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14 July 2011
This Is Why The Singularity Will Never Happen
sound good?
27 June 2011
To the thing I never wanted (sorry for the Objectification)
Dear Y,
This morning I sat, coffee in hand, eagerly awaiting the new bland. Just then, as I contemplated the touch and smell of a new pen, I saw, through the very corner of my left eye, a brief flicker of the most spectacular red yellow shift. For a brief moment I was a drift, and not in my normal sea of loneliness, but instead an ocean of, let us say, happiness.
Was I in your tender arms again?
Was I lost in this embrace?
Turning face after face in an attempt to impress and transfer dress to mess.
What is this place?
This smell?
Is it heaven or is it Hell?
And just as it came it went leaving me with only the warmth of the cup in my hand and a meaningless longing to stand. I tried to place a meaning to derive a reason for this quick gleaming. None came to mind and soon mind came to none. The reciprocation of this vacation from thick thought.
What was clear is you were still a simple not. Lost long to time and if only your memory could be left behind, but I am tormented and fear I will soon be fermented by this consistent longing. The ice I have frozen is thin and I want to skate on.
Now please do not have any confusion, or develop the illusion that I would want you back. My dear it is just the opposite, in fact, I'd prefer you stay away. This flame burns bright and will soon burn out of sight and you may only get a wisp of black smoke.
Sincerely,
X
This morning I sat, coffee in hand, eagerly awaiting the new bland. Just then, as I contemplated the touch and smell of a new pen, I saw, through the very corner of my left eye, a brief flicker of the most spectacular red yellow shift. For a brief moment I was a drift, and not in my normal sea of loneliness, but instead an ocean of, let us say, happiness.
Was I in your tender arms again?
Was I lost in this embrace?
Turning face after face in an attempt to impress and transfer dress to mess.
What is this place?
This smell?
Is it heaven or is it Hell?
And just as it came it went leaving me with only the warmth of the cup in my hand and a meaningless longing to stand. I tried to place a meaning to derive a reason for this quick gleaming. None came to mind and soon mind came to none. The reciprocation of this vacation from thick thought.
What was clear is you were still a simple not. Lost long to time and if only your memory could be left behind, but I am tormented and fear I will soon be fermented by this consistent longing. The ice I have frozen is thin and I want to skate on.
Now please do not have any confusion, or develop the illusion that I would want you back. My dear it is just the opposite, in fact, I'd prefer you stay away. This flame burns bright and will soon burn out of sight and you may only get a wisp of black smoke.
Sincerely,
X
21 June 2011
Dear Larry Flynt
Dear Mr. Flynt,I am writing concerning a letter of yours I recently saw on Huffington Post in which you offered the former Congressman Weiner a position with your company. I, however, have not heard Mr. Weiner's response and am concerned he will refuse such a generous offer. It is with this in mind that I would like to offer myself as a suitable, although less qualified replacement for the position.While I have not held office, I have spent the past months living in Washington DC and witnessing and occasionally enjoying the level of debauchery that happens here. I can assure you that while my resume is not yet as outstanding as Mr. Weiner's, I would make a suitable stand-in for these reasons:
- My moral high horse ran away during a thunderstorm and has never come back to the stable.
- I am willing to voice my opinions and have a brilliant shouting voice.
- Having been a long time advocate of exercise, I am not hard to look at.
- I am an advocate of freedom of speech, and the free expression of sexuality.
- I am willing to run for any office and place myself into the public realm.
- I am willing to continue taking compromising photos of myself and sending them to consenting adults.
- Having studied film/video production and theory in school I am quite capable of producing high quality and artsy sex tapes if the need arises.
