Desultory and Impulsive

Last Saturday
I shaved my face.

It was a good change
I liked it
And I liked that little look in my wife's eye
When she takes up notice.

She never says anything
But it's there...
A giddy little girl look in her eye
--of sequestered excitement.

I didn't think much of it after the weekend came to a close and I found myself at work facing mock questions of "who's the new guy?!" And very real questions of... "so why'd you shave?" To which they'd answer for me "just need a change?"

"Yeah..."

That... and I had come to find out that I also just needed to be seen. I guess.

The truth about facial hair; no matter the style, is that it's easy to hide behind.

But I don't want to say that because it implies that all men that chose to grow out their beards and whatnot are pussy chickenshits.

Not the case. At all.

It's more to say that the such provides an element of cover that men don't necessarily wish to share, and women; at times, don't wish to see. And for some, don't wish to see at all.

Doubt
Fear
Sadness
Depression
Exhaustion
Frustration

Pretty much all emotions in all their various states and degrees are easily dampened or taken less seriously

The thought of being bludgeoned to death by a bearded Viking is less frightening than having your throat swiftly slit by a clean shaven psychopath.

It has been an interesting week for me. I've been taken more seriously. My doubts have not been dismissed and when I found myself wishing to be left alone to work... I was.

Yet I've also been asked out-of-the-blue what's wrong and told I look sad or seem down and don't seem my usual self

And I smirk
Feeling no different than any other day or time
Thinking to myself... that's because you've never really seen me as my usual self.
 
I hated my grandmother when I was a child. She was harsh and abusive. Her hands didn't match her personality. Up until death, she had the smoothest, wrinkle-free hands. I've often thought hands tell your story. Maybe, it's your soul's story.
 
Are you okay
With the thought
Of me holding you?

The reason why I am asking
Is because
I want to.
 
If what I wrote
Causes thoughts and feelings
To come to the surface
Then the person I wrote about
Is you.
 
Finished watching the first season of American Gods.

It's a fucking fantastic adaptation.
 
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Sometimes...

After having woken up in the morning
I'll find myself sitting on the couch
Looking out the window
Drinking coffee
Thinking about how there's gotta be a better way to go about living my life... or thinking about what I gotta do to go about getting onboard to whatever it is...

But I always come up with nothing. Which leads me to thinking that maybe... just maybe this his how I like my life to be.

The thought is a crock of bullshit akin to the reasoning one might give themselves each and every time they find themselves in a shitty relationship.

It is so easy to romanticize misery
 
My father died unexpectedly 7 years ago today

It seems to have become a realization that likes to sneak up upon me.

I get pussy
More depressed than usual
Days prior

Nothing goes right
Nothing feels right
Orgasms go flat
And the sensations of desire
Are just as enjoyable as watching a puppet show where you can see all the strings... or a shitty magician pocketing the cards and coins he's supposed to trick you with

And I reach a point of wondering what the fuck the deal is and why the guilt felt for having not called or visited my mom in a long time though she's just a ten minute drive away is so goddamn strong...

Then
Like a firecracker going off right next to my ear
A deaf ring
A vacuum

And I'm stuck
I'm always so fucking stuck.
 
Visited my mom.
She seemed mostly oblivious to today
Outside of it being just another day.

It was comforting

We sat outside on a little bench
We talked for a bit
Voting
Deer
What we did for Halloween
Work

It's a cold
Rainy
November day
 
I laid down to nap
Knowing full well I would end up masturbating

And I'm reminded of how some find themselves witty for changing the words to Theory of a Dead man's song Rx to... "I guess I'll just sit around and masturbate"

As if masturbation isn't a form of medicating.
 
I want a woman on top of me
And I want to feel her feel as naked as I.

That intimacy.

Looking into her eyes.
Pulling her close.
Her breasts upon my chest.
Her breath against my ear.

The smell of her hair
So near to my face.

Brushing it aside
Exposing her delicate ear
For my lips to touch
And her neck
For my words to kiss.



That's what I want
Right now.
 
The snow is falling
And my thoughts
Turn to her

My love


I remember her breathing
How it changed
With my touch
In anticipation
Of my purpose

And my purpose
My desire
Was to be with her
To always be with her

For as long as she wanted


I have memories
Some
Which have only taken place
In the still quiet
Behind my closed eyes

These are the memories
I hold so dear

The ones I wish
To tell her about
In hopes they could happen

But keep to myself

In this silent sad knowledge
Of knowing

That they never would.
 
The sky is clear
The stars are out
The air is cold
The snow that has fallen last night

Is on the ground

Each flake
Twinkles under the yard light
Like the stars in the sky above
 
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