Gypsy

I think I might just leave this life behind... Or rather the illusion of life in this place. I have been contemplating very seriously becoming a gypsy. A wayward vagabond.

Memories are just ghosts, the past come to haunt us. I think I would like a Haunting to cherish. I want the Golden Days. I've had a glimpse and I selfishly want more. I deserve more.

I have to do. I must do.
I love you but I cannot wait for you to join me any longer.

So here is my dilemma. Do I become a vagabond? A revolutionary? Or do I combine the two so brilliantly I am assassinated too soon. Art is Music is Motion is Life. I am boldly going, and without doubt it is not nowhere. But the somewhere is nothing I have known before.

Snakes shed skins.
Phoenix rise from ashes.
I am new.

Everything You Think You Know Is Wrong

Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong
And everything you think you had baby
Is gone

Certain things turn ugly when you think too hard
And nagging little thoughts change into things you can't turn off
Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong

It's all over but the crying
Fade to black I'm sick of trying
Took too much and now I'm done
It's all over but the crying

Do you really think I'm made of stone baby?
C'mon!
That we only love the things we own?
Baby you're wrong

Certain things just happen when you make no plans
And love can really tear you up and it can break you down
Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong

It's all over but the crying
Fade to black I'm sick of trying
Took too much and now I'm done
It's all over but the crying

Baby we're done

If I could I would
I'd change everything
Cause I can't forget you though you don't believe me
Now I can't walk back
I can't leave behind
Where does it go all the light that we had?

Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong
And everything you think you had baby
Is gone

Baby we're done

I am so very tired. I don't know what I did to deserve this. I really don't. I am out of my element on this one. And I'm not saying I didn't do anything. I always do something. It's how I work. Because stagnant is death. Life is change and movement. And maybe forward is hard, but the pain is what you use to remind you this isn't a dream.

I want to be self righteous. So fucking badly. But I'd rather make your life hell and play the role of the devil I know without doubt I am. And you may not believe in karma; but so help me you backstabbing bitch. You will when I'm done. I'm going to make you hurt. Because I'm hurting. And I don't care if you don't deserve it.

Push on stresses to find the cracks in who you are.
I am vindictive. In all the worse ways.

I pity those who love me most of the time because I am about as comforting as sandpaper.
And some days I wish I wasn't. Sometimes I want to be the loving center than you can rescue on your god damned steeds. But I am no damsel. And the only one distressed is the dragon for having his ass kicked by a little girl.

I loved you. I thought we would always be friends. I did not once ever consider you to be just an acquaintance. But now we're not even friends. You should know I plan on ruining your life. And normally I would be boldly honest and state the fact to your face. However, you feel the world should be run according to your game plan. So I will gloriously deploy it. You should know it brings me no joy. No joy whatsoever. And how I wish thoughts of your demise could.
I really and truly do.
But I am so very tired.

I do not continue to pick myself up because I want to. But because I have to. For no one else will be there for me.
Maybe that's a lie. I don't believe it. I do force it on myself. Because so far in life it has been the truth. A terrible and aching truth that breeds emptiness.
Sometimes I wish that all the scars on my soul could be seen on the outside.


Sometimes I think Hope is just as cruel as Love...

Hypergiant

I'll break you down
I'll take you down, down
Fill you with sadness
Make your life madness

I'm having a hard time
I'm making you do the hard time too.
I'm stuck in a bad way
And I'm gonna make you pay for it.

Give me a mile
I'll take a hundred miles
Such a mistake
Sorry you make

I'm having a hard time
I'm making you do the hard time too
I'm stuck in a bad way
And I'm gonna make you pay for it.

I'm having a hard time
I'm making you do the hard time too.
I'm stuck in a bad way
And I'm gonna make you pay for it.

I'm having a hard time
I'm making you do the hard time too.
I'm stuck in a bad way
And I'm gonna make you pay for it.