I would offer my services for 20% less than what you have offered Mr. Weiner and am more than willing to relocate at the drop of a hat. I am also willing to change my last name to allow for sophomoric New York post headlines. I might add that I have a sufficiently inflated ego to make an excellent talking head.Furthermore, Mr. Flynt, I have a special relationship with the repulsive. I find it necessary to seek out that which I fear in order to grow. Life is short and we must embrace every part of it, especially what we do not understand.It is with this in mind that I present you my strongest quality: my love of hypocrisy. As a self-proclaimed artist, it is the very shackles of society that provide me with inspiration. I long to take the racism, sexism, and any other "ism" that stands in the way of progress and force people to take its hand and dance. In many ways I feel that I share the same mission as Paul Tillich: "...to bring faith to the faithless and doubt to the faithful."It is my opinion Mr. Flynt, that while Mr. Weiner is the obvious first choice for the position, I would be an excellent stand-in. I am young, handsome, and would be receptive to your tutelage.Thank you for taking the time to read my request and please contact me with the information provided below so that we can set up a time to discuss this matter in depth.Sincerely,
TL
mineillshowyou@gmail.com
20 June 2011
Letter to the one who loved me even when I ran
Dear S,
Today I woke up to the sound of rain dropping hard onto the slick melted sand surface of the bathroom's skylight. I felt my lips slide across my white false teeth, bearing what I long ago would try so hard to hide. I sat in the dark my exposed flesh enjoying the machine generated faux wind. Thoughts poured from my mind and soon I felt liquid crawling across my once inflated cheek. Not a stream mind you but several rogue soldiers marching until they fade away.
I laid here for what seemed like an eternity attempting to wrap my mind around what it was that had caused this liquid to slide slowly from the corners of my blue eyes. Why did I have this feeling of uncontrolled happiness and serenity that is so powerful it has caused years of repressed emotion to seep freely? In truth I could not find an answer. I am not equipped to combat liquid soldiers, and frequently find myself succumbing to their tactics.
Later standing under the shower head it came to me. I was having a soft flashback of you. In the dripping rain I felt your arms wrapped tight around my heaving chest. I felt the safety we gave each other. I felt what I have always known and spent so much of my time running from. Love. A deep love that cannot really be expressed by the overly used term, but unfortunately my vocabulary has not provided me with a better way to express this.
The memories rushed over me like they were being carried by the water from the shower itself. The times we danced, the way we played and most importantly the times we just sat. It feels like years since I have felt you near me, and maybe it was this distance that allowed me to see what you meant to me. To be able to finally accept how much I needed you in my life. To finally return the loving embrace you had allowed me to run in and out of for all these years. I cannot lie I have been with others, but none have accepted me the way you do. None have loved me the way you have loved me.
In short my dear I am writing all of this to let you know I am coming home. After years of you waiting patiently with your open ended invitation I want you to know I am finally coming home. I only hope you will still see me the way I see you. I look forward to watching the rain in your arms and sipping coffee.
Love
T
17 June 2011
Lettering for Cover
Dear Potential Employer:
I am writing to you regarding the position of Office Bitch advertised in the classifieds of the local newspaper. I have always admired the work your company has done in the field of capitalism. The company's penchant for making more and more money is an admirable asset given the bleakness of the current economy.
I have spent several years attaining an education rivaled by few. My work experience is richly meager; the importance of quality has always surpassed that of quantity. My crushing despondency has kept me company for the long lonely decades I've spent overeducating myself, and it is currently my greatest asset. It will serve the company well because you will not need to break in my pride and naiveté.
You may reach me at the bottom of my pit of despair during the weekdays, and please hit me up on my cell on the weekends in case you want to partaaaaay. Oh, and did I mention my liver? Oh man, my liver. That thing has been a life-saver in college. Literally.
Humbly yours,
Hopeful Potential Employee
I am writing to you regarding the position of Office Bitch advertised in the classifieds of the local newspaper. I have always admired the work your company has done in the field of capitalism. The company's penchant for making more and more money is an admirable asset given the bleakness of the current economy.
I have spent several years attaining an education rivaled by few. My work experience is richly meager; the importance of quality has always surpassed that of quantity. My crushing despondency has kept me company for the long lonely decades I've spent overeducating myself, and it is currently my greatest asset. It will serve the company well because you will not need to break in my pride and naiveté.
You may reach me at the bottom of my pit of despair during the weekdays, and please hit me up on my cell on the weekends in case you want to partaaaaay. Oh, and did I mention my liver? Oh man, my liver. That thing has been a life-saver in college. Literally.
Humbly yours,
Hopeful Potential Employee
Kitten and Tuna
Hello my Puuuuurrrrrrfect Kitty and of course my smelly tuna fish,
I was listening to morning sports talk radio while rubbing soap on my firm flesh when all the sudden a voice rang throughout the bathroom and brought back so many memories. Flashback initiated, the feeling of alcohol's tantalizing clutch on my stability sent me spiraling around the room donning only a hand towel to cover my overused genitalia. I spun and I spun until the room seemed to move without me at which point I slid to the ground. From my new seat I sat with tears in the icy blue orbs that have provided me with the fevered ego we all love. My genitals half erect and my legs running away from each other, an angel sang to me. All of my cynicism and denial had been lifted from my shoulders. Atlas was finally able to stand tall and proud for the world had floated away. If I could have picked a time to die it would have been here, in my euphoric and post-ejaculatory glee... So Kitty and Tuna what brought me to this point. What left me on the cold bathroom tiles covered in what could have been children, legs limp and eyes dilated?
