Astral Karma Part Seventeen Mature content No. 89 Published June 8th, 2019 6:06am pdt read ( words) Past entries "This is not good. I am not well. The story basically ended with part sixteen so this is supposed to wrap things up with a bow. All nice and neat. Closure. An end which could lead to a beginning. Nope. No fucking way. I am exactly the same. Fuck it. Here we go... Let us recap. First I exited the Mandalay after watching Jasmine walk away, then I cried twelve months after as Juliette and her beautiful soul marched right out the door of my Luxor suite. Years later Andrea -- the most stunningly gorgeous woman I had ever seen -- left me standing in the Venetian lobby as I felt my world imploding, and shortly thereafter I fell into a pit of suicidal despair when Michelle stepped into her apartment and closed the door, leaving me alone yet again. Hans Zimmer's epic composition of 'Time' played in my head endlessly after that last split and would not let up its helping of sadness. Time. Both the song and progression of events as they relate to my grasping at a woman's soul are within me, always. They crush me on and off throughout any given day. Coupled with the years-long issues outlined in 'Falling Away', 'Eden and the Edge' as well as 'The Failing Fantasy and Alexis', the inevitable limits have arrived. I fucking knew it. Andrea and Juliette propped me up, each in their own way and with love. A strong person does not need such constant support. Me? Yep... to this very moment, however it no longer exists. I am void of even the slightest bit of that lavish care. Day in and day out I pen those tales of the past and subsequently fall down. Each entry removes a part of me as the memories flow along my psyche and burn away possibility. And then a pause to maintain myself and attempt functioning around others before isolating and drowning within the need to explore the time. Yes, time. The fucking non-stop advancement of those many seconds being displayed on more than a dozen precision movements in my office. The charge light illuminates all of the beautifully designed dials and reflects off so many hands in sync, ticking away and forcing me to realize that the hour is late. I cannot stand time passing and flying away from me as I ponder my place, yet all of those accurate representations of the same sit and await my attention. They are beautiful, but I despise the ceaseless motion. Deep into the coffee and mid-morning, I often stroll to the patio for a cigarette and hear the outdoor clock ticking as the huge minute hand steps along to its next mark. Time. Another quartz machine showing me that even the coffee refill and walk outside has chewed a moment which will never return. Progression and loss, nothing more. Experience? Knowledge? I do not give a shit. They benefit me no longer. The caring and warmth which held me together for so long have vanished and slowly been pushed back far enough to inflame the reasoning behind running away in the first place. Andrea knew it, too. She knew my actions would accomplish nothing and garner no assistance at all. She told me to care for myself just as Juliette, Ashley, Lanie, everyone. All those dreamy women who allowed me to fall into their loving arms wished nothing more than happiness and contentment for yours truly. Well, none of that has taken place at all. I am a sordid, depressed, negative, unfriendly representation of my former self. I am a wreck, as stated here for years. The only upside is that they are all saved from what I have become. They are away from me which is where everyone should reside. I am a syndrome. I keep watching the seconds pushing away possibility. I stare at those gorgeous little machines that I love so much and they look back at me with no compassion. They cannot. They are machines, and as such they respond to me by performing precisely what I expect of them: timekeeping. Each little silent movement from one index mark to the next tells me that I will eventually fall all the way down and the time will pay no mind whatsoever. It will roll over me like the fucking Karma. The time and lack of fulfillment are going to kill me. Perhaps not today or this week or even this month, but one day I will no longer be willing to live with such a voided situation. Propping my public self has become far too exhausting to maintain pace. More words, more Saturday mornings, and more glancing at the second hands moving along toward the end. A few more stories, a few more drinks. That is all. The time has gotten away, gone away, and been taken away. Away. Awry? Yes, that too. Awry. That is an apt descriptor for my entire being. The obsession, desire, need for control, and that endless yearning for all that is unavailable to me in these late days has combined into a blender of hell. I have pared the site down to only the last four years' worth of tales and images which has left nothing positive. Why am I still here? Writing? Gushing? Because there is little else which causes a joyous feeling. Food? Sometimes. Alcohol? Sometimes. What else? Hmm. Lanie's loving manner and helpful insight flew out of me as if she never uttered a syllable. Where did it go? Who knows, but gone is the term. I lost it all in a never-ending attempt to feel the way I needed in order to survive. Andrea, too. She was nearly too much for my senses and then gone as soon as I was all the way in. That woman defined, clarified, and focused every aspect of my personality and every single desire I had ever felt. Since losing that angel, many times have found me wishing I had never boarded the second plane and followed my wishes straight to Vegas before seeing those soulful, damaged eyes calling to me for comfort. Andrea became a universe outside of which existed nothing else. Upon watching her stroll out of the lobby I knew that I could not survive such a weakened condition and here I sit years later feeling one-hundred-percent the same. I have nothing because I am incapable of rising or learning. And unwilling. Just words and wreckage. Depression. Longing. Dreaming. Nothing. My paragraphs are supposed to have a topic sentence and then content related to said topic. Nope. And then Michelle enters my head. And then Ashley, that doll of dolls. Why did all of them embrace me as if I was something special? Could it have been the sadness that does not leave my eyes? Or maybe my unending attention to both the physical and emotional needs of others? I just do not know. My head is so fucked up that processing things in proper order and from a clear standpoint is no longer possible. And then there is the Goddamned time which feels like a granite slab lying upon my fucking head. Pressure to do something... anything different. Some sort of rise, lift, change, whatever. But I feel unable to do anything aside from watching the seconds tick away as they carry me along to the end of everything. They just continue to grind away possibility. I cannot stop any of it. Unending. Seamless. Damaging. Ticking. Where are those seconds taking me? And does this sound like a conclusion to those tales of the past? The time allows me to consider that perhaps along the ride around the clock something else may come along which is similar enough to what I have lived through and has the capability of helping. Or not. Or I just do not fucking know anymore. What do I need that is different from all those beautiful souls? Money? Yes, always. Will it help? Not really. That resource can only provide physical comfort in varying locations. There is a chance that I reside precisely where I am destined. The emotional wreck that I am could be penance for causing the same in other innocent souls. My inability to find a direction other than either simply treading water or falling down may represent the Karma to which people refer over and over. Maybe? I do not know because I do not know anything. The idea seems feasible, however. That type of inspirational living has never found a home within me. I have been overtly and clearly negative for many years due to the knowledge that I am exactly where I should be. The lack of a lift follows that thinking, especially considering the reckless and uncaring behavior I have cultivated when dealing with those who care about me. And I have piled the forceful negativity on top of said behavior. Decades of it. The more others have gently pushed me to help myself, the more I have leveraged them into giving up completely. And then the running away. And then the drippingly alcoholic and sex-infused journeys into oblivion. I do not blame them one bit for turning away from such a self-induced wreck. All those years of reckless destruction are written clearly on the hand of Karma. They will remind me of everything forever. And they should do just that. I deserve it. All of it. The Karma, the painful passage of time, and the slow decline into senility which may have already begun. Here I am, again. The same situations, living circumstances, hours and hole. I am in it. All the fucking way. Recent developments and changes have accomplished exactly nothing. Short of some Goddamned miracle, these entries are going to end. Perhaps two more, perhaps three, including this monologue of shit. You may notice that the main image theme for the last four-plus years is present here despite the subject matter being all over the fucking place again. This title relates to much more than the descriptive essays and monochrome examples of female form ever did, but I need to display some of the most beautiful curves in some of the most enticing and artistic positions. They will remain within the last few publications, and for this sordid and downtrodden mess the reasoning is my mindset as it relates to Andrea and the tremendous loss I still feel. What is displayed here is important to me. The words, images, cohesion, and relation to other writing from the past are paramount. There you go. Break. Please. Long shadows in the afternoon, leading to the tenderness of the real gloaming. Yes. Gloaming. Shadows. Inner disorder. And that word which has come to find its home here over and over for seventeen fucking years: Why? No one knows, but I can say in all earnestness that the long shadows are everywhere. December. January. Further. The shadows should be long, right? The sun at that wonderfully threatening angle all day long, and then in the afternoon when the Winter clarity spikes the eyes with sunlight. Long shadows, and then no shadows. Nice, short days in which the dim takes out the bright. Those shadows and that angle help to keep me afloat while the blade cuts me from the inside out. Knowing that the trailing end of the year in waiting for such a fantastic twist of astronomic positioning will eventually give way to the early setting and late rising helps me through those longer, arduous weeks and months. Well, here it is. The ending of the Master season and the beautiful holiday season gone. Yes. I made it, although that entire section of the calendar generally speeds by much too quickly. Time flies? No, time does not change. Our perception while busy means we lose track almost constantly in search of those few moments to squeeze into each day. They are not there. They do not exist but we keep looking. All of the activities related to the season means we pile up the lists and go to town. As a result, things become compressed to the point of seeming so short. And then there it is... the last day of the year leading into