Coming to terms with her allegorical death

I wish I could say I've learned something dire, an important tid bit of information, but the only thing that I keep exploring is my inner thoughts. Too lost within? Stuck in the muck and tangled in memories? Yes, but at least I know so.

I've been reminded about the way that I was treated by many, disposed of like a bad habit (mirrors can be ugly things I guess), made aware of the injustice of the just, the lust behind the calm blue eyes of yesterday, and the complicated situations that being "alive" really brings on.

Not without much effort do I find myself entangled in the conversations with a lover who will always be, at the same time pulling away from others who dilly dally back and fro without knowing just what it is that they want from life. Rather, finding the self away from overtly complicated states is best right now, but my lover will always be there and that is more than anyone else can say.

It's been years, and years it will be until I'm in the arms of someone that I really trust again. Last time I trusted all too easy, letting the snide remarks slide, the back handed comments and words packed with bullets bounce, all along all of her horrible manifestations came from within to barrage me (or any unlucky male found present at her grasp) as if I'd been the one to hurt her, but I let her go on because I knew her pain and I wanted to help; thus she gave of herself to me, but one cannot deny the hurt that she caused to herself or to me, it's all kept away in the state of memories or even coming back in dreams. It truly makes the past sour but reminds me not to fall for her again.

My lover, I do not have to worry about that with. We've shared the world and more, a bed, a kiss or two, and even the words "I love you" without anything forcing us to fear or worry about what tomorrow may bring because we know that whatever it is we will be there. She is nothing like sour girl, she will never be. That is good, it is great, my childhood friend and lover becomes more than just a memory but a living part of my life. Meanwhile the sour one is embedded into dreams and memories as a husk of a woman I do not wish to have a part of ever again, and so it becomes easier to read others like her, to keep away.

Both of them held the same space once, yet they are complete opposites. Within my heart they found warmth and appreciation, and only one of them knew what to do with it, my solemn lover. Sour Girl knew nothing of such things, her appreciation of life seems only superficial, childish at best (spread your legs for happiness). Playing back and fro from flower bed to flower bed like an earthworm, just eating and defecating while pretending to save the world. Sure, she helps flowers bloom much as she helped me, but the cost of the life led is so much higher than any price I'd be willing to pay, otherwise why would she want to run away from herself so badly with the drugs, sex, and alcohol? And run she does.

With one breath, she stitches together what is left of my heart. With a few words she pumps the eviscerated organs with life and brings me back to stature. She knows what to say to make me smile, to bring out the light within me. My solemn lover will always be there to stitch me back together when sour girls have their way.

This is what I've learned lately, I know it's not much, but to me it's a world.

I think movie lines are funny, so what?

Nothing to write, at least nothing I want to share with anyone. Life is meh. It's ok, I'm getting used to being tossed to the side like a half dead dog. It only fuels my hate for them. I hope you get what you deserve.

...

I felt like writing on my way home from my sisters graduation today, which I was only able to attend for a little while, but now I'm just not feeling letting out all of this... shit. Yes, shit. Because it's all I beget. What a waste, my whole life ahead of me is a waste. I can't do anything to help myself right. I just want to...

Truths in quotes

"she was consumed by 3 simple things:
drink, despair, loneliness; and 2 more:
youth and beauty"
— Charles Bukowski (The People Look Like Flowers At Last: New Poems)

Remnants of Dream Land

It's happened before, where I have strange dreams that I wake up to, hoping that I can finish off. First, I was doing an investigation on some conglomerate power, in a post apocalyptic and desolate world, they were hiding seeds. A few people knew about this, and tried to sneak out as many as they could, but the corporation wanted them dead. I was there to figure out why people turned up dead. It was so hard to get in, but once I did they couldn't do anything to me, as I had special fiscal powers. In other words, many people knew where I was, and what I was doing. In the end, I had found someone who would talk to me, Lucy. Lucy was sneaking out seeds, giving them to farmers I believe. We left the building but I lost her, somehow a biker started jumping over me on his bike to stop me. I kept telling him that I was in a fragile condition and he should be extremely careful. Eventually someone came up and grabbed him, swung him like a rag doll and smashed his helmet onto the pavement. It was here that I heard a punk rock band singing in a park, the lyrics all escape me but this part "we are here, we are here, we are trying to live homeless. Staving off the cold, keeping each other warm, we are trying to stave off homelessness."