Well Kitty and Tuna here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Well Kitty and Tuna here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?
I believe it is painfully obvious why I had to send this to both of you. Kitty I feel this is also proof that it is a genetic trait of Der Deutches Volk.
Love
XOXOXO
14 June 2011
Morse Code Love Letter
Dearie me, oh dear oh dear.
What have we here?
Swishing lightly around the
room,
treading
on the heartstrings of my hamstrings,
her every sashay clumsily slashes
at
my
eyes
with flashes of brilliance.
Distilling her twill into the tweed pattern of my need,
her casual cashmere merely cashes in on the
soft
steps
of my soft shoe
mirroring hers with a grace that can only exist in Hollywood.
My stomach lurches for every graceful dip,
her feet stomp out a mating call that I
just
cannot
ignore.
11 June 2011
09 June 2011
The Curiously Curated Cure
Don't be scared, love, come out and play. The water's safe, the coast is clear, and I'll stay near. The grass is soft beneath my toes, it knows nothing of your woes. Don't be afraid to lose yourself, I'll come find you in our never-ending game of hide and seek. Nothing can come between my nose and my prey, and I've been praying to know you. To nuzzle you and muzzle you with mine. Your eyes shine as if you know, but you plead ignorance and innocence, yet your hands tell a different story. Your eyes rake across my body, yet feign confusion at this marvelous illusion. What did you expect, something permanent and perfect on your first try? Sorry sweetie, that's not how this works. You take what you can get and learn to love the sweet promise of a goodbye from the very first doomed hello.
Undeserving
Listen, just because you're overworked and cranky doesn't give you license to make snide comments about how I live my life. Just because I'm not an obsessive workaholic like you doesn't mean that everything I do is inherently done the wrong way. It's in very poor taste to rub my face in your disdain. Oh, so it's surprising that I'm sitting on the couch instead of at my desk in my room for once? You know as well as I that it's factually incorrect to say that this hasn't happened in several years, and maybe I'd come out of my room more often if you weren't such a bitch. I didn't ask for your opinion, I pay my rent and my portion of the utilities, I clean my messes and don't steal or destroy your stuff. I am respectful of your space and try to be quiet when you're sleeping. You just resent me because I can still rely on my parents for money. Your parents haven't paid for anything of yours (but they have for your sister!) in decades because they're plain old assholes.
I've taken pains not to allow myself to become spoiled, I don't flaunt my financial dependence, in fact, I'm rather ashamed of it. I've worked for all but one and a half of the years that have elapsed since I became old enough to legally hold a job for precisely this reason. I know you don't see any of that when you look at me staring at my computer when you get home from working your second job of the day for the fourth day in a row, all you see is your lazy roommate who gets everything she wants handed to her on a silver fucking platter. It's just so unfair that some people have everything so easily and you have to work so hard just to barely scrape by.
Yes, I realize that. It is unfair. But what the fuck do you want me to do about that? I'm just trying to find a job like every other fucking unemployed college graduate. So what if I can survive for a few months without needing food stamps? This automatically makes me a bad person? I'm inherently undeserving of my familial support simply because I've never had to truly suffer like you? You're so goddamned self-righteous. Who are you to judge me? I know you've had more than your fair share of difficulties in life, but I was not the perpetrator. I've listened to your goddamn self-absorbed problems for how many years now? I sit and listen to you for hours and hours and hours, I cheer you up and distract you when you need it, I offer advice when I have it, I don't push you, I'm not rude to you, I treat your bitchy judgmental comments as if they're really the jokes you pretend they are. They're not funny. I can hear the bitterness in your voice, I can feel the barbs you don't even realize that you plant every time you open your mouth.