I know you're here
I know you're gone
I never asked you to stay
I'm waking up, baby
Now tell me, are you ok?

I really need to break down and hurt. I need to fall apart.
This is going to be messy.
I am going to the ocean. At night. Not sure when. But it has to be soon. I ponder the possibility of death. But I need to be wholly consumed by something. And water has always been a comfort. I am, however, to the point where taking a long shower or bath is more frustrating than helpful. And that is a very bad sign.
Can we find a synonym that represents a more terrifying and dread-filling emotion than Ominous?

I want to wait for a storm. I want to wait for the sea to be a reflection of myself. A raging mass of consumption and confusion rending it's insides out and up; spilling upon the land all of it's horrible secrets and terrible deeds even as it bitterly and viciously erodes it away.

Let's see this Hypergiant go Black Hole...

Inspiration

You make me feel like a sticky pistil
Leaning into her stamen.
You make me feel like Mr. Sunshine himself.
You make me feel like splendor in the grass where we're rolling
Dance with me baby
You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs.

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love, love
You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love

You make me feel like a candy apple; red and horny
You make me feel like I want to be a dumb blonde
In a centerfold, the girl next door.
And I would open the door and I'd be all wet
With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt that I'm wearing
And you would open the door and tie me up to the bed.

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love, love
You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love

Lover, I don't know who I am.
Am I Barry White - am I Isis?
Oooo
Lover I'm laced with your unconscious,
I will be your Desdemona

You make me feel, ohhh
You make me feel, woowoo baby
You make me feel, ahhh
You make me feel, oh, oh, ah, ah, oh, oh...

Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.
A kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.

Attraction. That instant when your attention is completely captured by another. Your eyes lock and everything else in the room is still. Muffled.
Think of every war movie you've seen where they have that one seen where the character is shell shocked. You can still see the horror of battle going on; bodies flying, bombs exploding, shrapnel catapulting through the air - chaos incarnate. But there's only that muted shush sound the ocean makes.

The seconds that expand in that instant you look at me could compose and eradicate a thousand universes. My breathing stops. My pulse races. Every muscle in my body tenses. Adrenaline burns a mainline, cranking the beat of my heart to a slamfest-escape-attempt in my chest. My jaw locks. My knees give.
Have you ever wondered why I only look at you head on when I'm sitting or leaning against something?

Sometimes I hate it. But I'm always wanting more. Burning with the need for that next look. Coiled like a spring tensing a trigger.
I want to throw caution to the wind, corner you and pounce.

I want to bite you.
Hard.

I want to fight you for dominance in a quest as thoroughly exhilarating as it is exasperating.

I want to explore you like a pioneer on a new world, with teeth as sharp as my intellect.


I want to let it slip how you can
seduce
dominate
overthrow
Me.


Beauty is not applicable to the physical appearance
Only the inspiration caused by another.

All That You Love Will Be Carried Away

I can't help that I like to be kissed
And I wouldn't mind if my name changed to Mrs.
This is one side, my conventional side
My attraction to tradition
My vintage disposition
My sincere architecture
And I want to cook him dinner
But I'm more indecisive than ever
And who believes in forever

Who will be the one to marry me?

A girl in the world barking up the wrong tree
A creature conditioned to employ matrimony
Crumbling continuity, I pick up the pieces
The ceremony makes me zealous


As the past quickly ceases
Fear from being neutered
I'm now prude, now defensive
Quickly I'm altered and tempted by new love only rented

Do you believe you'll marry me?
You might be the one to marry me

Back, looking back, looking back at me
I'm not how I used to be
Take me back, take me back into history
Diamond ring, tie me down, just like it used to be

Who will be the one to marry me?
Who will be the one to marry me?

I think about marriage sometimes. Well, I suppose "think about" is too broad a statement. I puzzle over. I have never understood the thought of committing yourself to just one person. Perhaps this is the result of the general applications I find indulged by others with the monogamous mindset. Like fucking mindless pod zombies. I want to take them and break their face in for it.

