I just had a guy who I just met on a cruise who live a country away from me get upset because I would not have sex with him because 1 he’s drunk and 2 I don’t know him well enough…. What is up with that crap? Please comment because I really want to know.
Apologies and obscenely happy goats
I am sorry to everyone who follows this blog. I have not posted in a while mostly because I haven’t written anything in a while. It’s funny when life gets in the way of well… life. It is not always easy to write, nor is it always good to. The changes in me caught me by surprise and it took some time to adjust. For those who know me I am still pretty much two steps from self destruction and suicide the crazy has just been calmer the last few days.
The good news is that in the process of adjusting I met someone very close to what and who I am.
The bad news is that in the process of adjusting I met someone very close to what and who I am.
Obviously I haven’t decided whether or not this is a good thing or a bad thing. I think I can only wait and see what happens. It is strange and kind of wonderful to understand someone and I am still not sure that this whole thing is wise.
Hopefully I will be able to pick back up writing, I just can’t seem to find the latch inside my head that lets all of the crazy wander out and onto the page. If anyone has any ideas on how to do this I am up for just about anything.
For those who need it I give you an obscenely happy goat.
There is Nothing Again
In the past weeks I have tried to write honestly I have. Unfortunately everything seems to be coming out just wrong. It is like I can no longer use writing to articulate what is in my head and even the world inside me seems bleaker than normal. I can still see it, it is still there but I no longer live there. I am no longer a part of my own world. It is like looking through glass frosted over by wicked cold letting me see but not feel anything but a cold that not even my world contained. Anyone who is wondering about that world is welcome to read, more than a few posts contain glimpses of that world.
It’s like having a limb severed, being able to see it, but not feel it, not touch it. Not be a part of it. One wouldn’t expect it but it is quite painful actually. To not be in touch with something that has tortured me so beautifully, leaving me twisted and broken. It is much like not being able to touch the one that can twist you into a wonderfully broken thing and make your mind fly apart with the sheer ecstasy of it. Yeah you know who I mean. Only this is worse. That person is just a person, outside and at times replaceable. This is a part of me.
“Will it let me back in,” is the only question that I can ask because it is no longer my choice. They think that banishing the darkness with pharmaceuticals is the only way I will be free. What I don’t tell them is I like the darkness, enjoy it, it makes me whole, without it I am a ghost locked inside myself. I can’t feel, I can’t write, I can’t laugh, love, or breath. Stealing a part of me is something only a lover should do.
I have not been myself lately or rather I have been too much myself lately locked inside my own little world begging for escape. I look around at the people with me who don’t know me at all and slip back into an alternate reality that is more real to me than anything I can touch or hold but is infinitely more twisted that anything thought up on this plane.
In my world if something can think to do it, it has been done in technicolor brilliance that can only be accomplished in the mind. Things so twisted that they can only exist inside someone and they can only feast on the light and love in your soul. And feast they do. I am losing it.
I look at others, listen to them, and realize that no one has it worse or better than me because their mind might be doing it to them too. If I can hide it away from everyone but my readers they can hide it from me. Which sparks the thought, as I look at each person in turn, what horrible things is their mind doing to me as we talk. Are they similar things to what my mind is doing to them. Would they cringe away from me in horror if I told them or would they just smile at me knowingly.
Is that the same hunger or darkness I see behind their eyes? Is it the same blackness that is behind your eyes? I don’t know why you suddenly shift away only that you do. My mind instantly goes to the questions is the darkness showing, radiating off me like some twisted negative lighthouse. Or is it the blankness, the utter soulless look that is in my eyes. Does it make you think “she’s checked out?” Do you even notice? No one else does…
Public Stigma and Reasons for Hiding
I speak often of the depression I suffer from. Sometimes it is in graphically descriptive terms as many of my posts are and other times it is plainly as this post is shaping up to be. I recently went very public to friends and family with the problems I experience with depression.
That was a very large mistake. Instead of being able to be more open I have had to hide more. I cannot use phrases like help, sick, hospital, or state that I am not feeling well without a paranoid lets call in the nice young men in little white coats reaction. Frankly I am considering moving, changing my name, severing the support system I thought was in place (turns on those I relied on were worse than those that I ran from), and going somewhere so big no one will know me or care as I slowly degrade and bring myself back up again. This is because I am the only one who can, help would be nice, someone to talk to would be nice but not worth the fallout of being honest with people close to you.