I keep aspects of my personal life somewhat of a secret from you because I am weary of opening myself up to criticism and judgment every time I speak with you. You don't need to know about X, Y, or Z things that I do because I know you won't approve if I don't recite a litany of logic to support my decision to do X, Y, or Z, and it's just tiring. I know that I will need to have quite a lot of mental energy on hand if I'm going to have a "real" discussion with you, and that amount of energy is not something I keep on reserve for you. And quite frankly, I'm losing the patience. I'm losing the will to muster even the minimal amount of energy it takes to maintain our friendship. I deliberately make sure I'm not in the house when I know you'll be around; I sleep in until after you leave the house in the morning and stay out late enough so that you'll be in bed by the time I get home just so I don't have to interact with you.
You are so tiring that instead of telling you any of this while you sit six feet away from me on the other couch, I am passive-aggressively typing this out in a whiny blog post. I'm so fucking sorry, jesus christ. Get over it.
26 May 2011
No Country for Old Marmots
Dear Sir or Madam;
Enclosed you will find my script entitled "No Country for Old Marmots," in which a young marmot mistakenly receives a cache of berries. He then crosses paths with a Mongolian hunter intent on catching and eating him and serving the berries to his pregnant wife, and in a series of increasingly hilarious antics, the hunter contracts pneumonic plague from the marmot. He then transmits the plague to his infant son, who dies from it, thus devastating the hunter's wife. The marmot, in a desperate attempt to escape the hunter, accidentally ships himself to America, where he is called a groundhog and is celebrated for seeing his shadow and lives a lavish lifestyle until the end of his days.
It is my sincerest expectation that you will be pleased by this story. If you have any questions, you may contact me further at (###) ###-#### or #########@#####.com. I wish you the best on your journey through life.
Sincerely,
X
Enclosed you will find my script entitled "No Country for Old Marmots," in which a young marmot mistakenly receives a cache of berries. He then crosses paths with a Mongolian hunter intent on catching and eating him and serving the berries to his pregnant wife, and in a series of increasingly hilarious antics, the hunter contracts pneumonic plague from the marmot. He then transmits the plague to his infant son, who dies from it, thus devastating the hunter's wife. The marmot, in a desperate attempt to escape the hunter, accidentally ships himself to America, where he is called a groundhog and is celebrated for seeing his shadow and lives a lavish lifestyle until the end of his days.
It is my sincerest expectation that you will be pleased by this story. If you have any questions, you may contact me further at (###) ###-#### or #########@#####.com. I wish you the best on your journey through life.
Sincerely,
X
20 May 2011
The Lost Thought I Never Thought to Loose
Your honor;
My amusing muse has long moved on and is now on the loose. Lost in the minefield of my mind, you roam about upending dressers and dressing up as an end to the means which mean nothing to me. Amused and bemused, confused by a muse long gone, the gonging in my heart is lounging but not for long. Is it wrong to hope that she returns? Turning the urn from mourning to moaning, groaning and throwing tantrums and fits, she'll flit about lighting up the corners of my bedroom, bedding the coroners of who visit the scene of my crime. "Who did this?" They'll ask of her, and she'll just grin seductively, an echo of the dreams I never dared to clean from the walls and halls. Swabs of dirt and grime and blood will line the plastic baggies destined to moulder forever in the forgotten drawers of the police station, wasting away, wasting their effort on pointless the task of piecing together the mess of my death. It's her, she did it, this is all her fault, but who can fault her in that dress? She dresses for success, and my how successful she is, succeeding the throne I'd thrown her from with such grace and disdain, deigning to reign my heart from the gutter where I cast her aside, trying to break my addiction to her fiction. She's fictional, you see, just a figment of my imagination, a destination for a nation, impatient and satiated, slaking her thirst on my veins. I'll never be rid of her, she'll haunt my days, flaying me from the inside. How can I display my pain? To admit her dominance is to give credence to her torment, and then she'll have won. Then she'll leave me alone, finally and forever. For never shall I want for another as long as she's by my side, haunting my bride.