the following year at the speed of sound. And that is the tipping point for me to begin a hellish hibernation until late September finally arrives again. The long shadows of my life, too. I will try not to get into the fucking Jungian shadows. Or maybe I already did. What is all this shit? Hmm... perhaps just a massive representation of a foul mood. Perhaps not. I may be reaching, but in what direction I simply do not know. I have confused myself anyway. Not surprising at all. The forms, time, Karma, everything... I am out of my mind with thoughts all over the fucking place again. I am supposed to be wrapping up the sixteen-part story with some sort of conclusion but the words escape me. The Karma. Where I should be after all of the shit? Perhaps. And then the time issue in my head slowly working its way into every step of every day. I think and agonize over the progression of time due to so many millions of seconds spent high in the heavens combined with the lion's share spent in hell. The same? Maybe. One causing the other? More likely. It just keeps moving and falling away from me at an alarming rate, meaning the time and memories are slowly destroying me as a result of those women. Falling away. Remember that one? Well, it is a premonition from hell. Back we go to two thousand three. Juliette and Ashley still fresh in my heart and mind. I arrived home to find no one happy to see me. Not one. My first thought was to fly away again and search out one of those two women and fall into the arms I still needed. After being gone for days, stepping back into everyday life became tougher than I had envisioned. Work awaited my return as did the people in my life. All of my choices had been narrowed to little, everyday decisions. I wanted no part of it. Despite days and days in the type of comfort above all things, my head still desired more. Nothing could be enough. The fucking time needed to be under my control. Yes, the time... again. But I had no control over anything. Work intruded along with daily life. The situation which drove me out in the first place took me again and I wallowed. More. Years of it. At some point between two thousand seven and eight, that single trip to the car wash not far from my home changed my ability to word things as they relate to the female form. Upon completing such a story -- albeit rough and short -- I began to obsess more and more over all that was unavailable. Juliette had been a beauty the likes of which was rarely in front of my eyes, however once that first descriptive was out there I looked at things differently. I looked at females differently, as if they had become studies rather than just attractive. And my head blew up everything related to the numbers all over them. I would see a gorgeous creature which took my interest and drilled the vision into my brain, stare as long as possible, and then dream about her for days without a shred of understanding as to why I felt so strongly about the form. Hip-to-waist ratios, thigh tapers, breast disparity... all of it swirled and left me hurting and yearning to know the reasoning behind such thoughts. Nothing. No answers. Just more staring and painful consideration. Need. Desire. Sex? Not really. Everything but. My words are all over the place and about as disorganized as my ridiculous life. Fuck. Now the whole damned thing is nothing more than a daily pain in my fucking ass. I recently published a strongly-worded mess about the server and that is where everything delivered me... a place where I sit and dream and look and fall. More will come along, more will remind me of my endless cold, sharp and haphazard behavior, and more will go away. A sight and then nothing. That is my penance for causing so much harm to so many caring individuals and then pushing them away as if they were stacks of old paper being disregarded in favor of a shiny, new toy. The interest of the second, the moment, the whatever. I used up all of the good feelings and relationships for my own selfish need and then torched the bridges as quickly as I booked flights. Done. Fast. Wrong. Now that huge oar which could outweigh Noah's ark has quietly arrived behind me and begun to push me in directions I cannot control. The Karma. Exactly correct, too. The work day. Uninteresting other than being in the financial district where the never-ending and disproportionate slough of overwhelmingly attractive women appear at each street corner. How did I get here? Well, lots of little things took place, a few dramatic periods, and many years spent attempting to answer that one mysterious question. One of the facts is that I have never let up on the search. Always looking, sometimes seeing. When I see, the fall takes place and then this editor becomes all that exists for a while. Write, ask, scrutinize, publish. And then my head cools until seeing again. As mentioned several times, the server from a few months back was one of those catalysts which slammed me when I saw her. A long visit to the restaurant allowed me to look at her for quite a while and try to understand just why her shape was so unreal. Yes, she was sexy, slender, and curvy despite the thinness, but the why is just not happening. Years ago I did not become so distraught and full of turmoil over the physical attractiveness. Lately, everything feels dire. Worse. Bad. The compulsion to understand that shape is causing torment. While the original need was to place numbers and comparisons to paper (and still is to a degree), my head seems to be going further. Posing. Following those lines. Gazing closely until I am satisfied that I have seen every conceivable angle. That girl shook me badly because of the amount of time she remained in view while moving about the room. The images in that essay almost do her justice. She was a genetic fluke and carrying every single detail which stirs me into a froth. Not once did I ask to measure any of the others who were very close. The Raven knew of my needs and had every intention of allowing anything. She offered herself completely out of love and trust. Our communication went on for months and she just knew. She always knew. Her greatest wish was to end the perpetual sadness in my eyes. Andrea felt the same all those years earlier, but the situation was different. We were insanely physical much of the time. That took my need to understand her incredible dimensions and shoved it back. I stared at her many, many times and she allowed all of it, but the sex took over quickly. We spoke, lived our days, tried again to remain calm for such things to take place, however in the end we attacked each other over and over. The technicality flew away in favor of pleasing each other. Not a chance of anything else. Ellie? The same. Staring. Posing. Glaring at her most personal of curves until I had to dive. As I tried to deal with Andrea's exit, Ellie carried me to the clouds. I never wrapped her in a tape either. Too much desire took my mind away quickly. The girl was just too gorgeous and loving. Natalie was all about comfort. The hideous mindset now is nearly too much for me in such a weakened condition. Day after miserable day passes as I work and yearn to be alone. By the time I reach home I can no longer process things properly enough to relax and let everything go. The desire and emptiness push me toward suicide and that freedom from thinking. Alcohol, these haphazard words, and some physical comfort for a short time, then to sleep only to awaken and do it all again. I am tired of these days leading nowhere. Even the occasional trips to the high country do not bring peace for more than a few moments at a time. The little things I still enjoy are shrinking just as my diminishing ability to deal with day to day life. The trips come and go quickly and usually hold their own difficulties due to the sex-infused nature of the gaming culture. The last trip has been laid out here along with terrible times of deep desire. Those moments nearly broke me for all time. How exactly I made it out of there with all of the sordid feelings, yearning, and a head full of alcohol I will never know. The drive home was offset only slightly due to a few more days to myself and time to organize my thoughts before diving head-first back into the machine. Yes, I did make it through, however each occasion finds those hideous dreams worsening. The return to everyday life becomes more arduous with every month passed. I have no fucking idea how I am sitting here now typing. Horrible words coming. The exit has been illuminated many times in the past and returns often. My eyes see it, my brain understands, however my hands have yet to make it happen. That door is the culmination of everything which brings me to my knees over and over. The visions are but one facet of a stone that reflects my mood constantly. The knife, the revolver, the pills. Just like those nights with the Brunette as each of us vied for position at the head of the last line of life. We screamed, cried, pleaded with each other as the words flew across the room like poisoned daggers. Aimed. Sharp. Cutting. Painful. We went back and forth for months in some distorted competition to learn of who felt the strongest urge to die. Not pleasant in the least. The situation was terrible, depressing, dire, drunken, all of it. Neither of us was balanced in any way and I remember specifically the feeling of wishing day after miserable day to no longer be upright or conscious. I needed silence in my head bad enough to wish for that door leading away from everything. That set of symptoms is now freshly cemented yet again. Yes. That bad. The space I now inhabit has shrunk so much that those little enjoyments fly by more quickly than the fucking seconds I watch so intently. Memories of the isolated period of eleven and twelve are pushing me in the direction of replicating the manner in which I interacted with others. Alone, away, unavailable. Karma? Maybe. The bad things are always there. I made those decisions, hurt others, ran for my life, broke promises one after another, forced people to relate to me as I wished, and lied my fucking ass off in order to sink into whatever temporary, drunken illusion carried me to awaken the next morning. Each bridge abutment and every sight of the ocean showed me that the option remained, no matter what others felt. I pushed, leveraged, used my intelligence and command of language to get what I wanted and needed. I threw money at my issues to dilute reality to the point of losing track of everyday life and responsibilities. In short, I was terrible both to myself and those who cared for me. Especially them. Months of silence and tens of thousands of dollars combined to find me so fucking formless and reckless that emerging on the other side meant my life destroyed -- along with those of innocent people -- and me unable to live day to day in any normal manner. Now look at me. All of this shit. Look at it. I did this. Those little times when I am alone at home doing whatever I wish are not holding me up as they once did. The nagging damage is at my heels following along and tickling just enough to disallow letting go and relaxing my mind for a while. As I stated above, shrinking. My space and ability to cope with difficulties and focus upon the joyous moments. Shrinking. Months go by like minutes, which means my minutes go by before I can attempt to measure them. Yes, I am still trying to maintain my little world and