When I began this I talked about when to call an ambulance and when not to. Unfortunately no one seemed to listen lol. Let me rephrase what I said at the beginning, unless I am bleeding out don’t call the ambulance. Calling can, will, and did ruin my life.
I am not sure if everyone is like this or if it is only me but I don’t deal with frustration very well. Allow me to rephrase – I don’t deal with frustration at all, waiting makes me feel as if I am being driven slowly insane by the most diabolical of demons. Most of the tears that I have shed have not been over sadness, joy, or even anger they have been because of frustration.
Like right now my hands twitch with it. It flows through me dancing down my spine and skipping as if it is having fun. It plays with me sending shock waves skipping across my ribs making my heart pound. I have been pacing my cage looking out across the sands watching them build the walls that they think I need. I am aware that my skin doesn’t seem to want to stay on. It slithers and crawls over muscle, bone, and sinew looking for a way to slide off and live on its own.
It pushes aside the darkness which I have become accustom to. Sending it back inside my duplicitous brain. I wonder vaguely if the architects are finished with their twisted spires and rooms that people never come out of. They don’t seem to be building anymore and I wonder if it is safe to go back the the dark pit I call my home. I try the cage door and find it locked. Looking out across the black sand landscape I try to see the one whom I once loved and the one whom I have lost. I wonder if he still lives despite the torture he has endured. There is no way for me to tell.
What I wouldn’t give to have that heart beat against my hand full of life and love. Somehow I think the same slithering things that got me. Parasites that stretch the fabric of reality in their grotesque bodies unnatural for the real world. I wonder vaguely if they will ever break through using my body as a transport device. They skitter along my bones and muscles as if they are restless and waiting to get out. Each day they take more from me and I wonder when they will envelope me causing my personality to die. They have already altered it beyond recognition. I watch the darkness move underneath my skin waiting for me to touch another and infect them so that they can escape the prison I keep them in.
I keep them close to my heart because I have long since started to view them as my darkness but I know they bite, scratch, and claw to infect another. When I touch someone they envelope him corrupting what he feels, who he loves, and any happiness he could bring. It always happens this way, I think this is why I stay away from people. I don’t want to see the my darkness penetrate them like an obscene lover. It fills them up and burrows its way into any cracks so that the person feels the fullness of their presence. Some people cum when they feel it others turn away, still others scream while it pushes too hard against their walls expanding them to the point of a perfect pain. The darkness is good at that. Good at making you feel all those feelings that are considered unnatural, taboo, but oh so good.
Random bits of writing
Pulling into a nearby truck stop he looked around with eyes that were not exactly his and not exactly sane. Finding a one at the truck stop wasn’t difficult, since he got back he could feel them. It was almost like it was a part of him. Right now the pull was so strong he barely could conceal his need.
“Can I help you with something?” He asked the blond standing just inside the door. The blond was just passably pretty.
“Sure sugar,” It replied with a smile.
“Wouldn’t you rather have something else?” Jared grinned, this was way too easy.
“What did you have in mind sugar,” she dropped her voice into an almost sexy southern drawl.
Jared grinned a lopsided grin that he knew was irresistible before grabbing her hand and leading her towards the bathrooms at the back of the bar. Too easy, he thought, Way too easy.” She allowed him to lead her undoubtedly thinking of him as her next victim.
They entered the truck stops only bathroom. The smells struck Jared immediately, piss and various other substances he didn’t want to know about assailed him. Without preamble he pushed her up against the wall his hands pushing her skirt up around her waist. He reached for the knife at his back and grinned at her wickedly.
“A bad boy huh?” she smiled at him still not understanding. He slid the knife under her panties slicing them cleanly from her body. He didn’t really want her. He wanted someone he could never have. The blond ground against him as her panties fell to the floor. He shivered thoughts of Morgan shimmering through his mind making him rock hard. He unzipped his jeans with his free hand and hoisted her up against the wall. He entered her quickly, roughly. She just laughed taking his length into her. Jared began to rock against her their bodies making a wet sound along with the thud of her hips against the wall he held her too. He grinned as she rode him squealing at the sensation. His other hand came up the knife still gleaming wickedly. He put it against her throat so it bit into her flesh with each thrust of his body into hers.