Forever yours,
X
My amusing muse has long moved on and is now on the loose. Lost in the minefield of my mind, you roam about upending dressers and dressing up as an end to the means which mean nothing to me. Amused and bemused, confused by a muse long gone, the gonging in my heart is lounging but not for long. Is it wrong to hope that she returns? Turning the urn from mourning to moaning, groaning and throwing tantrums and fits, she'll flit about lighting up the corners of my bedroom, bedding the coroners of who visit the scene of my crime. "Who did this?" They'll ask of her, and she'll just grin seductively, an echo of the dreams I never dared to clean from the walls and halls. Swabs of dirt and grime and blood will line the plastic baggies destined to moulder forever in the forgotten drawers of the police station, wasting away, wasting their effort on pointless the task of piecing together the mess of my death. It's her, she did it, this is all her fault, but who can fault her in that dress? She dresses for success, and my how successful she is, succeeding the throne I'd thrown her from with such grace and disdain, deigning to reign my heart from the gutter where I cast her aside, trying to break my addiction to her fiction. She's fictional, you see, just a figment of my imagination, a destination for a nation, impatient and satiated, slaking her thirst on my veins. I'll never be rid of her, she'll haunt my days, flaying me from the inside. How can I display my pain? To admit her dominance is to give credence to her torment, and then she'll have won. Then she'll leave me alone, finally and forever. For never shall I want for another as long as she's by my side, haunting my bride.
Forever yours,
X
07 May 2011
Where Is Your God Now?
Dear father,
What have you done? It was hard enough on mommy dearest when she found out I would never produce the grandchildren she so sorely desired. A boon in the world of pornography, my taste for pussy has only ever horrified the woman who bore me in her womb for nine long months. As heartbreaking it is to a mother to learn that she has spawned a monster, imagine the sorrow of a mother whose monster will never know a chance to redeem itself in the evolutionary arena through its offspring.
But my dead-end genetics do not end hers, oh no. Big brother will provide. He has always followed the straight and narrow path, with his summa cum laude education and his fancy feast girlfriend. They'll provide the babies, while I'll provide the discordant counterpoint to highlight the bittersweet nature of their life. I'll be the scapegoat and black sheep, he'll be the golden child. My animalistic totems serve as the "other" to his humbling humanness. Certainly I've provided her enough pain for one lifetime, and she was never supposed to suffer like this again.
But you, daddy. You were no product of her labors, you shared the work with her. You built a life together, you were to stand by her in times of thick and thin (whatever that means) and support her in times of difficulty, like the time when I came out, for example. Now that all the chickens have left home to roost, she finds out it was all a lie. The shared delusion you created was always real to her, and you knew that. Who knew that it was a zero sum game in our family? Sexuality is the great equalizer. The imbalance I created by spurning the cock has righted itself by making things, once again, not right for mother.
So now she's moving out of the house you raised your children in together to start her life anew at an age which humans historically never lived long enough to see, and your boyfriend is moving in. No more hiding your secrets, no more will you live a double life. Finally you can join the LGBT activist group I told you about years ago not as a straight ally, but as a gay middle-aged man who has finally came clean with those he cares most about in life.
That must have been hard to do. Vilifying your inner urges for decades, fighting who you really are all for the sake of some artificially constructed social mores about who is allowed to love whom. Times were different when you were my age, people were jailed for such things back then. Suicide is still more common among us queers even today. Society has come a long way toward acceptance of us, and although much of the battle is still left to fight, the tide is with us now. It's just a matter of time, and it's becoming increasingly clear to the world. Now we find our older hidden constituents crawling out of the woodwork to join our swelling ranks.
I never expected that such a glorious march could leave such destruction in its wake. I thought we were doing the right thing. But how can something so right feel so wrong? I love my mother, I never wanted to hurt her, but I saw no other option at first. It was either hurt her or continue dying inside for the rest of my life. I feel the pain of your illusion from both inside and out, and no matter how many times I turn it over, I can find no way out. Your hard-earned wisdom has followed the advice of my youthful ideals, and my world has been carefully turned on its head.
Love and loathing,
your daughter
What have you done? It was hard enough on mommy dearest when she found out I would never produce the grandchildren she so sorely desired. A boon in the world of pornography, my taste for pussy has only ever horrified the woman who bore me in her womb for nine long months. As heartbreaking it is to a mother to learn that she has spawned a monster, imagine the sorrow of a mother whose monster will never know a chance to redeem itself in the evolutionary arena through its offspring.
But my dead-end genetics do not end hers, oh no. Big brother will provide. He has always followed the straight and narrow path, with his summa cum laude education and his fancy feast girlfriend. They'll provide the babies, while I'll provide the discordant counterpoint to highlight the bittersweet nature of their life. I'll be the scapegoat and black sheep, he'll be the golden child. My animalistic totems serve as the "other" to his humbling humanness. Certainly I've provided her enough pain for one lifetime, and she was never supposed to suffer like this again.
