Personality

I think of my outward personality like a series of doors. Each door containing an aspect of personality, like openness, rigidity, emotional, etc. In my writing, all the doors are thrown open. When I date, I try to do the same.

Though, my success there is mixed and mostly when I am in one of my harder personas. I’m the same person whatever mask I’m wearing but the face I present can be different. With some, I am dangerous. A wolf shaped like a man. With others, I’m the intellectual. For some, I am the Master, a mix of control, danger, and creative. And so on.

I write this because I try to be all of me when I go out on dates. And they all inevitably, inexorably fail. I wonder if the image of myself, full and complete, is too much. Too, seemingly, scattered to be attractive. I’ve worked hard to be more than a cypher for societal norms. But, I’ve perhaps, deviated too far from the standard.

Nobody wants a nervous, emotional, intellectual, Master, artist, priest, geek, it’ll all end in tears but we should enjoy the ride, guy. Someone who is indecisive when it comes to determining course, but deliberate and good at navigating it.

I could just show a single face, but as the other aspects bleed through as time passes, that presents its own issues.

On the one hand, it seems, if I want a relationship, I’ll need to lie. I know, people will say that it’s just putting a spin or putting your best foot forward. But that is a lie, it’s deception pure and simple.
Did I mention something of a hardliner?

On the other is the hope that someone would see all that I am and want that.

Is the possibility of the hope worth the heartache?

Before you say yes think on the emotional wreckage that each failure leaves behind. It fades, but slowly. How many wounds can a person endure?
I suppose the answer is ‘as many as is necessary’.

tears at work

I’m tentative these days.

Tentative from a lifetime of longing, from a point to point of hopes lost and in the losing I am diminished.

In the moments where life is lived I find the emptiness of long days stretching out into spaces I wish were as empty as they feel. Spaced equidistant from fulfillment and beauty I can see it on the horizon, stretching my fingers out to embrace it to hold onto its possibilities, to break free from this prison.

I reach out my hand hoping to be pulled up. Your hand rests gently on my head and in the touch hope blooms and I dare see future and joy, right up… until it pushes me back down. Freed from touch for so long that even that minute, that rebuke is desirable.

What history can I share but one of days sitting on the windowsill, looking from my perch into the vast known, alone, head resting on my knee, a sad song hushed over the patter of raindrops on stone.

True answers to questions

I am not ambitious. I don’t need a job to have meaning or be challenging. I just need it to provide funds to allow me to live as I choose coupled with the freedom to by and large do as I wish. I have that.

I don’t fear change. I don’t see the point of change for the sake of change. If there is a goal, and a vision of how to achieve it, then I will work towards the goal. But change for the sake of change seems like running away to me.

My art provides me with meaning. My words have touched more than one life and made that life easier, better. That is enough. Would monetary success be nice? Probably, but it is not the goal.

I have no desire to travel for the sake of traveling. People are the same the world over. I travel for events that can’t be had elsewhere. In a relationship, I travel when it delights my love. I enjoy seeing delight in the eyes of someone I love. If it’s travel that does that then I’m there.

I do not desire adventure. Adventure is what happens when plans go wrong. I don’t seek the chaos that will occur naturally on its own. But I can move and adapt to it as needed.

Life is beautiful, haunting and it ends.
Its impermanence is what makes it worth living. I can spend hours watching clouds race across the sky or people dancing at a club. Experience is the sweeter with someone to share it with. If anything, that is the adventure I’m looking for. That is the ambition I harbour.

Hiding

It’s very possible that I’m 37 years old and I don’t know what I want. I say I want love. But what does that even look like for me now. I was so certain. And now I see that certainty as a place I was hiding in.

When I’m with someone, I feel so adventurous. Like I want to show them what a interesting guy I am. How spontaneous. Sometimes, it’s how spiritual. Like I’m putting on a play for this one person. And I want to tell myself that we hide in the play to slowly reveal ourselves but I think we are all just hiding.

I’m hiding. Hoping that someone will find me. And so afraid that that’s not going to happen. We say we’re happy being alone. That we haven’t met the right person. And it’s bullshit. We’ve met the right person. Because there is no perfect person. No joy without sorrow. And there I go, trying to impress again.

I strive for chemistry when it’s not there. I break what connection there is under the weight of my hope. I worry when they don’t call. And I wonder if she was the one chance I had. If she was the only one who could find me. And I cry, and I write.

Regret

When I was younger, I once got in trouble for writing a sentence that used the word regret properly. The sentence? I have no regrets.
I suppose the teacher was having a bad day.