“Like it rough?” she asked not realizing that the knife was cutting into her with each movement until she felt the cold length of it pressing into her throat. Jared continued to pound into her his eyes clouding over with bloodlust as he watched the dark red liquid slide down her neck staining her white blouse. He leaned forward to lap at the wound. There was something darkly erotic about sucking the blood from the slit he’d made. The knife dropped and clattered to the floor as he leaned in tasting her, his teeth making marks as he sucked at the wound widening it. The blond began to feel his blunt teeth she tried desperately to move his head away from the wound. He continued to move inside her warmth spreading through his body as he lapped greedily at the blood not caring that he was now tearing into her neck.
His arm came up his hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing as she began to make pained noises. He dug his teeth into her shoulder trying to find purchase on her blood slicked skin. His hand tightened into a punishing grip, the blond gasped and tried to pull away as he pounded into her his teeth finally breaking the skin on her shoulder.
“You!” she whispered through his constricting grip. He leaned back for a moment never losing rhythm as he fucked her.
“Yes, me.” He stated simply pausing for only a moment to watch her terror filled eyes. So nice, the wicked thing that was the voice in his head whispered More, it pleaded and he was all too happy to comply as the power rushed through him. He began to concentrate on his movements as he slammed into her cracking the mirror behind her head. She went limp as he came inside her, the blood coursing through him as he pulled the life from her body. He stopped moving pulling out of her and watched as the light slowly left her eyes.
He dropped her body on the ground tucking himself back into his jeans and buttoning them up. The power coursed through his body. He looked down at the girl before him, a girl he could have saved but for the amount of blood he took from her. She lay bleeding still the breath long since gone, the life gradually leaving her.
Jared sighed softly instantly regretting what he’d done to the girl. He moved over to the sink and stared at himself in the cracked and faded mirror. Blood covered the lower half of his face. He rinsed it off and picked up the knife. Just do it, the dark voice whispered, Do it and you will never have to go through this again. He unfastened the leather band that he wore around his wrist. He growled softly pain lancing through him as he sliced the top of his arm creating a perfect bleeding line deep but not deep enough to need stitching. Thankfully Morgan kept the knives sharp. This cut would join the other striped scars on his wrist some new others long since scarred over. He snapped the leather back over the bleeding wrist and watched it as it turned darker blood seeping from around it. He cleaned himself up checking his shirt for telltale signs of what he’d just done. He picked the girl up and put her into one of the stalls where she wouldn’t be found for a while. He closed his eyes for a moment, “I’m sorry,” he whispered not knowing to whom.
A Day of Unknown Origin
Since everyone I know seems to be locked into a progression of holidays it seems only appropriate that I point out the worst fact of all about this particular holiday. There are several and most do not fit with the annoyingly happy gift giving sappy cherub loving crap. The pagans and you have to love the pagans for this picked a day in the middle of February to celebrate fertility. The Romans not wanting to be out done had a woman lottery where they would essentially raffle off young women to spend a year with the participating men – most of the time this year ended in marriage (gee wonder why that is) This lottery took place only after proper sacrifices of goats, dogs, and other livestock and whipping the women with the skins…. yeah romantic.
This brings us to the Catholics, the Roman’s who sacrificed not one but several people named Valentine or Valentinus and the Catholics were set on making them martyrs. Nothing like celebrating death with love. Perhaps they did this just because it has always been frowned upon to celebrate love with death.
When asked my simple response is that I don’t celebrate holidays. Not due to religion I am Catholic which is not only a church of contradictions, riches, and holidays.
There are however a few things that they symbols of valentine’s day make me think of.
Cupid – cherubim servants of god who held the fiery sword barring the doors to Eden. Light bringer was a cherubim. He is also known by quite a few other names such as morning star and if you don’t know who that is study your lore.
Hearts – Now there’s a better image. Hearts bring to mind blood, pounds, skipping a beat, and how you could slip a small knife through the muscle between the ribs because it is only two inches to touch someone’s heart. Although this is probably not the type of touch the valentine’s day card writers mean. How slick blood is and how it changes colour as it leaves the body going from crimson to dull red.
Harlequin – Don’t ask why there is this association. For some reason valentine’s day always brings up the image of the character Harley Quin.
Aphrodisiac poisoned cupcakes and chocolates. It would be interesting to do and even more interesting to read the headlines in the newspaper or watch reporters try and describe the tragedy of hundreds literally fucking themselves to death. Oh come on you can’t say that you haven’t thought of it. If they poison Halloween candy why not…
It just reminds me of valentine’s day.