But you, daddy. You were no product of her labors, you shared the work with her. You built a life together, you were to stand by her in times of thick and thin (whatever that means) and support her in times of difficulty, like the time when I came out, for example. Now that all the chickens have left home to roost, she finds out it was all a lie. The shared delusion you created was always real to her, and you knew that. Who knew that it was a zero sum game in our family? Sexuality is the great equalizer. The imbalance I created by spurning the cock has righted itself by making things, once again, not right for mother.
So now she's moving out of the house you raised your children in together to start her life anew at an age which humans historically never lived long enough to see, and your boyfriend is moving in. No more hiding your secrets, no more will you live a double life. Finally you can join the LGBT activist group I told you about years ago not as a straight ally, but as a gay middle-aged man who has finally came clean with those he cares most about in life.
That must have been hard to do. Vilifying your inner urges for decades, fighting who you really are all for the sake of some artificially constructed social mores about who is allowed to love whom. Times were different when you were my age, people were jailed for such things back then. Suicide is still more common among us queers even today. Society has come a long way toward acceptance of us, and although much of the battle is still left to fight, the tide is with us now. It's just a matter of time, and it's becoming increasingly clear to the world. Now we find our older hidden constituents crawling out of the woodwork to join our swelling ranks.
I never expected that such a glorious march could leave such destruction in its wake. I thought we were doing the right thing. But how can something so right feel so wrong? I love my mother, I never wanted to hurt her, but I saw no other option at first. It was either hurt her or continue dying inside for the rest of my life. I feel the pain of your illusion from both inside and out, and no matter how many times I turn it over, I can find no way out. Your hard-earned wisdom has followed the advice of my youthful ideals, and my world has been carefully turned on its head.
Love and loathing,
your daughter
04 May 2011
Dear Heidi
Dear Heidi,
I am responding to your letter not to apologize or to delve into what a horrid beast I can be, but instead to express how dreadfully wrong your letter is.
You see Heidi, this beast I have spent years sculpting out of the fat lump of clay that formally bore the same name is both a wondrous and dangerous creature. While it can soar to new heights it occasionally will reach new lows and sadly it will drag those near it down to these depths. It is a beast that feeds on praise and adoration and will dance for the smallest amount. I say this without a request for pity nor as an excuse, this is just how I have nurtured this beast, and it has gotten so accustomed to the taste that I see no way to wean it.
Then again this is not about me. This is about how very wrong you are. Sadly my dear Heidi I am rarely able to express any admiration or praise for those I know and like. Finding the words to express such things never seems to come further to my mind. It is much easier for me to deal with the larger amount of people who I only care for on the level of a general communal feeling with my common man. However there are a select few, who have gotten past my leathery exterior and burrowed into what poets would call my heart. Now we both know that the heart is a simplistic muscled designed to pump fluid throughout a vast interconnected vascular system. You are an unfortunate member of this club, whether you like it or not, you have paid your dues and at some point you get a t-shirt or a coffee mug... I am not sure, there is a committee working on the gift bag.
For me you are a great friend as you allow this beast to run free but when I need it most you interject a touch of rational thought into my world of impulse. I also always thought I was the parasite in our relationship. Exhausting your ear and draining your patience. I would go into this further but everything I write feels sappy and I would hate to be the mosquito caught in my own here.
So to close this Heidi, you are the sister I never wanted, the one who consistently feeds this beast without allowing it to gorge itself. For this I cannot thank you enough, and I assure you that in a time of real need you would be someone I turned to.
Signed,
Asshole
27 April 2011
violence is only the answer to a question left unasked
Hey asshole,
You are the most selfish fucking piece of shit. Words cannot express the depths to which I despise you right now, these mere guttural utterances ring hollow in the cavern of violence I would do you right now if you were within reach. Why threaten to off yourself when I'll gladly do it for you? I swear to whichever godless heathen bitch you picked up in that bar, you're not stupid enough to just go and die out of boredom, that's not your style. If ending it all is what you want, you'll end more than just yourself if for no other reason than to keep you amused while you die. You'll do something so colossally stupid that it can only be intentional, and you'll make sure no one knows what's going on. You wouldn't reach out for help, you were just fucking with me.
You had to have been.
