Desultory and Impulsive

Going through life not ever knowing what you need
Is no way to go through life.
 
The time of night
Matters not the moment
To which I turn in

My thoughts always
...at some point

Turn to her.
 
And upon waking
She is there

Mysterious
Like a liquid shadow

In a dark room
Full of restless memories

Some of which
May have never taken place.
 
Whenever I reach out to touch
She is there
...but yet she isn't

She is like an echo
A hollow substance

Spoken words heard by the ear
But no longer understood by the mind

And my heart strains to hear her
And longs to skip a beat
Like it once did

Like a stone
Skipping across the glass surface
Of a still
Quiet lake
Blanketed by the fog of morning.
 
Haunted by such things that is.

Pretty sure everyone are people. At least up until they are dead.

We could probably split hairs as to what "everyone" all entails. But fuck that. Keep it simple fuckers. I have neither interest nor the time to do so.
 
Split hairs that is.

I got all the interest and time in the world to keep it simple.

Unfortunately I suck at it.
 
I love these lines.
Shadows and thoughts just out of reach.
Is everyone haunted by such things?

Yes, that's part of the human condition. Memory changes over time, especially each time a memory is called up, re-experienced, examined, thought about, and then tucked away again. What emergers the next time is different than 1. the original circumstances (event): 2. the perception of what happened; 3. the memory the first time the event is recalled, and; 3. when details--real or imagined--are "remembered," added to the mental-emotional narrative. Fantasies, imagined, dreamed, and made real, constantly go through recasting, refurbishment, and adjustment because of who they are related to.
 
Whatever.

The fact remains that I am grateful to my wife for buying the little elastic hair-ties without the metal crimps.

They make for much more comfortable cock-rings.
 
I love these lines.
Shadows and thoughts just out of reach.
Is everyone haunted by such things?

Yes, that's part of the human condition. Memory changes over time, especially each time a memory is called up, re-experienced, examined, thought about, and then tucked away again. What emergers the next time is different than 1. the original circumstances (event): 2. the perception of what happened; 3. the memory the first time the event is recalled, and; 3. when details--real or imagined--are "remembered," added to the mental-emotional narrative. Fantasies, imagined, dreamed, and made real, constantly go through recasting, refurbishment, and adjustment because of who they are related to.
 
Nobody needs me to fall in love with them anymore
To be in love with them
To hear me tell them how I miss them
How I long to be with them


Nobody needs me to touch them like I once did
Or to look at them
And hold them steady behind my eyes


My touch
The sound of my voice
The heat of my body
Needn't be spoken of

None of it
Need be shared
Need be known
Need be experienced

My fall need not be felt
By anyone
Ever again.
 
Sometimes my mind gets to day dreaming...

and I found it wandering around the idea of restrictive diets and how I would enjoy to impose such a diet upon a woman where she were only allowed to consume ejaculate.

Except that of mine.



I would take great pleasure watching her fall into desperation ultimately seeking out what nourishment she could find from whatever source possible.
 
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If there's one thing my brother-in-law is good for
It's supplying us with beer.

I never think to buy any.
 
Good night
I say to awake
In hope to
Awaken in a dream
And find

Fuck it... I just want to fall asleep and wake up feeling fully rested.

That would be grand.
 
I keep thinking

"Help"

She said.

I looked at her with a detached indifference.

There once was a time that when I did so, I did so for the sake of maintaining a manifestation of appearing cool and aloof in spite of being far from it.

It was a mechanism you see.


People come. People go. Pets die. Parents die.

Life goes on
No matter who is in it
Or who is out of it.
 
This is not to say that I didn't want to touch her

To help her


To feel the softness of her hair
Brush up against my lips
And inhale the scent of it

Because I did.

I did
Because I wanted to feel that escape
She was so capable of providing me

Cool
...and aloof.



I told myself
I no longer cared.
 
I would like to stand behind you quietly and in the dark
Holding a length of rope

Watching you look for that someone to fill in
How I've come to make you feel

Studying your breathing
Observing the pulse of your neck push out from along the length of your neck with every beat of your heart

Wondering
How you would go about
Not letting me touch you

When it came time
For me to do just that.
 
Because not everyone reacts well to fireworks

Happy 4th of July.
 

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I used to write her letters

I can't say I really remember what I really wrote about
No matter
I used to write things
And thoughts
And what-nots

At one point
--at the height of my delusion and before she turned vanilla the thought of ejaculating on a blank page of paper, letting it dry, then using it as one of the pages of my letter to her, crossed my mind.

I thought about how I wouldn't mention anything about it in my letter. About how the letter would just be a normal everyday type letter all up until the last page where I would go into explicit detail of my thoughts and actions, confessing what I had done a few pages back--ending it with how if she where to ever want to taste me or feel my ejaculate up inside her--she would know what to do.
 
Something I kinda get a kick out of

We live in the country
So when I'm outside and have to take a piss
I whip it out and take a piss.

It's awesome!

And if I'm outside
So is my dog

And every once in awhile my dog will be near, see what I'm doing, will saunter over and join me in pissing on whatever it was that I was pissing on and it's always like "yeah... fuck this rock. This rock is OURS! Fuck this tire. This tire is OURS..."
 
She kept trying to think of new ways to masturbate
But all her thoughts lead to being raped.
 
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