Do not get me wrong, I am all for being together forever if that is the Butter on your Toast; but, Seriously? And it is not that I do not want be accompanied. I just... I am not sure if I could commit solely to one person. This is not to say that I will never get married, or that I will never find someone - just one - who completes me so infinitely that I cannot bring myself to see any other; but, the likelihood of that happening is about as probable as my winning the lottery this Saturday.
Not. Fucking. Likely.

I think in the end it boils down to a point made infamous by Stephen King: "...according to at least one source I've read recently, all that you love will be carried away." Even if you stay together - it's not going to be forever. At least not with the terms people en mass use. It's only until this body expires - and quite frankly I find that fact so distastefully disgusting as to nearly acquiesce to the immediate urge to vomit. I don't want your cheap tokens crafted to portray a grossly defiled and corrupt emotion you attempt to pawn off as Love. When the brutal truth of the matter is most of you wouldn't know actual and true Love if it walked up to you as some bizarre amalgamation of David Carradine and Chuck Norris and Kung Fu kicked you in the jollies.

And how can you love someone when you don't even know who they are!?! You go based on the window dressing - and you want to know what, Sweetheart? At the age of 80 - man or woman - damn near EVERYONE ends up looking like Merle Fucking Haggard at best, and that creepy german Nosferatu at worst. Superficial packet of fucks. I have never, in my entire life, ever once thought someone suitable or even attractive based merely on their appearance. Now, do not let that statement confuse you. I said Attractive - not physically appealing. Tasty monkeys are just that: Eye Candy. They make your eyes happy and might fill your imaginations with entertaining thoughts.
Attraction is another game entirely.
Attraction is to Tasty Monkeys what Symphonies are to Wretching Sounds. Oh, they're both sounds all right - but how many hours can you spend listening to someone vomit?
And honestly, eye candy should remain just that - 19x out of 20. Because that is how often they prove to disappoint you. "No no no, don't talk. You talk - and you'll just fuck eeeeeverything up. Quiet time, yes, quiet time. No talkies. Noooo. Bad. Talking baaad." Eye candy should be treated like statues: you stand there and collect dust, and I'll let you know if it's ok for you too sneeze - and might I recommend holding your breath?

Everyone at some point is lonely. My moments are blissfully short, generally passing with a rueful sullenness without destroying my moment or even day. It is a human condition to feel isolated. We evolved as pack animals, and in this modern day with the supreme isolation technology provides our souls are hungering for that lost connection.
Someone told me you can figure out how affection-starved someone is by how many novels someone has. Fiction being a form of escapism and escapism popular with those who feel the need to connect more strongly than those they find themselves surrounded by.
I often wonder if this is a thought they themselves had or if the topic itself was the product of some research that they stumbled upon in their search of information for class. I would greatly like to read about this.

Sleeping With Ghosts

Well when you go
Don't ever think I'll make you try to stay,
And maybe when you get back,
I'll be off,
To find another way

When after all this time that you still owe
You're still a good-for-nothing I don't know,
So take your gloves and get out,
Baby get out
While you can

When you go
And would you even turn to say,
I don't love you like I did yesterday

Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading
So sick and tired of all the needless beating,
But baby when they knock you down and out
Is where you oughta stay

And after all the blood that you still owe
Another time was just another blow
So fix your eyes and get up
Baby, get up
While you can

When you go
And would you even turn to say
I don't love you like I did yesterday

Well come on, come on

When you go
Would you have the guts to say
I don't love you like I loved you yesterday

I don't love you
Like I loved you
Yesterday

I don't love you
Like I loved you
Yesterday

I miss you. I wonder what you're doing now. And I am not sad about our past or how we split apart. Well sometimes, I am sad. When I wonder why you could not be stronger. Or why you always felt the need for someone else to complete you.
I keep dreaming about you. And psychology will tell you that the people in your dreams are only those you recognize so that your mind doesn't wake fitfully, or something along those lines. But the missing you is real. And it's there squeezing me tight in the mornings. An achy hollow tightness that makes breathing hurt. I think I took for granted the fact that you would always be with me. Always a part of my life.