Why would you possibly turn to me if you were serious? I'm nothing, I'm just someone who hasn't pissed you off enough yet to have been sloughed off. I'm the parasite to your insanity, growing fatter the thinner you become. You've never needed me, you can't need me if I need you to be whole and broken and wholly broken off from reality to provide me with the sanity I need just to stay adrift. I wouldn't be half the man I am today without you, how can you need me? You helped create me. What could I ever possibly be to you for you to turn to me for help?
Oh shit, what if you really were turning to me for help? Should I have called you and talked until you got so sick of my voice that you agreed to live just to shut me up? Should I have said something gushy and sappy? Should I have put my book down and paid attention to you? Should I not have challenged your assertion? Why would you turn to me, I don't know how to do this! There are people who know what to do in these situations much better than I. Asking for my help is a death wish (!!!) of ineptitude. You couldn't have meant it. There's no way.
I hope you have the world's worst hangover tomorrow morning, and I don't care how sober you were tonight.
Heidi
You are the most selfish fucking piece of shit. Words cannot express the depths to which I despise you right now, these mere guttural utterances ring hollow in the cavern of violence I would do you right now if you were within reach. Why threaten to off yourself when I'll gladly do it for you? I swear to whichever godless heathen bitch you picked up in that bar, you're not stupid enough to just go and die out of boredom, that's not your style. If ending it all is what you want, you'll end more than just yourself if for no other reason than to keep you amused while you die. You'll do something so colossally stupid that it can only be intentional, and you'll make sure no one knows what's going on. You wouldn't reach out for help, you were just fucking with me.
You had to have been.
Why would you possibly turn to me if you were serious? I'm nothing, I'm just someone who hasn't pissed you off enough yet to have been sloughed off. I'm the parasite to your insanity, growing fatter the thinner you become. You've never needed me, you can't need me if I need you to be whole and broken and wholly broken off from reality to provide me with the sanity I need just to stay adrift. I wouldn't be half the man I am today without you, how can you need me? You helped create me. What could I ever possibly be to you for you to turn to me for help?
Oh shit, what if you really were turning to me for help? Should I have called you and talked until you got so sick of my voice that you agreed to live just to shut me up? Should I have said something gushy and sappy? Should I have put my book down and paid attention to you? Should I not have challenged your assertion? Why would you turn to me, I don't know how to do this! There are people who know what to do in these situations much better than I. Asking for my help is a death wish (!!!) of ineptitude. You couldn't have meant it. There's no way.
I hope you have the world's worst hangover tomorrow morning, and I don't care how sober you were tonight.
Heidi
25 April 2011
Pent Up and Penned Down
Dear 5w3et_th1ng42;
Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted in a relationship? I had no answer for you, so I told you that I didn't know. In retrospect, I think that was the wrong question to ask. Each relationship is different, each person is different, and I don't want the same relationship with each person. There is no generic ideal relationship to me, I can't just want something that doesn't exist. A better question would have been "what do you want in this relationship?" but I barely knew you then, and all I knew, all I could possibly want then was to see where things would go.
I let you set the pace because you- remarkably- seemed the more cautious one of us. We agreed upon our parameters before I had any idea where I wanted them to be. Now I have a much better idea of what I want in this relationship, but now it is too late.
The long and short of it is that I want to spend more time with you than you have available to spend with me. Between our respective temporal constraints we have a severely constricted amount of time available within which to have any sort of relationship, and it doesn't allow for any sort of natural development. It is agonizing to me to keep all this inside, but what purpose would it serve to tell you? You wanted a drama-free relationship, which is one of the few things I know I can provide, you wanted to know if you could handle dating two people at once, and I know I can provide a positive portion of that experience for you; I'm helping you find what you want in the long term at the expense of my own sanity/happiness/whatever. There is no solution to my problem, so why impose it on you?
Sincerely,
blu3y3d_w0nd3r
Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted in a relationship? I had no answer for you, so I told you that I didn't know. In retrospect, I think that was the wrong question to ask. Each relationship is different, each person is different, and I don't want the same relationship with each person. There is no generic ideal relationship to me, I can't just want something that doesn't exist. A better question would have been "what do you want in this relationship?" but I barely knew you then, and all I knew, all I could possibly want then was to see where things would go.
I let you set the pace because you- remarkably- seemed the more cautious one of us. We agreed upon our parameters before I had any idea where I wanted them to be. Now I have a much better idea of what I want in this relationship, but now it is too late.