I awoke, couldn't get into the dream again. I wanted to find Lucy and get the real story. It is here that I pass out again, and another dream begins.

I'm starting a road trip, I have all of these benefactors lined up, people who will be giving me money along the way in order to continue on. I was with my old friend Steph, she wanted to come along to take pictures and such. Our first stop took us to a big city, I can't recall which, but we pulled up to a parking lot and headed towards a mall. There we met the first benefactor, a nerdy 20 something year old guy who handed over a fat wad of cash and said that he couldn't wait to see what we got into. I told him that it was going to be interesting, and he should come along if he'd like. He said something about work or school, I tried to give him a book I had but he lost it the minute I handed it to him. We tried looking but to no avail. In the end Steph and I left, and we decided to go for a walk. I told her to stop and look at her surroundings, we needed to remember where the car was.

Try Try Try

It's days like today which make me wish I was able to just go, to get up and move away from here. These four walls, the lack of privacy, the unstable home situation. It tears at my inner psyche, I'm unable to cope because I'm unable to care for myself at the moment. Without work, without a bright light at the end of this tunnel, what am I to do? I feel ill, physically as well as mentally. I don't want to be tied down like this anymore, but there is no other way for me. My creativity is at an all time low, I blame it on the lack of "alone" time. I am always surrounded by someone, be it my sister or my mother, they are about at all times. Feeling ostigated with their presence I wonder if they feel the same about me, and if they want me gone as badly as I want to be gone. When will they know that I left a long time ago? That mentally I have tried to be away from them for so long. I sometimes don't understand these things, though I do know that what I do is because it makes me feel better, it allows for me to be somewhere else entirely. I often wish that things would be different, that I could take care of myself, that I had my own place, maybe then my family and I would get along better.

She came back into mind again. I met someone this past weekend, someone who reminded me a lot of her. Blond, thin, with a bag full of pills, and a care free attitude. I knew to stay away from the moment I laid eyes on her, sour girls are not something I want to be hanging around with. Other than that the festival went well. I met someone who I thought was really nice, but they may never know because I didn't say so. It was one of the volunteers, brunette, nice figure, and a go get 'em sense of being that I enjoyed. Too bad I was too busy making sure things were ok to do anything about it, to chat her up and say more than just hello. I'm such an idiot sometimes. What I hate the most is feeling alone, especially when I'm surrounded by people.

Blues, Oxycodone, and the demise of my generation.

It's been a while since my last post. A lot of things have happened. I fell in love, and then into apathy, all because of a few mishapped words. What can one do but try to give and love, if it's not returned then it's just not meant to be.

Someone passed away, someone I knew, rather met a few times. It's not so much the pain of loosing someone that I thought was a nice human being, but seeing the pain of those who loved this individual. It tears at my inner most. It's a sad reality. "Blues," as they have come to be called here, better known by their name Oxycodone, have certainly made quite the impression upon me these last few years. From seeing friends cope with the eminent addiction, to a lover who was more than just a regular user, to running into the aftermath more than once in it's many facades. This is a very scary drug, an extremely potent thing to be feared. It should not be taken lightly, and those who peddle it should be shot. No kidding, it is one of the worst epidemics I have ever seen, it is my generations version of... hell, I don't think we've ever had anything this bad in our society.

Sour girl comes to mind, that old lover, that woman who makes strides in the right direction all while she shoots up poison into her veins. How vain of her.

People from my past, from Opie, to Jerry. Those who lost themselves, and the few that found their way back.