That's my fault. I am like that. I incorporate my friends into a relationship more akin to something like family members. I love them and trust them blindly. Even as I boast and claim not to care. I do.
The end of a friendship is always like a death in my family. Actually, worse. I am quite resilient to losing actual relations - perhaps a by-product of my dubious family history...
Like pets. I would say it is closest to the emptiness I feel when losing a pet. For me, I foster a kind of mother-alligator relationship with my friends. Oh, I will love you fiercer than a mother bear; but if you cross my ass you can bet yours I'm going to pound it. In general, the more I hit you - the more I love you.
But I digress...


I miss you much it is physically hurting me.
I suppose everyone ends up sleeping with ghosts at some point...

Hugs Are Zen

And the Earth spins round
While the people fall down
And the world stands still
Not a sound, not a sound
There is love, there is love
To be found
In the worst way, in the worst way
In the worst way

It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
It’s the buzz
It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
I wish I was
It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
It’s the most fuzz

From a little shell
At the bottom of the sea
Was the Earth and the Moon
And the Sun above me
But the world fell down
With some people still around
There is love, there is love
To be found
With the Gods all gone
And the souls making sounds

In the worst way, in the worst way
In the worst way
It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
It’s the buzz
It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
I wish I was
It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
It’s the most fuzz

From a little shell
At the bottom of the sea
Was the Earth and the Moon
And the Sun around me
There is love, there is love
There is love
It’s a buzz, it’s a buzz
It’s a buzz
It’s the buzz, it’s the buzz
I wish I was
It’s a buzz, it’s a buzz
It’s a buzz

I crave affection. Mass. Amounts. You're thinking Big Gulp, I'm thinking Ocean.
Not attention.
I do not need your entire being devoted to me. I don't want all your time, energy, effort or emotions.

I just need you to touch me. Not hug, cuddle, kiss, fuck, bite, fight, prod, etc. Just the connection of casual contact. I am happiest the most when such employed. I don't care if it is just the touch our legs might share as we sit together on the couch. And I don't need you to be my lover.
I am a kitty, and we kitties loooooooove the affection. Oh we feign indifference and pretend we don't care. But we are thoroughly profound and adept actors.

My happiest moments are when sitting near my friends and they just lean into me. Casual. Affectionate. I need this. I need to be close to someone. Especially those I love. I have been labeled as very flirtatious because of this, and quite frankly my dear - I don't give a damn.
I am a misanthrope. We don't befriend you. We adopt your sorry ass! Some of us find it necessary to function only within the small family unit we build - a kithkin relationship. Others like to acquire and nurture the family unit, but also seek to find others for suitable amounts of entertainment. I try to keep my "kittens" touchy-feely - or at least accustomed to random accosts by me.

I will take my affection anyway I can get it. Weather it be in subjugating myself to someone's footwarmer or on the receiving end of a shove. You can smack me, pinch me, poke me, stab me, bite me, kiss me, breathe me in, sit on me, sit with me, touch me, stroke me, draw on me, wash my hair, brush my hair, scratch my head, tickle me, squish my face, poke my nose, twist my arm, hold my hand, trace my scars - most any kind of contact is generally welcomed.
The best are form of affection; however, would most definitely have to be the hug. It is the most amazing thing I think I have ever been subjected to. You don't even need arms to hug. It is that freakin' awesome. Perhaps the best quote I have ever heard about hugs:

"As his arms went around her, she wondered how much of the human race understood about hugging - how good it was, and how a person could want to do it for hours on end. She supposed some did understand, but doubted that they were in the majority. To fully understand about hugging, maybe you had to have missed a lot of it."
Stephen King, Rose Madder, Page 387

Hugs are zen.