seek those moments. They are there. I find them, but holy God are they ever short. I sit and write, all the while with those women floating through my head like angels to be badly missed. The Raven is at the forefront constantly. Her loving, caring manner was unreal and lifted me like nothing else. That woman has been a symbol of all that I had sought for more than a decade and to this very second represents the culmination of every single fucking dream. Her loss still burns like molten metal through my depressed veins. There has been zero relief from that sad situation and each passing minute has me yearning to join that Goddess. Every day. I feel as if all possibilities have been ripped away and torched along with any ambition to carry myself into an uncertain and bleak future. And this was to be some sort of conclusion? Whatever. There is no conclusion because I am worse of heart and mind now than I was years ago when the shit took place. There seems little room for joy anymore. I just miss them too much for a recovery. Right now the knife in my heart is as sharp as when I heard the news about the Raven leaving this world. I am the same now as nearly four years ago. And the past gallivanting to satisfy myself in the manner I needed so badly then has returned to my mind with force. Unfortunately, none of it is available any longer. I have fucked up too much and all of the damage has placed me in a financial black hole from which any escape would take years and I just do not have the patience. Also? I don't give half a fuck anymore because the time has gone the fuck away. Even my Goddamned hair seems to be thinning. Heh. If I were a balanced individual, there would be avenues to bring comfort and solace. Nope. Not going to happen. On the upside, I can only write while unhappy which means the words are flowing. For whatever reason, others still seem to believe that it helps. This. The exploration and exposition. Bullshit. Fuck you. Read the words for fuck's sake. Do I seem to be improving after seventeen years of maintaining this site? I thought so. Shut up. Time. Gone. Still moving south with every letter. Each word. Think. Fall. Consider. Type. Agonize. Drink. Type. Edit. Format. Smoke. Drink. Streamline. Scrutinize. Type. Publish. Drown. Why? Do you have the fucking answer? Therapy? Nope. Did that several times and railroaded every fucking one of them into a corner until each gave up in their own time. I will no longer attempt such a thing. No one can tell me that the obsession, self-inflicted damage and loss of the Raven are ‘ok'. I will not have it. Andrea? What can be said to make that pain go away? Michelle? Ellie? Juliette? All of them. Even Melanie and her caring words. Loving eyes expressing concern. Nothing can take all of that away. Yes, there are ways of understanding and dealing with the memories, however I am wallowing far too much to head in such a direction. I am not saying the possibility does not exist, only that I need to carry them inside. Always. I do not want anyone taking them away. And the Karma may not allow it anyway. Perhaps Karma means I have no choices left. Who knows? As usual there is no cohesion here whatsoever. Big surprise. Remembering all of the bad I have caused is definitely a positive. It will keep me from running in crazy directions if the future puts me in a position to do so. The memories of returning home to the wreckage (still going on more than eight years later, by the way) will not let me fuck up lives any longer. I cannot do it. The status quo needs to be maintained no matter the difficulty for me. The passage of time is killing away all of my ambition these days and the fact that I am in such bad shape must remain within. Andrea again. The weeks are rolling under my feet quickly. Speeding along and forcing me to try paying attention to each moment. I did that while in Florida for those many days but still the time got away from me. Bliss. Constantly. Andrea's company brought so much comfort and happiness that now I see the contrast between that wonderful time and this current period with me falling away worse than ever. I was a wrecked person before meeting her and fell hard upon hearing those booties clicking across the marble. Mere seconds after she disappeared I felt a strong urge to die immediately but did nothing. I drank instead. These days I do the same thing. The difference is I rarely have control of my time. When I do, it is only hours at the most and they go away like the rest of the clock. Gone. Swiftly. I hate it. The combination of Andrea floating in my head and all of the daily difficulties are causing my words to stray all over the map. I cannot find direction most days so I sit and just gush randomly. Again, this was supposed to be a wrap of the long adventures but I have only stated somewhat of a conclusion to my trip in two-thousand-three after leaving Ashley's long, slender, loving arms. That story was months ago. I came home and fell off the edge of the world for a while before righting myself enough to work and relate to others. Returning to my life after the angel went back to Florida was nearly impossible. Work? Nope. That went away and was no longer under my control. The leave was extended just before flying the coop and was due to end shortly thereafter, however I was sent away before ever going back. Family was irritated with me, my head could not calculate its way out of a wet paper bag, and during the short period that Natalie wrapped me in her caring arms I felt as if my end was very near. She felt it and saw the difficulty in my eyes. After spilling my time with Andrea all over the place, Natalie wished to help. Just like Ellie. Why? Was I worth all that? Or should I have taken a cue from the wisdom of others and concluded that I was a good person? Hmm. I do not feel that way. My truncated being tends to latch, gush, care, and lavish all that I am upon a waiting soul and hope for the type of comfort I need so badly. And then when that soul departs my life I fall on my face and search for another. Bad. It is a very bad cycle within which I drown and attempt to find value within myself. That never happens. The Karma and it's sweeping arm. Again and again. Even at this very moment. Right fucking now. All over the map. As usual. Worried, uncomfortable. Karma. Andrea. The Raven. Ugh. The similarities between those two women are many. The idea that another person has the ability to lift me to the clouds has been defined by each of them. The Raven has been gone for years, yet still Her heart is fused to mine. Andrea… the same. There are marks within me which will not go away. Not scars, just marks and memories. They often turn me inside out and I cannot think straight at all. Like now, and likely the reasoning behind these entries being so haphazard. Sometimes the words stray sideways. This paragraph began with Andrea and the Raven and then became skewed. That is what has become of my ability to handle life when I dream of them. Each day holds little distractions from the pain and longing but it returns soon enough. A vision has the power to send me flying down into a black hole and those two women come to mind. And then this. Lots of it. At this very moment I am awaiting work in some goofy couple's home and everything is flooding into my brain. Not the work, the sex and obsession. As of this second, I have not succeeded in getting them out of my head for more than a few moments at a time. The effort is tiring and difficult. Wasn't I talking about two women? Yes, difficult. Each day is uphill. Sometimes steep and other times not so steep, but the grade never ceases. I need them back and such an idea is not possible. The words will continue like always --- cutting, depressing, flailing, failing. Analysis and then over-analysis. More and more. And then a vision out there somewhere, drop, fall, typing, sadness, recklessness. Again. Repeat. Fuck. Why? Nothing. Silence. Years. Pain. The Raven. Where am I going? Anywhere? Nowhere? Up? Down? Nothing? Too many question marks for Chrissakes. I know nothing other than the painful memories and outlook which continues to dim. No future. Thoughts of the Raven sitting beside me on the train, head on my shoulder and frightened. Holding my arm as I tried to calm Her after the drop She experienced that evening. I just held on and whispered, stroking that jet-black hair as She clung. Things like that first fateful day spent together and ending in difficulty are slicing me to pieces. I remember each detail of Her hair, outfit, makeup. The way Her v-neck always appeared off slightly in the center. One lovely eyebrow higher than the other. The seam of Her jeans forcing me to wish for living inside them. The adorable and tiny zipper on the front. Her little half-jacket that pushed the look of Her narrow waist into the place of dreams. The warmth of Her leg slung across mine. Her long arms in constant contact out of fear. Clinging. The scent of Her shampoo. The softness of Her lips on my neck. The way She took my hand in Hers when I placed it on Her nonexistent tummy followed by a tentative smile. And that occasional twitch of one eye which sent me floating through a universe of watery eyes and swelling heart. God damn fuck me. Everything down to the tiniest aspects of Her form and mannerisms burned and branded into my heart and mind. Always. Every day. Unending sadness. I miss Her. I just fucking yearn. All that I am easily tossed into hell for one fucking second of Her eyes looking into mine. I would die to look upon Her smile one more time. Dead and happy. Gone. She is fucking gone, and I shall never look upon Her like again. Onward, but to where? Why? How? No one gives a shit after all this time. People wish to see words here. Well, suck them out of the fucking keyboards. Enjoy. Over on this end, things are not well. Onward did I say? How? Fuck. The Raven was a soul unlike anyone else in life and Her loss feels now as it did in fifteen. Even the essay I wrote about the way She looked at our first meeting has been pulled offline because it is one of my writings that She actually read. I cannot place it back in the public eye anytime soon. It is too much. She read it and then professed Her love for me. Loss, still leaving a gaping hole in my being. That will never go away and the only thing which has the ability to erase the daily searing pain is death itself. Suck that, too. It may pass. As the weeks roll by at high speed I am ever closer to telling the universe to fuck off. People, too. No one listens because I am very difficult with which to deal. I make conversations arduous, stifling, and dead-ended. I close every thought with my sharp, cutting, fatalistic vision. After a short time I leave others wishing they had never addressed me in the first place. The Karma made me this way? Or did I do it? Is there possibility of recovery? Happiness? Satisfaction? I do not believe so. As stated earlier, I only have those little moments of enjoyment which tend to fly by like a jet aircraft, never to return. They are diminishing, truncated. Still there but in short supply and being pushed aside due to my ongoing dreams and day to day difficulty in coping with all that I need being unavailable. I did it. No doubt. Due to all of the unfeeling actions throughout the course of years, there simply cannot be doubt. And the angel attached to me for weeks. Something happened between us on the flight from DFW and