Desultory and Impulsive

[y=mx+b]

*silent internal screams*

Your frustration is valid.

 

[y=mx+b]

You.

This.
http://67.media.tumblr.com/e3f018323554da8b02fc688aaed734d2/tumblr_oasjpoa3IZ1uhbkwyo1_500.gif

 

[rubydlite]

This.
http://67.media.tumblr.com/e3f018323554da8b02fc688aaed734d2/tumblr_oasjpoa3IZ1uhbkwyo1_500.gif

Gasp!

 

[y=mx+b]

Electric blows.

I miss having a gas stove top.

That is all.

 

[y=mx+b]

I confess...

For as dominate or masculine or sexually assertive/aggressive as I make myself appear; I must say this--if I were ever at a bar or club or Pampered Chef party and happen to look up to lock eyes with a woman who then does this...

http://67.media.tumblr.com/339d3e193db3ff8e5f19c01fef3351fa/tumblr_nw9r5iyeS71s2pe0fo1_500.gif

I honestly don't know what the fuck I would do with myself.
I'd become such a bumbling idiot that it would be hilarious.

 

[y=mx+b]

Seriously... I gotta fuck.

I thought I wanted to masturbate and was fixing to--but then I happened upon that gif and the idea of mere masturbation feels so... junior high.

 

[y=mx+b]

Hey fuck pig

Did you see me?
I saw you.

I saw you and I watched you

I tongue fucked your asshole with my eyes as I followed behind you
I like how you walk
You carry yourself well

I want to sodomise you with your curling iron
I want to push it deep up inside your worthless fuck body
And zip-tie the jaws open like a shitfuck speculum
Then use the cord like a leash and walk you around backwards
Jerking hard on it every so often to make you sit

And by "sit" I mean "swine tits-to-the-ground"


I like that idea as much as taking a fly-swatter to your body
Guiding you along like prized County Fair hog with the plug-in end of the cord in your mouth like a bit looking for the nearest outlet.

Using your face
You are going to plug it in.

You are.


I swear to fuck you are.

 

[y=mx+b]

I have this running fantasy. It actually started out as an idea for a story I started to plunk out on my old thread but ah.... I ain't no writer, I have ADD, and just like how all you literate book-types are always "the book was so much better than the movie...", my thoughts are always so much better than the written words. Or; given the delicate sensibilities of some, and my post prior to this one--worse.


I am finding myself suddenly not wanting to type anymore.

 

[y=mx+b]

This is a good thread.

 

[y=mx+b]

Where are you?
Why haven't you returned yet

It's too late for you to be out
You have been gone for too long

When are you going to return back home to my heart?


The bed we once slept together in is empty
The blankets no longer hold the scent of your memory
They no longer feel you under them
They are sad
Having lost the purpose
Of keeping you warm

Thursday
I thought of your laugh
And the well of my emotions filled once again

I cut myself slicing tomatoes
The blood of my flesh
Mixed with that of the fruit

I cried while scraping the mess into the garbage.





I didn't want to throw us away.





I could really use your sweat around me right now
The salt of my skin misses your company
As much as my ears miss the words that your eyes speak.

 

[y=mx+b]

I happened upon this while visiting one of my other haunts.

I don't remember having posted it here.
I don't even remember having written it.
But apparently I did.

Sorry if it's a repeat and you were hoping for new content.



There Is No Other Place to Place This Dream

Upon waking
I took a step

The shoe took me there
And it was grey out

The color I saw
Saw inside me
And took my hue
And placed it under the blanket of gloss upon a woman I did not know.

I read the words with my ears as she spoke.

"turn left" she said

I did
She took hold of my hand before I realized I was dizzy.

I fell asleep within her grasp.

 

[y=mx+b]

Because I don't want to go to bed but am anyway after this has been posted.

Here's a pic of my wife and I doing what we do.
She: reading
Me: tinkering

 

[Wife of Bath]

Heartache often drives us to consume things we wouldn't otherwise, such as an entire pint of Caramel Pecan Perfection high-fat ice cream, covered in ganache, the crack cocaine of frozed dairy. Twelve hundred calories per pint, six hundred and eighty of which are fat calories, but is only dulls the pain for the moment, there's that carb fog while you're standing at the sink shoving it in your face, and then it's over and you feel...used. Like a cheap pickup the Dove people seduced and abandoned in your kitchen, leaving you with sticky hands and an empty cup and a still-broken heart, except now you're mad at Dove, too.
Jennifer Crusie

 

[y=mx+b]

The cold steel rocked along the crack of her ass.
She wasn't sure what it was
Yet still allowed it to continue rolling on between her legs

She felt her labia part as whatever it was between her legs came to stop
He slowly pushed it forward then pulled it back in a thrusting type fashion
and though the material of it was hard and rather sharp she found herself slowly begin to ride along with the motion

Curiosity started to get the best of her
So she looked down to see what it was he now had her wet snatch effortlessly gliding across
And saw that it was what she didn't know she was hoping it to be
Up until she actually saw it.

 

[y=mx+b]

Don't hold me

Don't let me hold you

Night is night no matter where we sleep
And when we sleep

We sleep alone


Lost in dreams that don't matter
Away from a life that we wish does

To someone



I am...
What?