The long and short of it is that I want to spend more time with you than you have available to spend with me. Between our respective temporal constraints we have a severely constricted amount of time available within which to have any sort of relationship, and it doesn't allow for any sort of natural development. It is agonizing to me to keep all this inside, but what purpose would it serve to tell you? You wanted a drama-free relationship, which is one of the few things I know I can provide, you wanted to know if you could handle dating two people at once, and I know I can provide a positive portion of that experience for you; I'm helping you find what you want in the long term at the expense of my own sanity/happiness/whatever. There is no solution to my problem, so why impose it on you?
Sincerely,
blu3y3d_w0nd3r
21 April 2011
Play the Game But Don't Game the Play
Dear predatorial smile;
Fuck you and your unnerving presence. I don't care how many faces you appear on or how unexpectedly you do so, I will never succumb to your seductive curves. The teeth shining out from your lips give me all the warning I need; to quoth the rave- nevermore! I've explored the depths of your pouting folds, I've seen the damage of your bite, I should know better by now than to be taken in by the power of your intensity.
You've kept me captive before- velvet gloves over iron fist. I've been helpless in your radiance, you've taken what you wanted from me before and still demanded more. I have nothing left to give. Leave me and bereave me of your presence, let me live in the shadows, I am burning in your light. Quench the pain and let me breathe freely once more, remove me from your fiery gaze.
I've seen you appear in the mirror too; I've felt you on my face when faced with a malleable new fresh face just begging to be taken over. I've overtaken your adrenal grace to paw at the lace binding my new prey, praying for it all to be over, for I am as much at your mercy as my victim is. It doesn't matter which side of the smile I find myself, this is no victimless crime. I am captive to the rhythm of the seduction, be it directed at me or directed by me. I am the author of my own destruction and construction and restruction; constricted by the constraints of time and space which exist in continuum, you manage to exist in a vacuum and vacuum the life from me when you caress me so swiftly.
What do you want? You already have me at your mercy, the power should have gone to your head by now and made you weak. Why must you continue to haunt me so? I've given up everything I am to your every whim and vim, your rigorous vigor shatters my vigil every time. I lay awake at night dreading the anticipation that foreshadows your sudden appearance, anticipating the dread that builds in your absence. This half life of the waking dead that I walk while you are away only makes your brief shining visits all the more cloyingly horrifying. This is no ploy, I want you gone for good. No more shall your glistening lips tongue my days and shake me from this dreary existence. I've never been more alive than when captive to your glorious tango, but this is no way to live.
Please release me from your hold. I shall never be free to join you if you don't let me leave.
Forever yours,
a caged songbird
Fuck you and your unnerving presence. I don't care how many faces you appear on or how unexpectedly you do so, I will never succumb to your seductive curves. The teeth shining out from your lips give me all the warning I need; to quoth the rave- nevermore! I've explored the depths of your pouting folds, I've seen the damage of your bite, I should know better by now than to be taken in by the power of your intensity.
You've kept me captive before- velvet gloves over iron fist. I've been helpless in your radiance, you've taken what you wanted from me before and still demanded more. I have nothing left to give. Leave me and bereave me of your presence, let me live in the shadows, I am burning in your light. Quench the pain and let me breathe freely once more, remove me from your fiery gaze.
I've seen you appear in the mirror too; I've felt you on my face when faced with a malleable new fresh face just begging to be taken over. I've overtaken your adrenal grace to paw at the lace binding my new prey, praying for it all to be over, for I am as much at your mercy as my victim is. It doesn't matter which side of the smile I find myself, this is no victimless crime. I am captive to the rhythm of the seduction, be it directed at me or directed by me. I am the author of my own destruction and construction and restruction; constricted by the constraints of time and space which exist in continuum, you manage to exist in a vacuum and vacuum the life from me when you caress me so swiftly.
What do you want? You already have me at your mercy, the power should have gone to your head by now and made you weak. Why must you continue to haunt me so? I've given up everything I am to your every whim and vim, your rigorous vigor shatters my vigil every time. I lay awake at night dreading the anticipation that foreshadows your sudden appearance, anticipating the dread that builds in your absence. This half life of the waking dead that I walk while you are away only makes your brief shining visits all the more cloyingly horrifying. This is no ploy, I want you gone for good. No more shall your glistening lips tongue my days and shake me from this dreary existence. I've never been more alive than when captive to your glorious tango, but this is no way to live.
Please release me from your hold. I shall never be free to join you if you don't let me leave.
Forever yours,
a caged songbird
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