I still have no idea of how. Perhaps a mutual need for companionship. Andrea was hesitant to speak with me in the beginning but soon we were against each other with no understanding. She was so warm, and those eyes made my head spin. Upon seeing her walk to the forward restroom my brain scrambled to process my incredible good fortune in being seated next to such a goddess. She and I just connected. We held each other lightly, exchanged glances, locked eyes, and soon felt as the other. Frightened of being apart at that early stage. That moment upon stepping out of the jetway in Pensacola floored me. I did want to see her and try to learn of why we had become that attached so quickly, however the moment belonged to Andrea. I still get shivers thinking of that feeling when she yanked a pen out of her bag to continue whatever was happening. Mere hours earlier I was falling into a void due to my ongoing and dramatic inability to process a picturesque woman. I didn't even know if I could survive the trip to see family after reeling from the bartender. Hell, I was unsure of surviving the fucking flight. Little did I know after separating from Andrea that first day, we would soon be so glued to each other that the world would melt away in favor of another of our own making. Jesus fucking Christ, the utopia of my dreams. Four years later? The Raven. But I have gone over that. Bliss and rage. And today is Her birthday. Andrea showed me compassion and demonstrated understanding. The two of us lifted each other above the din and into a place I cannot explain. I have tried and tried, however in the end even these many words will never be enough. Again, just like Her. Upon losing the angel back into the black of reality, I lunged at Ellie for comfort and fell into that little kitten with the force of my overwhelming sadness. She helped much. Well, until exiting my life upon me leaving the promised land with every fucking second of those many weeks whipping me into a depressed and angry milkshake. No toppings, just sadness blended with all those terms which have been railroaded here over and over. You know. Right now I see all of the faces from that time and the one which stands out is Andrea herself. Never before had eyes grabbed me so tightly and held on until meeting the Raven that fateful day at Val's. This paragraph is crap. Whatever. The Karma is in charge along with something which will never be my friend: Time. Was it Karma which took them away from me? Does it work that way? Hmm. I am surprised to be sitting here after years. Half of me wishes to go on and continue these stories for whatever they may be worth, while the other half wishes that I had gone into the ground before ever choosing the tine of that fucking fork in twenty-ten. I was close, by God. Very close. And now due to my decision to maintain the site and pour myself all over the Internet, the outlet is killing me. People know. The words have been placed in the public eye. All of them. There is more, but the more I throw it to the screen the more I fall. I just do not know what to do anymore. The little things crop up from time to time and temporarily distract me, however the underlying feelings never leave my head. Karma is a big word. Perhaps my years of living the lifestyle I have needed so badly are truly penance for what I am mired within. Could be. The Raven felt strongly about Karma being somewhat of an issue in Her life. We spoke at length about society, children, and the effects of being raised by those of questionable mindsets. Standards, ethics, morals... Everything which shapes people and can create similar personalities to those of their elders. We discussed our own feelings toward our two selves along with the earliest years in memory. Karma was brought up often. At this point in time and after all the shit I have graded aside and pushed toward the people who care for me, well, I just do not know anymore. The words continue to swirl and I cannot see that changing anytime soon. Perhaps when they run out. What the fuck am I talking about? Jesus fucking Christ. What a mess. Again. At least the beginning and middle of this tale which covered trips from two-thousand-two, three, and eleven seem to flow from one moment to the next. This shit is fucked up. I cannot even get from one place to another on the page without taking an exit off this highway of words. I just do not have the ability anymore. I used to write really well while down but this is just bad. I do not like it, however it is me. For whatever this little web space is worth. I don't fucking care anymore. Where was I? The Raven? Who knows. All fucked up over here. Yes, Her. I just keep going on and on about the woman and Her endless thrall upon my weak mind and heart. All of these entries eventually tread through the same subjects, women, issues, everything negative and lost. None of it will return. Nothing. Again... This is part seventeen and wrapping the long story I began over a year ago. Really? Nope. The same futile bitching about everything. Me, them, the past, the black future. The same. There is no exit, but there is an Exit. You know. Read the rest. Every single soul from Jasmine to the Raven has affected me deeply because I allowed it. I dove without consideration of what may happen next. I did not care beyond the next few minutes and threw my life into the incinerator in the process. Comfort, physical satisfaction and appreciation, alcohol, atmosphere, and locales which aligned with my deviant needs. Call girls, loads of cash, and resources burned away as quickly as my head went from somber to suicide. Back and forth and back and forth at high speed. I forced it. Others gave up just as I am doing now. I did not see any other way. My needs and desires skewed my head bad enough to push. Force. Words of dismissal. The people in my life did not react well and that continues to this very second. Also continuing is my desire to do it all again. Yep, I still want and need that big, bloated illusion like nothing else on earth. I am the same. I am still broken. The Karma may destroy me or allow me to find a way to do it myself, but if not I will seek what I need. Juliette said 'go, be happy babe' and Ellie made me promise to get home and be well. Unfortunately, promises are not something to which I react well. Honestly, I tend to avoid them in the first place or simply agree just to get someone off my back. It doesn't matter, really, because I will disappoint them one way or another soon enough. Now we come to the end. That end. Yes, and not just the conclusion of a story spanning three time periods spread over nearly ten years, but the last of my ambition to share the wonderful and terrible paths I chose. Here we go... bad. Cut to months after losing Andrea, leaving the kitten in Vegas and arriving home. In my email was a photo without words from a very convoluted address. It was a woman's upper thigh, and tattooed were characters and symbols representing all that Andrea and I had felt for each other. The things placed there were such that only she and I would understand the meaning, and as soon as I saw the writing I knew instantly that it was her leg. She kept it private and ambiguous. That wonderful, loving woman showed me what our time meant to her. I was overwhelmed beyond belief. When I responded, the message was returned immediately as undeliverable. She let me see our love written in her beautiful skin and then disappeared for all time. Almost eight years from when we took off together and not a word of contact at all. The Karma took her away from me. I deserve it. Better to have loved and lost? No. Say that to me and I will turn your head into a fucking canoe. I would have been better off never living the past ten years. Period. Fuck you. Not a day goes by without thoughts of her. Not a woman walks by without me dreaming of her. And when I think of anything related to travel, our wonderful, adventurous romance becomes placed at the forefront of my mind and pushes me to wish for a slide down the outside of the Luxor. All of them float in my head but Andrea was something I cannot explain. I pushed my life aside to spend all of that dreamy time with her and lavish such an angel into heaven. I ignored everyone. I lashed and swore... I sent all of them away with my sharp words and cutting manner. I allowed no detours and leveraged my life into position to control all of it and give myself to Andrea completely. We floated, flew, fell. The end of everything would soon arrive and leave me a fetal wreck with no ambition. The Karma has swung its heavy hand and smoothly slid me onto a path with no turns whatsoever. Mired, stuck, cemented. Within my head? The same. Nothing. Memories of others disowning and looking to me with disgust. The Karma. Yep. Still. Add the Raven to such a thought, and the miracle is me still drawing breath. Is the Raven above Andrea? Things do not work that way. The Raven was as much an enigma as the other one, yes, however I do not think of Her in the same manner. In many ways, the Raven saved my life. In other ways, I allowed myself to fall for Her when I knew my best option would have been to avoid contact with a woman who struck me and froze my brain as no one else in my life. When She sat next to me, gently took my hands and looked into my eyes, the entire universe was tilted toward nothingness. The woman took my head and cared for it like no one else. Unreal. Her soul shined through, and to state such a thought is tremendous. The physical beauty She carried on the outside is indescribable. Honestly. Perfect? Nope. That does not fucking exist outside real mathematics. The woman was so fucking incredibly beautiful that I still cannot do Her justice. I will stop trying eventually or lose my mind completely in the process. Why? How did I turn out like this? Why are the numbers and visions of the female form allowed to rule my life? Will the time left ease its grip upon me? Will anything help? Sex? Measuring? Seeing up close like in the past? Anything? No. Fuck no. This is what I am and improvement is unavailable because I will not let up on myself. The harm caused to others over and over in search of that loving comfort, care and physical need has forced the Karma to take over and leave me a ruined human being. The Karma. The time. Those second hands showing me that my hours are short. And they are fucking shorter than I care to say. End of line." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Astral Karma Part Seventeen Mature content No. 89 Published June 8th, 2019 6:06am pdt read ( words) Past entries "This is not good. I am not well. The story basically ended with part sixteen so this is supposed to wrap things up with a bow. All nice and neat. Closure. An end which could lead to a beginning. Nope. No fucking way. I am exactly the same. Fuck it. Here we go... Let us recap. First I exited the Mandalay after watching Jasmine walk away, then I cried twelve months after as Juliette and her beautiful soul marched right out the door of my Luxor suite. Years later Andrea -- the most stunningly gorgeous woman I had ever seen -- left me standing in the Venetian lobby as I felt my world imploding, and shortly thereafter I fell into a pit of suicidal despair when Michelle stepped into her apartment and closed the door, leaving me alone yet again. Hans Zimmer's epic composition of 'Time' played in my head endlessly after that last split and would not let up its helping of sadness. Time. Both the song and progression of events as they relate to my grasping at a woman's soul are within me, always. They crush me on and off throughout any given day. Coupled with the years-long issues outlined in 'Falling Away', 'Eden and the Edge' as well as 'The Failing Fantasy and Alexis', the inevitable limits have arrived. I fucking knew it. Andrea and Juliette propped me up, each in their own way and with love. A strong person does not need such constant support. Me? Yep... to this very moment, however it no longer exists. I am void of even the slightest bit of that lavish care. Day in and day out I pen those tales of the past and subsequently fall down. Each entry removes a part of me as the memories flow along my psyche and burn away possibility. And then a pause to maintain myself and attempt functioning around others before isolating and drowning within the need to explore the time. Yes, time. The fucking non-stop advancement of those many seconds being displayed on more than a dozen precision movements in my office. The charge light illuminates all of the beautifully designed dials and reflects off so many hands in sync, ticking away and forcing me to realize that the hour is late. I cannot stand time passing and flying away from me as I ponder my place, yet all of those accurate representations of the same sit and await my attention. They are beautiful, but I despise the ceaseless motion. Deep into the coffee and mid-morning, I often stroll to the patio for a cigarette and hear the outdoor clock ticking as the huge minute hand steps along to its next mark. Time. Another quartz machine showing me that even the coffee refill and walk outside has chewed a moment which will never return. Progression and loss, nothing more. Experience? Knowledge? I do not give a shit. They benefit me no longer. The caring and warmth which held me together for so long have vanished and slowly been pushed back far enough to inflame the reasoning behind running away in the first place. Andrea knew it, too. She knew my actions would accomplish nothing and garner no assistance at all. She told me to care for myself just as Juliette, Ashley, Lanie, everyone. All those dreamy women who allowed me to fall into their loving arms wished nothing more than happiness and contentment for yours truly. Well, none of that has taken place at all. I am a sordid, depressed, negative, unfriendly representation of my former self. I am a wreck, as stated here for years. The only upside is that they are all saved from what I have become. They are away from me which is where everyone should reside. I am a syndrome. I keep watching the seconds pushing away possibility. I stare at those gorgeous little machines that I love so much and they look back at me with no compassion. They cannot. They are machines, and as such they respond to me by performing precisely what I expect of them: timekeeping. Each little silent movement from one index mark to the next tells me that I will eventually fall all the way down and the time will pay no mind whatsoever. It will roll over me like the fucking Karma. The time and lack of fulfillment are going to kill me. Perhaps not today or this week or even this month, but one day I will no longer be willing to live with such a voided situation. Propping my public self has become far too exhausting to maintain pace. More words, more Saturday mornings, and more glancing at the second hands moving along toward the end. A few more stories, a few more drinks. That is all. The time has gotten away, gone away, and been taken away. Away. Awry? Yes, that too. Awry. That is an apt descriptor for my entire being. The obsession, desire, need for control, and that endless yearning for all that is unavailable to me in these late days has combined into a blender of hell. I have pared the site down to only the last four years' worth of tales and images which has left nothing positive. Why am I still here? Writing? Gushing? Because there is little else which causes a joyous feeling. Food? Sometimes. Alcohol? Sometimes. What else? Hmm. Lanie's loving manner and helpful insight flew out of me as if she never uttered a syllable. Where did it go? Who knows, but gone is the term. I lost it all in a never-ending attempt to feel the way I needed in order to survive. Andrea, too. She was nearly too much for my senses and then gone as soon as I was all the way in. That woman defined, clarified, and focused every aspect of my personality and every single desire I had ever felt. Since losing that angel, many times have found me wishing I had never boarded the second plane and followed my wishes straight to Vegas before seeing those soulful, damaged eyes calling to me for comfort. Andrea became a universe outside of which existed nothing else. Upon watching her stroll out of the lobby I knew that I could not survive such a weakened condition and here I sit years later feeling one-hundred-percent the same. I have nothing because I am incapable of rising or learning. And unwilling. Just words and wreckage. Depression. Longing. Dreaming. Nothing. My paragraphs are supposed to have a topic sentence and then content related to said topic. Nope. And then Michelle enters my head. And then Ashley, that doll of dolls. Why did all of them embrace me as if I was something special? Could it have been the sadness that does not leave my eyes? Or maybe my unending attention to both the physical and emotional needs of others? I just do not know. My head is so fucked up that processing things in proper order and from a clear standpoint is no longer possible. And then there is the Goddamned time which feels like a granite slab lying upon my fucking head. Pressure to do something... anything different. Some sort of rise, lift, change, whatever. But I feel unable to do anything aside from watching the seconds tick away as they carry me along to the end of everything. They just continue to grind away possibility. I cannot stop any of it. Unending. Seamless. Damaging. Ticking. Where are those seconds taking me? And does this sound like a conclusion to those tales of the past? The time allows me to consider that perhaps along the ride around the clock something else may come along which is similar enough to what I have lived through and has the capability of helping. Or not. Or I just do not fucking know anymore. What do I need that is different from all those beautiful souls? Money? Yes, always. Will it help? Not really. That resource can only provide physical comfort in varying locations. There is a chance that I reside precisely where I am destined. The emotional wreck that I am could be penance for causing the same in other innocent souls. My inability to find a direction other than either simply treading water or falling down may represent the Karma to which people refer over and over. Maybe? I do not know because I do not know anything. The idea seems feasible, however. That type of inspirational living has never found a home within me. I have been overtly and clearly negative for many years due to the knowledge that I am exactly where I should be. The lack of a lift follows that thinking, especially considering the reckless and uncaring behavior I have cultivated when dealing with those who care about me. And I have piled the forceful negativity on top of said behavior. Decades of it. The more others have gently pushed me to help myself, the more I have leveraged them into giving up completely. And then the running away. And then the drippingly alcoholic and sex-infused journeys into oblivion. I do not blame them one bit for turning away from such a self-induced wreck. All those years of reckless destruction are written clearly on the hand of Karma. They will remind me of everything forever. And they should do just that. I deserve it. All of it. The Karma, the painful passage of time, and the slow decline into senility which may have already begun. Here I am, again. The same situations, living circumstances, hours and hole. I am in it. All the fucking way. Recent developments and changes have accomplished exactly nothing. Short of some Goddamned miracle, these entries are going to end. Perhaps two more, perhaps three, including this monologue of shit. You may notice that the main image theme for the last four-plus years is present here despite the subject matter being all over the fucking place again. This title relates to much more than the descriptive essays and monochrome examples of female form ever did, but I need to display some of the most beautiful curves in some of the most enticing and artistic positions. They will remain within the last few publications, and for this sordid and downtrodden mess the reasoning is my mindset as it relates to Andrea and the tremendous loss I still feel. What is displayed here is important to me. The words, images, cohesion, and relation to other writing from the past are paramount. There you go. Break. Please. Long shadows in the afternoon, leading to the tenderness of the real gloaming. Yes. Gloaming. Shadows. Inner disorder. And that word which has come to find its home here over and over for seventeen fucking years: Why? No one knows, but I can say in all earnestness that the long shadows are everywhere. December. January. Further. The shadows should be long, right? The sun at that wonderfully threatening angle all day long, and then in the afternoon when the Winter clarity spikes the eyes with sunlight. Long shadows, and then no shadows. Nice, short days in which the dim takes out the bright. Those shadows and that angle help to keep me afloat while the blade cuts me from the inside out. Knowing that the trailing end of the year in waiting for such a fantastic twist of astronomic positioning will eventually give way to the early setting and late rising helps me through those longer, arduous weeks and months. Well, here it is. The ending of the Master season and the beautiful holiday season gone. Yes. I made it, although that entire section of the calendar generally speeds by much too quickly. Time flies? No, time does not change. Our perception while busy means we lose track almost constantly in search of those few moments to squeeze into each day. They are not there. They do not exist but we keep looking. All of the activities related to the season means we pile up the lists and go to town. As a result, things become compressed to the point of seeming so short. And then there it is... the last day of the year leading into the following year at the speed of sound. And that is the tipping point for me to begin a hellish hibernation until late September finally arrives again. The long shadows of my life, too. I will try not to get into the fucking Jungian shadows. Or maybe I already did. What is all this shit? Hmm... perhaps just a massive representation of a foul mood. Perhaps not. I may be reaching, but in what direction I simply do not know. I have confused myself anyway. Not surprising at all. The forms, time, Karma, everything... I am out of my mind with thoughts all over the fucking place again. I am supposed to be wrapping up the sixteen-part story with some sort of conclusion but the words escape me. The Karma. Where I should be after all of the shit? Perhaps. And then the time issue in my head slowly working its way into every step of every day. I think and agonize over the progression of time due to so many millions of seconds spent high in the heavens combined