Sky the night away
Upon an underfoot Earth
Travelled by so many
Seen by so few

Wondering where?

Reading to escape
Television to the Internet to masturbation

Empty talk
Of ideas full of nothing
Innovating academics assessing reports

Reported for no reason outside of posterity and corporate conjecture

Worthless
Wasted time

But what else is there to do in a world that is so finite and the same wherever you find yourself there a day longer than you should be?

Keep moving
Keep running
Keep moving
And sleep
And get stoned
And get addicted to work
Drugs
Getting turned on
Getting off
Accolades and validation

And
Relevance

 

[y=mx+b]

Part 2

Breed me my love
I wish to live on

Outside of myself

Inside a version better able to get what i don't
One that understands more than I ever will

I want to live on

To be inside of a woman
Growing warm
Making her glow
Filling her so full

Let me sleep with her
Just so that I can be
And be in love so free of fear

 

[y=mx+b]

As the story goes...

The night my bio dad died my mom's closest cousin drove three hours to be with her. With her she brought a bottle of Jack Daniels.

They sat at the table with only one purpose in mind and proceeded to drink themselves into a stupor. Mom said that's all she wanted. A cathartic drunken moment with the second (now first) closest person in her life. She said she just kept drinking and continued on even after her cousin called in. Mom said it was the most absurd thing knowing exactly how much you drank and not feeling it at all

The grieving mind is a mind to be reckoned with.

I am thankful my mother quit such nonsense after the fact. Although it really wasn't nonsense at the time. Some will say what they will as to what one does to cope with certain events. I am over the opinion that such intimate events are excusable.


What got me writing this was that I took an ambien an hour or more ago and as some know already---the shit hits me hard. It's a losing battle when I make it a point to fight against it so I can trip balls watching the foliage of our house plants sway in the breeze inside a house with no breeze in it.

Anyway... here I am. Still up, sleepless and bored and now tired of typing so I'm off to see what funny patterns of slight light my eyes see in the darkness of the room. Perhaps I'll be lucky and my eyelids will close behind an idea.

 

[y=mx+b]

October.

Split lip
Suck my fuck
You
Black-eyed
Busted cunt

Gravel road
Graveyard
Blindfolded
Barefoot
Covered Bridge Body Arched

Bent over backwards
Fish-hooked nipples
Prominently pulled

Slush box semen sloshing
Cock after cock
Unknown men
From unknown places
Telling you about yourself
Thrusting whispers into your ear

Your name
Address
The make of your car
The color of it
The fantasies you have about security and love
Making you hate yourself for how wet you've become
Telling you how this is why you'll never be happy
How worthless you are for not being able to control your cunt
How much of a whore it has proven you to be
And will always be
No matter where you are
Or who you are with
And loving you for being the cumdumpster fuckdog that you are

Then leaving you
Just like every worthwhile man has done before


Dead inside.

 

[y=mx+b]

I am trying too hard

I can do better then that.

 

[y=mx+b]

Closed eyes I grew increasingly anxious to the sound of her footsteps kicking the fallen leaves half a mile away.

I did what I could to will her away
But the shooshing of her particular gate grew louder

Wisps of her wafted through the cracks around the door like a poetic bouquet of salt, warm bread, cut hay, sunshine, and fuck.

A streak of dry heat shot across my shoulders to the base of my skull like thunderless lighting on an Alabama night


She was ovulating

 

[y=mx+b]

"Fuck."

I looked at the clock.
I had time
But not the distance
And my body was already in the process of consuming itself

Tissue desolving and reconfiguring

My limbs were weak
Starvation was beginning to set in.
I grabbed the large rusted ring of keys

I made my way to the room.

 

[y=mx+b]

The thing was... I needed her.

 

[y=mx+b]

Nevertheless
She knew better.

I fumbled through the keys
Finding which ones went to what lock.

I waited too fucking long
I should have known better

The ring of keys began to feel funny in my hand
The dexterity of my fingers deaden with the loss of each individual print

It took forever for them to fall to the floor

The clinking of each one rang throughout the air slowly as though the sound of them were travelling through water the moment before it all froze solid.

 

[y=mx+b]

I buckled at the sound of them hitting the ground.

A never ending cacaughany of glass shattering notes sandblasted the inside of skull
My sinuses filled with blood and coagulating mucus that I pulled up through my mouth and spit on the floor. Pulling out what I wasn't able to with my hands like a blood soaked cable of yarn.

 

[y=mx+b]

I saw the feeling of her hand grasp the knob to the door outside and mouth the word "fuck..." the moment she said it unable to open the door

Her hand raised with purpose as I clutched my ears praying for her not to knock.
My eyes clenched shut to the sound of an open palm about to come down upon the door in rapid succession only to stop short and be gently kissed by a shaking fingertips and whispered words through quivering lips

"Please.. please let me in..."

I did what I could to push myself vertical against the wall but my feet kicked out.
The side of my ribs caught the corner of something sharp causing the vase of dead flowers and moldy water to crash to the floor.

I grabbed my side more to contain the pending rage than quell any pain

The fall caused her to make a quick step towards the door where she struggled hard not to pound the door. She diverted the temptation and energy to grabbing the door knob with both hands and violently shake it.