypes to immerse the player in a truly augmented reality. Not just vr, but an overlay to consciousness. We were in talks with a major investor who had decided to show us a good time. They took us to a concert at a musical conservatory but this one had a dance floor made of parquet in the shape of a nautilus shell. The steps down were steep so I was holding my hand to steady the ladies as they stepped down the extremely narrow staircases. One in particular, touched my hand and a thrill of electricity passed between us. We bantered and on seeing the dance floor, I asked her to dance. Though, at best, my dancing could be considered enthusiastic. The party started to bore so we in the company donned our AR glasses and I booted up a music program where we could interact with a bunch of different musicians. Talk or request songs. Hear stories from them. It was something new I’d put together for us.
I remember us talking about it and to artists like George Clinton and others. Then I felt a sense of profound loss and I woke up.

Have you thought

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Have you thought
In passing moment and stinging thought or dismissal and moving on. Just the moment by moment terror of too much available communication, the ability to drop a line to anyone I used to be with, anyone. The growing need to communicate, to speak, to talk, but I know I’ll get no response. This is bad, it feels bad, but when I try and all I hear is echos, that is so much worse. So I refrain, because there is only so much pain I can take and not talking to you is bad enough. But talking to you and never hearing a response is so much worse.

The fear that keeps

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think…and I’m falling loop by loop
contrails in a clear blue sky
spiraling down

it’s not the ground I’m afraid of, its the fall
the ground I’d almost welcome, the sudden stop then nothing
but I still hope for a place to stand

I sound suicidal, I know. And I’d be lying if I said there were days when I wonder, what it would be like to just leap, make the decision and stop. I wish I could say “but hope pulls me back”. But it’s not hope. It’s fear. Fear of the pain, fear that I’ll miss or that I’ll be crippled, but most of all that I’ll set the pieces in motion and after it’s too late to stop, when it’s all but a fait accompli, I will find someone, we’ll find each other, and it’ll all just click. That’s the fear that keeps me going. I wish I could say it’s my love of beauty or strength of character but in truth, it’s fear. And I wonder, how many of us are feeling that same fear, how many of us are falling through our lives, looking for a place to stand.

3 AM comes each day and each day takes a bit of my soul in its passing

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I never allowed for the possibility that I’d fall in love with someone who didn’t love me back. Who has said she doesn’t see me that way. I thought that friendship would be enough. That some contact, some laughter, some shared experience would be enough.

And when I’m with her, it is. I can delude myself that these crumbs, these small morsels can sustain me. But then, hanging out is over. She’s home and I’m alone again. For a little while I’m OK. But then I’ll see something, something stupid that will remind me of her.

Sometimes, contact with other people can mitigate the longing. Fill me up with something other than false hope. And I’ll think I’m being smart. Some time with her is better than nothing, some words with her will illuminate my heart and everything else will recede.

But here I am at 3 in the morning, sleep is no longer a refuge because she’s there. In my dreams, she’s by my side. She walks with me in the world and the world is brighter for it. We’re stronger together than apart. Then I’ll wake, alone. And I’ll know that even in dreaming, I knew it wasn’t real. Because my heart aches so.

Where does that leave me? The rational part says to deal with this. That to leave this as an open wound can only end in poorly. But I can’t bring myself to stop the delusion that maybe. Maybe if she sees my heart, maybe if she sees me in verse and story. Maybe the weight of experience will accumulate and like a light turning on she’ll love me. Maybe she loves me now and is denying it.

It’s a treacherous thing, hope. It can sustain us through horrors, drag us into a better future. Or it can bury its blade deep into our heart, pulsing the possible while slowly ripping us to shreds.

I wish I had it in me to hide from the truth. I wish I could just be happy with what I have. But hope has buried the blade deep.

Not that modern

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I’m into commitment. I don’t mean that in some sort of modern wishy-washy kind of way. I’ll dip my toe in the waters, but once I make the decision, I’m all in. I don’t do half measures or halfway and from the people I date I expect the same.

I’m intense and serious. A friend once said that I’m 90 percent serious, and that’s true. I commit to my friends just as hard, but I don’t expect them to. I’m a hard man to know if only because I’ll share most of my secrets and that can obscure what I’m not saying.

All of this being said, there are still people that shine like black Opal in a sea of milk. People who I’ll break my heart for, break my rules for. To them I’ll say, I am more than I seem, I am not one thing but many. But maybe that’s my heart talking, my heart falls in love a little bit and never falls out.

Startle the snakes

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I’m tired of trying, of beating the grass hoping you’ll show yourself.  Maybe we only get one, maybe giving up, giving in is the only choice left. 

Talking with you is like cutting myself.  It’s cathartic, pleasurable and never comes to anything.  When it’s over, you don’t initiate contact, I always must.  It’s leaving scars, without the accompanying good memories.

And I can’t stop feeling that there is some connection and you won’t talk to me, won’t tell me.  Leaving me dangling over the ledge, yelling for someone to come but they never do.

There comes a point where the pain of without you is less than the hope of with you and that point is fast approaching.