Well, I’m older now and I have a few regrets. If you’ve read this blog then you know a few of them. If you haven’t, well why not? There is some good stuff in there. *grins*

But seriously, there is one thing my mind travels back to. I was at PAX Prime a few years back. I was standing in line to get the swag bag that they were assembling up front. It was the longest line I’d ever stood in. And it was moving forward just enough to not allow people to play games or otherwise entertain themselves. It was grueling, dehumanizing and was for a bunch of nonsense frippery that ended up thrown out. It was hot in the queue line. Packed and my feet were killing me. And I had with me a print of a Jim Darkmagic painting. Which now hangs in my closet, so you know it was a good purchase. It was unwieldy and I wanted nothing more than to not be in the line. But we were halfway in, so I stayed.

Then, I saw something heartbreaking. Towards the front of one of the rows, a person was sitting on the floor crying. Lost and alone in a sea of humanity. People were avoiding her. There was 3 foot circle around her. I don’t know what had happened. But I know what didn’t. In this mass of a so called compassionate gamer community, here was someone truly hurting. I didn’t help her. My instinct said to help. My intuiton said to help. My heart was breaking for this person. But I did nothing. And that I truly regret. I don’t know if there was anything I could do. But I could have been there. Available and human. Even now, years later, it wrentches me. A terrible grief. I doubt that person will read this, but let me say I am truly, deeply sorry. If I could, I would change my actions. I can only promise, that you would not sit alone now.

“Regret is a dull and rusted blade, that covers me in scars that never fade. ”
-Assemblage 23

Sometimes scars are the visible reminder of who you were and must never be again.

2:30 AM will not let me be

Meeting someone is like visiting a new city. Some people want to see the sites. The highlights, so that they can say, “Oh, Pelgris? I’ve met him. Such a fascinating man.” Some people are just passing through.

My preference is to walk the streets. Get to know the neighborhoods. What wonders and mundane glories are to be had. I want to know your thoughts and ideas. Your past and your dreams. I want to share the journey with you. To see you smile. But I’ll fail.

I want these things, these experiences but I can’t leave well enough alone. So I’ll meet someone and I’ll seem fine at first but then I’ll send pictures of sunsets, clouds and storms. I’ll send poetry and music. I’ll give gifts way too soon, little things that I think you’ll like. And ultimately I will be overwhelming.

I am not in love. I’m just trying to share beauty and making a hash of it. I’m trying to make a human connection instead of allowing it to become. I know I’m doing it. And still I take those actions.

seven words

You are beautiful beyond measure or sanity

You are strength when I am broken

My heart is yours until suns dying

Your mind is the elegance of steel

Your smile is both shy and lovely.

Too early, too late?

It’s 2:30 AM and I have awoken. I’m warm in a cool room. Surrounded by the comforts of long years. My cat is snuggled up against me, a furnace in fur, she purs her contentment. But I am awake here. There is something missing,though not a comfort seems overlooked. Soft music plays. Then I realize what is absent.. Someone to share this moment with, who will mutter sleepily. Who I will move lightly around to write my poetry. I’ve found some amazing people in my searching. But this dream, I’ve not found an answer to.

Self-aggrandizing

Romance is a language I’m fluent in, perhaps too fluent. I like the beauty of it. I like flowers and cute gifts, I like listening and the dramatic gesture. I like sitting on the couch, arm around you watching a movie. Or both of us reading books, sharing passages with each other. Even the sharing of chores, the endless minutia makes me smile when I think of the greater implication of what those bits mean. I’m that guy; I’m not just trying to get into your pants(which is a discussion unto itself). I like the broad gesture, partly for the artistry of it, partly for beauty and partly because, in person, I have a hard time getting over my nervousness. The romance provides a framework for me to hide in, until I’m comfortable. Then I’ll just be me.

Master

I’ve recently been told that I don’t come off as a Top or Master. Which I find interesting, since I am one. Perhaps because I am gentle or emotional. I’m not really certain why. Perhaps it’s in my method. Outside of an active scene, I want my submissive to feel fully comfortable. To know that I care for them and that I would never harm them beyond their desire or capacity. I don’t take by force what could be had with gentleness. And even in play I prefer a slow escalation at the beginning of the relationship. Take it slow, get to know their capacities, their desires, what they want to explore, what is absolutely off the table. Bringing out the cat o’ nine on first meeting is a recipe for disaster even if the sub is up for it. If there is something I cannot abide it is a top that makes a submissive feel like they are not loved. A submissive is a treasure, outside of scene they should feel like they are. A top is responsible for not just the sexual/sensual well being of their submissive but their emotional needs as well. A top that misrepresents or mistreats a sub pisses me off. So I come off gentle, because I care. A real top is controlled, conscious of their actions, can appear cruel but is focused on the goal. Their pleasure is a piece of it, but they are responsible for their submissive’s pleasure as well. Being a brutal and selfish lover does not make you a top or master, it makes you an asshole.