with the lion's share spent in hell. The same? Maybe. One causing the other? More likely. It just keeps moving and falling away from me at an alarming rate, meaning the time and memories are slowly destroying me as a result of those women. Falling away. Remember that one? Well, it is a premonition from hell. Back we go to two thousand three. Juliette and Ashley still fresh in my heart and mind. I arrived home to find no one happy to see me. Not one. My first thought was to fly away again and search out one of those two women and fall into the arms I still needed. After being gone for days, stepping back into everyday life became tougher than I had envisioned. Work awaited my return as did the people in my life. All of my choices had been narrowed to little, everyday decisions. I wanted no part of it. Despite days and days in the type of comfort above all things, my head still desired more. Nothing could be enough. The fucking time needed to be under my control. Yes, the time... again. But I had no control over anything. Work intruded along with daily life. The situation which drove me out in the first place took me again and I wallowed. More. Years of it. At some point between two thousand seven and eight, that single trip to the car wash not far from my home changed my ability to word things as they relate to the female form. Upon completing such a story -- albeit rough and short -- I began to obsess more and more over all that was unavailable. Juliette had been a beauty the likes of which was rarely in front of my eyes, however once that first descriptive was out there I looked at things differently. I looked at females differently, as if they had become studies rather than just attractive. And my head blew up everything related to the numbers all over them. I would see a gorgeous creature which took my interest and drilled the vision into my brain, stare as long as possible, and then dream about her for days without a shred of understanding as to why I felt so strongly about the form. Hip-to-waist ratios, thigh tapers, breast disparity... all of it swirled and left me hurting and yearning to know the reasoning behind such thoughts. Nothing. No answers. Just more staring and painful consideration. Need. Desire. Sex? Not really. Everything but. My words are all over the place and about as disorganized as my ridiculous life. Fuck. Now the whole damned thing is nothing more than a daily pain in my fucking ass. I recently published a strongly-worded mess about the server and that is where everything delivered me... a place where I sit and dream and look and fall. More will come along, more will remind me of my endless cold, sharp and haphazard behavior, and more will go away. A sight and then nothing. That is my penance for causing so much harm to so many caring individuals and then pushing them away as if they were stacks of old paper being disregarded in favor of a shiny, new toy. The interest of the second, the moment, the whatever. I used up all of the good feelings and relationships for my own selfish need and then torched the bridges as quickly as I booked flights. Done. Fast. Wrong. Now that huge oar which could outweigh Noah's ark has quietly arrived behind me and begun to push me in directions I cannot control. The Karma. Exactly correct, too. The work day. Uninteresting other than being in the financial district where the never-ending and disproportionate slough of overwhelmingly attractive women appear at each street corner. How did I get here? Well, lots of little things took place, a few dramatic periods, and many years spent attempting to answer that one mysterious question. One of the facts is that I have never let up on the search. Always looking, sometimes seeing. When I see, the fall takes place and then this editor becomes all that exists for a while. Write, ask, scrutinize, publish. And then my head cools until seeing again. As mentioned several times, the server from a few months back was one of those catalysts which slammed me when I saw her. A long visit to the restaurant allowed me to look at her for quite a while and try to understand just why her shape was so unreal. Yes, she was sexy, slender, and curvy despite the thinness, but the why is just not happening. Years ago I did not become so distraught and full of turmoil over the physical attractiveness. Lately, everything feels dire. Worse. Bad. The compulsion to understand that shape is causing torment. While the original need was to place numbers and comparisons to paper (and still is to a degree), my head seems to be going further. Posing. Following those lines. Gazing closely until I am satisfied that I have seen every conceivable angle. That girl shook me badly because of the amount of time she remained in view while moving about the room. The images in that essay almost do her justice. She was a genetic fluke and carrying every single detail which stirs me into a froth. Not once did I ask to measure any of the others who were very close. The Raven knew of my needs and had every intention of allowing anything. She offered herself completely out of love and trust. Our communication went on for months and she just knew. She always knew. Her greatest wish was to end the perpetual sadness in my eyes. Andrea felt the same all those years earlier, but the situation was different. We were insanely physical much of the time. That took my need to understand her incredible dimensions and shoved it back. I stared at her many, many times and she allowed all of it, but the sex took over quickly. We spoke, lived our days, tried again to remain calm for such things to take place, however in the end we attacked each other over and over. The technicality flew away in favor of pleasing each other. Not a chance of anything else. Ellie? The same. Staring. Posing. Glaring at her most personal of curves until I had to dive. As I tried to deal with Andrea's exit, Ellie carried me to the clouds. I never wrapped her in a tape either. Too much desire took my mind away quickly. The girl was just too gorgeous and loving. Natalie was all about comfort. The hideous mindset now is nearly too much for me in such a weakened condition. Day after miserable day passes as I work and yearn to be alone. By the time I reach home I can no longer process things properly enough to relax and let everything go. The desire and emptiness push me toward suicide and that freedom from thinking. Alcohol, these haphazard words, and some physical comfort for a short time, then to sleep only to awaken and do it all again. I am tired of these days leading nowhere. Even the occasional trips to the high country do not bring peace for more than a few moments at a time. The little things I still enjoy are shrinking just as my diminishing ability to deal with day to day life. The trips come and go quickly and usually hold their own difficulties due to the sex-infused nature of the gaming culture. The last trip has been laid out here along with terrible times of deep desire. Those moments nearly broke me for all time. How exactly I made it out of there with all of the sordid feelings, yearning, and a head full of alcohol I will never know. The drive home was offset only slightly due to a few more days to myself and time to organize my thoughts before diving head-first back into the machine. Yes, I did make it through, however each occasion finds those hideous dreams worsening. The return to everyday life becomes more arduous with every month passed. I have no fucking idea how I am sitting here now typing. Horrible words coming. The exit has been illuminated many times in the past and returns often. My eyes see it, my brain understands, however my hands have yet to make it happen. That door is the culmination of everything which brings me to my knees over and over. The visions are but one facet of a stone that reflects my mood constantly. The knife, the revolver, the pills. Just like those nights with the Brunette as each of us vied for position at the head of the last line of life. We screamed, cried, pleaded with each other as the words flew across the room like poisoned daggers. Aimed. Sharp. Cutting. Painful. We went back and forth for months in some distorted competition to learn of who felt the strongest urge to die. Not pleasant in the least. The situation was terrible, depressing, dire, drunken, all of it. Neither of us was balanced in any way and I remember specifically the feeling of wishing day after miserable day to no longer be upright or conscious. I needed silence in my head bad enough to wish for that door leading away from everything. That set of symptoms is now freshly cemented yet again. Yes. That bad. The space I now inhabit has shrunk so much that those little enjoyments fly by more quickly than the fucking seconds I watch so intently. Memories of the isolated period of eleven and twelve are pushing me in the direction of replicating the manner in which I interacted with others. Alone, away, unavailable. Karma? Maybe. The bad things are always there. I made those decisions, hurt others, ran for my life, broke promises one after another, forced people to relate to me as I wished, and lied my fucking ass off in order to sink into whatever temporary, drunken illusion carried me to awaken the next morning. Each bridge abutment and every sight of the ocean showed me that the option remained, no matter what others felt. I pushed, leveraged, used my intelligence and command of language to get what I wanted and needed. I threw money at my issues to dilute reality to the point of losing track of everyday life and responsibilities. In short, I was terrible both to myself and those who cared for me. Especially them. Months of silence and tens of thousands of dollars combined to find me so fucking formless and reckless that emerging on the other side meant my life destroyed -- along with those of innocent people -- and me unable to live day to day in any normal manner. Now look at me. All of this shit. Look at it. I did this. Those little times when I am alone at home doing whatever I wish are not holding me up as they once did. The nagging damage is at my heels following along and tickling just enough to disallow letting go and relaxing my mind for a while. As I stated above, shrinking. My space and ability to cope with difficulties and focus upon the joyous moments. Shrinking. Months go by like minutes, which means my minutes go by before I can attempt to measure them. Yes, I am still trying to maintain my little world and seek those moments. They are there. I find them, but holy God are they ever short. I sit and write, all the while with those women floating through my head like angels to be badly missed. The Raven is at the forefront constantly. Her loving, caring manner was unreal and lifted me like nothing else. That woman has been a symbol of all that I had sought for more than a decade and to this very second represents the culmination of every single fucking dream. Her loss still burns like molten metal through my depressed veins. There has been zero relief from that sad situation and each passing minute has me yearning to join that Goddess. Every day. I feel as if all possibilities have been ripped away and torched along with any ambition to carry myself into an uncertain and bleak future. And this was to be some sort of conclusion? Whatever. There is no conclusion because I am worse of heart and mind now than I was years ago when the shit took place. There seems