I hope you don't mind if I continue ripping off my skin to tack between HTML tags up here on the web. Today I feel part of my spirit turned violent. In the rain walking I stared up into falling drops and felt angry for my current moment. And I suspect its not productive to share that anger except maybe in certain sausage-packed online games. "Let me get my cock out of your eye, so you can see the score" another young man said to me after earnestly killing me in Halo.
See I want to be beautiful. I want to be attractive. In little text windows I described myself earnestly to other online searchers. Women who must be surfing faces as I do - from cubicles and bathroom stalls, bed and bus: who looks like my desirable future? And what do I look like in the mirror of online mate shopping?
Maybe if I could nail down and succinctly articulate exactly who I am and what I want! Yes that's it - the impossible will make me happy. In the meantime I am going for herky jerky - I message women on impulse, write brave missives with creative vocabulary, and harvest mostly silence or inconvenience.
So being human and having choices is burdensome! "First World Problems". Maybe if I could sufficiently upload all my energy in "35 yrs single San Francisco male" that would show any lovely lonely all the wiggling wonderful I could warm them with. But hah all my energy seems like a lot of what causes my problems. Ready fire aim! Let's blogging:
I thought I had mastered the immense challenge of human cohabitation with a sense of humor and unshaking dedication to discussion. Now I have the nightly pleasure of my own company and I wish I had a pair of tits on my forehead instead.
These longer winter nights draw me into a cold bed early - sometimes I picture strangers in there with me. A woman speaking russian with breath pickled in booze grabbed my hands and thrust her plenty booty against my naked body in recent hot group baths. I knew my own interests enough to turn her away. That turned out to be good as her portly poolside man-panion castigated her for something shortly thereafter and I don't need to be involved in two lovers' quarrels.
I meditate, I read, I seldom drink, water my plants, in bed by ten - a subdued bachelor's life. Why do I feel surges of anger? A few nights back I went for a community dinner somewhere strange in San Francisco and heard a man speak of giving his wife HIV due to their shared passion for rape-play and aggressive anal intercourse. He was choked up and took a lot of energy from the assembled. He mentioned having a father who "blew his brains out" as a root cause for his strange path. I tried to channel compassion, to somehow see him as a brother. But yow - I have lived more gently than him and I wondered how I still harvested unhappiness from my "first" marriage. Hah!
Fortunately I am surrounded by polite caring functional society. Many wonderful smart people have my back and for that I am deeply grateful. I would wish my support structure on anyone challenged by interpersonal interpenetration.
Still there are places in me, intimate places, dark wet places teeming with multitudes of mammal-lizards, that need to breathe. Need to breathe and mate with someone else's mammal-lizards to make all sorts of stirring drama. Lets interrogate the moment! Lets stare wordless into our mutual openings, pupils wide! I need to touch your skin, to trace between your wrinkles with my finger to find where you smile.