Honestly I am at a loss for words. I wish this could stop, I wish that the whole thing could go away, but it wont. It's here to stay, and we have to deal with it. We have to hope that the ones smart enough don't just fall into it's hands. Even I, after spine surgery and such, I am in danger. The opioids that I must consume to keep my own sanity are the demons that I also must face. I only take them at night to help me sleep, to keep the pain at bay, and I hate it because I don't want to end up like them. I am afraid to end up like sour girl. Having met her, and known her as I did, does put the world in perspective in such a multi faceted way that I am able to understand that what I'm going through must be threaded carefully. It is not something to be taken lightly, as there is a very fine line between sanity and loss of self here.

If only one day she'd wake up too.

ZzZzZzZz

I'm sleepy for once before 7am. I'm gonna pass out, hopefully.

Cat Naps

There is no place like home

but what if home is being invaded

taken over

over run?



Then what is your place?

Where can you go?

No where.



I often dream of sleep

eternal

uninhibited

all in all

something just for me.



It’s taken years to become

entangled in social endevours

drama

hear says and illusions.



How pleasing it would be to me

just to wash away

the abstinence,

the disobedience,

the allure of yesterday

of sin itself,

with the closing of eyelids

in an eternal sleep.



This would please me

knowing that no one can wake me

knowing that life is but a dreamland

left behind for the dreamers

while I live a real life

soaked away in the tears of tomorrow.

Deliciously Sacrilegious

She bucked as quickly as she came

my head buried deep between her thighs

I could hear her heart beat every time she squeezed them

pressing hard upon my head,

glossy lips to kiss with a trimmed growth of hair

flourishing around them, it was just

enough to tell you that she’s a woman

and not some little girl.



I moved my tongue around the little mound

which lay hidden between her soft labia

one that my lips could feel pulsing

with every beat of her powerful heart.

It was delicious,

sacrilegious,

that my lips themselves prayed upon hers

lavishing in the tender touch of their kiss.



Arms wrapped around her legs,

hands freely transversing her body

one could feel her back arch slowly as they touched her hardened nipples.

Oh illustrious woman,

heavy breathing and panting gave away that your cum would soon flow

and your little patch which was already so moist

would turn into a river

gushin

almost drowning me

but still I prayed on your body.



As her hips began to raise,

her juices flowed freely

a taste so arousing my tongue aches for it even now.

Taste buds lit in ecstasy,

the scent of her all over my face.

It was delicious,

sacrilegious,

the way her cunt wet the bed

Catharsis

I can't sleep, I'm tired, yet I can't sleep. I find that I don't like people more and more. WoW seems more appealing every day, the less I have to deal with certain individuals the best. It might be time to cut some of those things out of my life. I'd much rather spend my time doing something else.

My Feminist Doctor

Oh dearest
feminist doctor
how did it ever come
to pass that
we would be like this?

You so angry
me so confused
the both of us lost
and in the end
no one knew

just why we ended up
the way we did
with our heads in the ground
and our rears in the air.

Come,
let me tell you this:
If I could
I'd do it all over again
only thing I'd do differently
is accept your invitation
to do anything
and everything
I pleased with you.

I must have been insane
to turn down
your body,
that
which you obviously
wish to give away
so much
to so many
but oh well.

Maybe
there wont be a next time
but I can assure you
I won't be the last
won't I?

My Feminist Doctor.

Excuses are cheap

I'm achy but feeling a lot better. I am reminded of something someone once said to me:

"what i meant by saying you need to be more of an asshole, is that you are already too lovable, floating along, so you, like me, are a bit of a doormat. people take advantage, and we both think people have good intentions. when in the end, it is not the case, so by standing up, saying no sometimes, putting your foot down, thats what i mean by being more of an asshole. kinda being facetious, cos it seems that only assholes and douchebags, those that unfairly compete for life's resources, are the ones that make it. hence, if we become more like assholes, maybe we will run amok and can start driving hummers and make soap outta our lipo and tit jobs." - Anon

How right they were. I am sometimes lost in so many thoughts that I forget about this, and this is the most important part of it all. Damn it, I hate it when you are right.