little room for joy anymore. I just miss them too much for a recovery. Right now the knife in my heart is as sharp as when I heard the news about the Raven leaving this world. I am the same now as nearly four years ago. And the past gallivanting to satisfy myself in the manner I needed so badly then has returned to my mind with force. Unfortunately, none of it is available any longer. I have fucked up too much and all of the damage has placed me in a financial black hole from which any escape would take years and I just do not have the patience. Also? I don't give half a fuck anymore because the time has gone the fuck away. Even my Goddamned hair seems to be thinning. Heh. If I were a balanced individual, there would be avenues to bring comfort and solace. Nope. Not going to happen. On the upside, I can only write while unhappy which means the words are flowing. For whatever reason, others still seem to believe that it helps. This. The exploration and exposition. Bullshit. Fuck you. Read the words for fuck's sake. Do I seem to be improving after seventeen years of maintaining this site? I thought so. Shut up. Time. Gone. Still moving south with every letter. Each word. Think. Fall. Consider. Type. Agonize. Drink. Type. Edit. Format. Smoke. Drink. Streamline. Scrutinize. Type. Publish. Drown. Why? Do you have the fucking answer? Therapy? Nope. Did that several times and railroaded every fucking one of them into a corner until each gave up in their own time. I will no longer attempt such a thing. No one can tell me that the obsession, self-inflicted damage and loss of the Raven are ‘ok'. I will not have it. Andrea? What can be said to make that pain go away? Michelle? Ellie? Juliette? All of them. Even Melanie and her caring words. Loving eyes expressing concern. Nothing can take all of that away. Yes, there are ways of understanding and dealing with the memories, however I am wallowing far too much to head in such a direction. I am not saying the possibility does not exist, only that I need to carry them inside. Always. I do not want anyone taking them away. And the Karma may not allow it anyway. Perhaps Karma means I have no choices left. Who knows? As usual there is no cohesion here whatsoever. Big surprise. Remembering all of the bad I have caused is definitely a positive. It will keep me from running in crazy directions if the future puts me in a position to do so. The memories of returning home to the wreckage (still going on more than eight years later, by the way) will not let me fuck up lives any longer. I cannot do it. The status quo needs to be maintained no matter the difficulty for me. The passage of time is killing away all of my ambition these days and the fact that I am in such bad shape must remain within. Andrea again. The weeks are rolling under my feet quickly. Speeding along and forcing me to try paying attention to each moment. I did that while in Florida for those many days but still the time got away from me. Bliss. Constantly. Andrea's company brought so much comfort and happiness that now I see the contrast between that wonderful time and this current period with me falling away worse than ever. I was a wrecked person before meeting her and fell hard upon hearing those booties clicking across the marble. Mere seconds after she disappeared I felt a strong urge to die immediately but did nothing. I drank instead. These days I do the same thing. The difference is I rarely have control of my time. When I do, it is only hours at the most and they go away like the rest of the clock. Gone. Swiftly. I hate it. The combination of Andrea floating in my head and all of the daily difficulties are causing my words to stray all over the map. I cannot find direction most days so I sit and just gush randomly. Again, this was supposed to be a wrap of the long adventures but I have only stated somewhat of a conclusion to my trip in two-thousand-three after leaving Ashley's long, slender, loving arms. That story was months ago. I came home and fell off the edge of the world for a while before righting myself enough to work and relate to others. Returning to my life after the angel went back to Florida was nearly impossible. Work? Nope. That went away and was no longer under my control. The leave was extended just before flying the coop and was due to end shortly thereafter, however I was sent away before ever going back. Family was irritated with me, my head could not calculate its way out of a wet paper bag, and during the short period that Natalie wrapped me in her caring arms I felt as if my end was very near. She felt it and saw the difficulty in my eyes. After spilling my time with Andrea all over the place, Natalie wished to help. Just like Ellie. Why? Was I worth all that? Or should I have taken a cue from the wisdom of others and concluded that I was a good person? Hmm. I do not feel that way. My truncated being tends to latch, gush, care, and lavish all that I am upon a waiting soul and hope for the type of comfort I need so badly. And then when that soul departs my life I fall on my face and search for another. Bad. It is a very bad cycle within which I drown and attempt to find value within myself. That never happens. The Karma and it's sweeping arm. Again and again. Even at this very moment. Right fucking now. All over the map. As usual. Worried, uncomfortable. Karma. Andrea. The Raven. Ugh. The similarities between those two women are many. The idea that another person has the ability to lift me to the clouds has been defined by each of them. The Raven has been gone for years, yet still Her heart is fused to mine. Andrea… the same. There are marks within me which will not go away. Not scars, just marks and memories. They often turn me inside out and I cannot think straight at all. Like now, and likely the reasoning behind these entries being so haphazard. Sometimes the words stray sideways. This paragraph began with Andrea and the Raven and then became skewed. That is what has become of my ability to handle life when I dream of them. Each day holds little distractions from the pain and longing but it returns soon enough. A vision has the power to send me flying down into a black hole and those two women come to mind. And then this. Lots of it. At this very moment I am awaiting work in some goofy couple's home and everything is flooding into my brain. Not the work, the sex and obsession. As of this second, I have not succeeded in getting them out of my head for more than a few moments at a time. The effort is tiring and difficult. Wasn't I talking about two women? Yes, difficult. Each day is uphill. Sometimes steep and other times not so steep, but the grade never ceases. I need them back and such an idea is not possible. The words will continue like always --- cutting, depressing, flailing, failing. Analysis and then over-analysis. More and more. And then a vision out there somewhere, drop, fall, typing, sadness, recklessness. Again. Repeat. Fuck. Why? Nothing. Silence. Years. Pain. The Raven. Where am I going? Anywhere? Nowhere? Up? Down? Nothing? Too many question marks for Chrissakes. I know nothing other than the painful memories and outlook which continues to dim. No future. Thoughts of the Raven sitting beside me on the train, head on my shoulder and frightened. Holding my arm as I tried to calm Her after the drop She experienced that evening. I just held on and whispered, stroking that jet-black hair as She clung. Things like that first fateful day spent together and ending in difficulty are slicing me to pieces. I remember each detail of Her hair, outfit, makeup. The way Her v-neck always appeared off slightly in the center. One lovely eyebrow higher than the other. The seam of Her jeans forcing me to wish for living inside them. The adorable and tiny zipper on the front. Her little half-jacket that pushed the look of Her narrow waist into the place of dreams. The warmth of Her leg slung across mine. Her long arms in constant contact out of fear. Clinging. The scent of Her shampoo. The softness of Her lips on my neck. The way She took my hand in Hers when I placed it on Her nonexistent tummy followed by a tentative smile. And that occasional twitch of one eye which sent me floating through a universe of watery eyes and swelling heart. God damn fuck me. Everything down to the tiniest aspects of Her form and mannerisms burned and branded into my heart and mind. Always. Every day. Unending sadness. I miss Her. I just fucking yearn. All that I am easily tossed into hell for one fucking second of Her eyes looking into mine. I would die to look upon Her smile one more time. Dead and happy. Gone. She is fucking gone, and I shall never look upon Her like again. Onward, but to where? Why? How? No one gives a shit after all this time. People wish to see words here. Well, suck them out of the fucking keyboards. Enjoy. Over on this end, things are not well. Onward did I say? How? Fuck. The Raven was a soul unlike anyone else in life and Her loss feels now as it did in fifteen. Even the essay I wrote about the way She looked at our first meeting has been pulled offline because it is one of my writings that She actually read. I cannot place it back in the public eye anytime soon. It is too much. She read it and then professed Her love for me. Loss, still leaving a gaping hole in my being. That will never go away and the only thing which has the ability to erase the daily searing pain is death itself. Suck that, too. It may pass. As the weeks roll by at high speed I am ever closer to telling the universe to fuck off. People, too. No one listens because I am very difficult with which to deal. I make conversations arduous, stifling, and dead-ended. I close every thought with my sharp, cutting, fatalistic vision. After a short time I leave others wishing they had never addressed me in the first place. The Karma made me this way? Or did I do it? Is there possibility of recovery? Happiness? Satisfaction? I do not believe so. As stated earlier, I only have those little moments of enjoyment which tend to fly by like a jet aircraft, never to return. They are diminishing, truncated. Still there but in short supply and being pushed aside due to my ongoing dreams and day to day difficulty in coping with all that I need being unavailable. I did it. No doubt. Due to all of the unfeeling actions throughout the course of years, there simply cannot be doubt. And the angel attached to me for weeks. Something happened between us on the flight from DFW and I still have no idea of how. Perhaps a mutual need for companionship. Andrea was hesitant to speak with me in the beginning but soon we were against each other with no understanding. She was so warm, and those eyes made my head spin. Upon seeing her walk to the forward restroom my brain scrambled to process my incredible good fortune in being seated next to such a goddess. She and I just connected. We held each other lightly, exchanged glances, locked eyes, and soon felt as the other. Frightened of being apart at that early stage. That moment upon stepping out of the jetway in Pensacola floored me. I did want to see her and try to learn of why we had become that attached so quickly, however the moment belonged to Andrea. I still get shivers thinking of that feeling when she yanked a pen out of her bag to continue whatever was happening. Mere hours earlier I was falling into a void due to my ongoing and dramatic inability to process a picturesque woman. I