Desultory and Impulsive

[y=mx+b]

You’re en fuego today.

Thank you. Gotta strike when the iron's hot.

 

[y=mx+b]

Passing thought whilst loading the dishwasher

I'm not sure if she passed out due to me choking her, or the pain of my dick pushing it's way into her asshole

Either way she went limp
Thereby making it much easier to use the weight of my body to hold her down rather than depend so much on my strength.

It was like punching off of work right before a long holiday weekend.

I could breath, relax, and finally enjoy her without complication or conflict.

 

[AudreyMarie]

It's warmth
It's love

It is or its (possessive)?

 

[y=mx+b]

Tried sucking my own dick again
It's been awhile.

Didn't really work out.
But I did get a good back stretch out of the deal.

 

[y=mx+b]

I've never acted on stage and if I am to be honest it's something I've greatly fantasized about. There's that feeling you know? That something you know you'd be good at but have never been given the opportunity, the right kind (and amount) of courage, all in addition to a crippling lack of self confidence--that keeps you from doing it.

I can see myself up on stage plain as day in my head... and there once was a time I was. And I owned it.

It was in highschool. A creative writing class. The teacher fancied herself hip. And she was, albeit in a dated kind of way.

The class agreed to have a spoken word poetry-type party thing. Complete with dim lights and a solitary stool at the front of the class.

I'm not a public speaker.

But this. Something about this I could do.

I wrote something.
And another thing as back-up.

I practiced. The flow was good
The words... they were my voice.

Kids went up. Took their turns.

I waited
Stalled
Procrastinated

Then said fuck-it.

I went up
Took a seat.

All eyes on me...


And I felt none of them
Not one.

Not the jock I hated
Not the girl I had a crush on
Not my friends set to pick me apart
Not the teacher

No one.

My words walked out of my mouth
And they were heard

I was heard
What I wrote
Was given life
And I could feel it all bloom

And for once
I felt

Like something.








And that's a feeling
I miss.

 

[y=mx+b]

Also...

There's something magical
About getting stung by a bee

And by "bee" I mean "wasp"

Yesterday I had to roll a large tractor tire out of the way to get at the pallet below that was keeping it from rolling away.

Unbeknownst to me
Wasps had taken up residence inside the carvery of the tire and BLAM-O! I got tagged by one on the inside of my forearm.

I jumped back
Said "FUCK YOU BEE!"
And assumed a karate-chop pose ready to do battle.

Bees don't give a fuck 'bout karate.

But my leap back did get me out of range of their first responders, but I wasn't out of the woods as I saw some scouts fly off

So I retreated further back to assess my chances of getting the pallet because I had shit that needed to get done.

I looked at where I had been stung and marvelled at it. It looked like a little bite

I further marvelled by how the pain slowly increased. Like I was still being stung. But I wasn't. It was just happening on it's own.

Pissed me off. It was a great hit. Fucking bee got me good.

No fault of theirs. They were minding their bee business and then they are like "whoa... something's fucking up our day. This is bullshit."

After assessing there wasn't a nest between the boards I took a chance and procured the pallet.

Day later my forearm itches like a motherfucker but only mildly swollen.



Know what I'm going to do after I wake up in the morning? Napalm those motherfuckers. As magical as it all was. Fuck those cocksucker.

The End.

 

[y=mx+b]

Getting men to get off gave her the greatest sense of accomplishment.

One of her best earliest sexual memories was being with a man. At the time she thought she was well practiced. She watched her fair share of porn, did all the things she figured the guy she was with liked.

But there was this one guy. He was a hook-up. A stone to step on between failed adventures.

She offered him all her things. But he just took one.

Inside her he didn't move. He just held her still. She looked at him. Felt him hard inside her. There was movement but it was ever so slight.

Her body was quiet but her brain was loud. This wasn't the fuck she wanted. His things weren't the things she had lead herself to believe she needed to chase.

 

[y=mx+b]

She's gone cold
Become a shell

Like a car
That won't start

 

[y=mx+b]

Why do you suppose...

New people join ampics and start a thread or post pics?

Back in the day there wasn't much for options. But now there are so many different and better platforms.

It's like choosing to keep in touch with friends and family explicitly via email rather texting or using a messenger app.

I am skeptical of the authenticity of such individuals just as I am of an email from a friend looking to reconnect and gather information about what I'm up to these days.

 

[y=mx+b]

But then... There is a built in sense of community here. A person isn't just throwing their pics out into the ether.

 

[y=mx+b]

What purpose is there for a person who no longer reflects back the interests you once shared in common?

Continued friendship sure. But on the level of being mere aquaintances?

I've friends
At work
On Facebook

Just like you all there's those in the grey area that, if we are to be honest with ourselves could be cut off the vine.

Why hold on to them? They are the junk in the drawer in your house that serve little to no purpose but to fulfill a fictional future need you know will never take place.

 

[y=mx+b]

But then there's always that maybe

maybe we will meet up for coffee like we once did

maybe he or she will touch me like they once did

maybe things will fall apart and they will be my last hope to pull myself together again

maybe if I do let them go they will let me go just as well if not more. And then what?

 

[y=mx+b]

But yet when you look in that drawer to find anything useful all that's in it no longer is.

Not like it once was.

 

[y=mx+b]

But yet...
It all still could be

 

[y=mx+b]

So you slide the drawer closed and go about your day.

 

[sammyIammy]

Imagine how clear everything would be if “maybe” wasn’t an option

 

[sammyIammy]

Agree. Maybe=hope

 

[y=mx+b]

Let hope go and pave a way for certainty to walk across.

 

[y=mx+b]

I had the strangest montage of dreams this morning which included a reoccurring one of a house with a secret room I felt was haunted. This time though I came to believe why I felt it was had been because someone committed suicide in it.

My dream then turned towards having gay sex with Tom Cruise who was also somehow my brother? Or childhood friend? I dont know, but there was some other dynamic going on that added to the weirdness. It was all kinds of revolting because if I were to have gay sex with a celebrity it sure as fuck wouldn't be with Tom Cruise.

 

[y=mx+b]

The thing about the room is that it's the nicest room of the house. All the other rooms are like water damaged basement rooms. Or really small. You have to walk through all of them or sometimes climb up (or down) trees to eventually get to the room. All the while I'm like (why did I buy this house or get stuck with it) when I come upon this room and I'm like THIS IS SUCH A GREAT FUCKING ROOM!

It's like there's no need for all the other bullshit parts of the house. The room holds it's own well enough but the room is part of the house and without the house it would not be.

But it's always weird because when I enter the room I'm filled with the feelings of how I should feel throughout the whole house but don't.

 

[y=mx+b]

The room before the room is always the creepiest. It's like a dirt floor crawl space with no working lights and mildewy rug remnants leading the way.

Usually there will be someone with me. A friend, a potential buyer? I dont know them, but I do. And I always have to convince them and trust to follow me into the room

Most of the time they are like "I'll take your word" but that's never enough for me because the fucking have to see this room. Only then would they understand why I love the house as much as I do.

 

[y=mx+b]

But I actually hate the house and I hate the dream. And whenever I start dreaming it I'm always like... yep, here we go again.

 

[y=mx+b]

But I like it because it always leads to something new and different though which makes it so compelling. Like this time it was gay sex with Tom Cruise.

Why?

It's all so fucking captivating.

 

[y=mx+b]

Summer is magical.

 

[AngelicaS1780]

Summer is magical.

I can see why Tom couldn’t resist.