didn't even know if I could survive the trip to see family after reeling from the bartender. Hell, I was unsure of surviving the fucking flight. Little did I know after separating from Andrea that first day, we would soon be so glued to each other that the world would melt away in favor of another of our own making. Jesus fucking Christ, the utopia of my dreams. Four years later? The Raven. But I have gone over that. Bliss and rage. And today is Her birthday. Andrea showed me compassion and demonstrated understanding. The two of us lifted each other above the din and into a place I cannot explain. I have tried and tried, however in the end even these many words will never be enough. Again, just like Her. Upon losing the angel back into the black of reality, I lunged at Ellie for comfort and fell into that little kitten with the force of my overwhelming sadness. She helped much. Well, until exiting my life upon me leaving the promised land with every fucking second of those many weeks whipping me into a depressed and angry milkshake. No toppings, just sadness blended with all those terms which have been railroaded here over and over. You know. Right now I see all of the faces from that time and the one which stands out is Andrea herself. Never before had eyes grabbed me so tightly and held on until meeting the Raven that fateful day at Val's. This paragraph is crap. Whatever. The Karma is in charge along with something which will never be my friend: Time. Was it Karma which took them away from me? Does it work that way? Hmm. I am surprised to be sitting here after years. Half of me wishes to go on and continue these stories for whatever they may be worth, while the other half wishes that I had gone into the ground before ever choosing the tine of that fucking fork in twenty-ten. I was close, by God. Very close. And now due to my decision to maintain the site and pour myself all over the Internet, the outlet is killing me. People know. The words have been placed in the public eye. All of them. There is more, but the more I throw it to the screen the more I fall. I just do not know what to do anymore. The little things crop up from time to time and temporarily distract me, however the underlying feelings never leave my head. Karma is a big word. Perhaps my years of living the lifestyle I have needed so badly are truly penance for what I am mired within. Could be. The Raven felt strongly about Karma being somewhat of an issue in Her life. We spoke at length about society, children, and the effects of being raised by those of questionable mindsets. Standards, ethics, morals... Everything which shapes people and can create similar personalities to those of their elders. We discussed our own feelings toward our two selves along with the earliest years in memory. Karma was brought up often. At this point in time and after all the shit I have graded aside and pushed toward the people who care for me, well, I just do not know anymore. The words continue to swirl and I cannot see that changing anytime soon. Perhaps when they run out. What the fuck am I talking about? Jesus fucking Christ. What a mess. Again. At least the beginning and middle of this tale which covered trips from two-thousand-two, three, and eleven seem to flow from one moment to the next. This shit is fucked up. I cannot even get from one place to another on the page without taking an exit off this highway of words. I just do not have the ability anymore. I used to write really well while down but this is just bad. I do not like it, however it is me. For whatever this little web space is worth. I don't fucking care anymore. Where was I? The Raven? Who knows. All fucked up over here. Yes, Her. I just keep going on and on about the woman and Her endless thrall upon my weak mind and heart. All of these entries eventually tread through the same subjects, women, issues, everything negative and lost. None of it will return. Nothing. Again... This is part seventeen and wrapping the long story I began over a year ago. Really? Nope. The same futile bitching about everything. Me, them, the past, the black future. The same. There is no exit, but there is an Exit. You know. Read the rest. Every single soul from Jasmine to the Raven has affected me deeply because I allowed it. I dove without consideration of what may happen next. I did not care beyond the next few minutes and threw my life into the incinerator in the process. Comfort, physical satisfaction and appreciation, alcohol, atmosphere, and locales which aligned with my deviant needs. Call girls, loads of cash, and resources burned away as quickly as my head went from somber to suicide. Back and forth and back and forth at high speed. I forced it. Others gave up just as I am doing now. I did not see any other way. My needs and desires skewed my head bad enough to push. Force. Words of dismissal. The people in my life did not react well and that continues to this very second. Also continuing is my desire to do it all again. Yep, I still want and need that big, bloated illusion like nothing else on earth. I am the same. I am still broken. The Karma may destroy me or allow me to find a way to do it myself, but if not I will seek what I need. Juliette said 'go, be happy babe' and Ellie made me promise to get home and be well. Unfortunately, promises are not something to which I react well. Honestly, I tend to avoid them in the first place or simply agree just to get someone off my back. It doesn't matter, really, because I will disappoint them one way or another soon enough. Now we come to the end. That end. Yes, and not just the conclusion of a story spanning three time periods spread over nearly ten years, but the last of my ambition to share the wonderful and terrible paths I chose. Here we go... bad. Cut to months after losing Andrea, leaving the kitten in Vegas and arriving home. In my email was a photo without words from a very convoluted address. It was a woman's upper thigh, and tattooed were characters and symbols representing all that Andrea and I had felt for each other. The things placed there were such that only she and I would understand the meaning, and as soon as I saw the writing I knew instantly that it was her leg. She kept it private and ambiguous. That wonderful, loving woman showed me what our time meant to her. I was overwhelmed beyond belief. When I responded, the message was returned immediately as undeliverable. She let me see our love written in her beautiful skin and then disappeared for all time. Almost eight years from when we took off together and not a word of contact at all. The Karma took her away from me. I deserve it. Better to have loved and lost? No. Say that to me and I will turn your head into a fucking canoe. I would have been better off never living the past ten years. Period. Fuck you. Not a day goes by without thoughts of her. Not a woman walks by without me dreaming of her. And when I think of anything related to travel, our wonderful, adventurous romance becomes placed at the forefront of my mind and pushes me to wish for a slide down the outside of the Luxor. All of them float in my head but Andrea was something I cannot explain. I pushed my life aside to spend all of that dreamy time with her and lavish such an angel into heaven. I ignored everyone. I lashed and swore... I sent all of them away with my sharp words and cutting manner. I allowed no detours and leveraged my life into position to control all of it and give myself to Andrea completely. We floated, flew, fell. The end of everything would soon arrive and leave me a fetal wreck with no ambition. The Karma has swung its heavy hand and smoothly slid me onto a path with no turns whatsoever. Mired, stuck, cemented. Within my head? The same. Nothing. Memories of others disowning and looking to me with disgust. The Karma. Yep. Still. Add the Raven to such a thought, and the miracle is me still drawing breath. Is the Raven above Andrea? Things do not work that way. The Raven was as much an enigma as the other one, yes, however I do not think of Her in the same manner. In many ways, the Raven saved my life. In other ways, I allowed myself to fall for Her when I knew my best option would have been to avoid contact with a woman who struck me and froze my brain as no one else in my life. When She sat next to me, gently took my hands and looked into my eyes, the entire universe was tilted toward nothingness. The woman took my head and cared for it like no one else. Unreal. Her soul shined through, and to state such a thought is tremendous. The physical beauty She carried on the outside is indescribable. Honestly. Perfect? Nope. That does not fucking exist outside real mathematics. The woman was so fucking incredibly beautiful that I still cannot do Her justice. I will stop trying eventually or lose my mind completely in the process. Why? How did I turn out like this? Why are the numbers and visions of the female form allowed to rule my life? Will the time left ease its grip upon me? Will anything help? Sex? Measuring? Seeing up close like in the past? Anything? No. Fuck no. This is what I am and improvement is unavailable because I will not let up on myself. The harm caused to others over and over in search of that loving comfort, care and physical need has forced the Karma to take over and leave me a ruined human being. The Karma. The time. Those second hands showing me that my hours are short. And they are fucking shorter than I care to say. End of line."
Astral Karma
Part Seventeen
Mature content No. 89 Published June 8th, 2019 6:06am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"This is not good. I am not well. The story basically ended with part sixteen so this is supposed to wrap things up with a bow. All nice and neat. Closure. An end which could lead to a beginning. Nope. No fucking way. I am exactly the same. Fuck it. Here we go... Let us recap. First I exited the Mandalay after watching Jasmine walk away, then I cried twelve months after as Juliette and her beautiful soul marched right out the door of my Luxor suite. Years later Andrea -- the most stunningly gorgeous woman I had ever seen -- left me standing in the Venetian lobby as I felt my world imploding, and shortly thereafter I fell into a pit of suicidal despair when Michelle stepped into her apartment and closed the door, leaving me alone yet again. Hans Zimmer's epic composition of 'Time' played in my head endlessly after that last split and would not let up its helping of sadness. Time. Both the song and progression of events as they relate to my grasping at a woman's soul are within me, always. They crush me on and off throughout any given day. Coupled with the years-long issues outlined in 'Falling Away', 'Eden and the Edge' as well as 'The Failing Fantasy and Alexis', the inevitable limits have arrived. I fucking knew it. Andrea and Juliette propped me up, each in their own way and with love. A strong person does not need such constant support. Me? Yep... to this very moment, however it no longer exists. I am void of even the slightest bit of that lavish care. Day in and day out I pen those tales of the past and subsequently fall down. Each entry removes a part of me as the memories flow along my psyche and burn away possibility. And then a pause to maintain myself and attempt functioning around others before isolating and drowning within the need to explore the time. Yes, time. The fucking non-stop advancement of those many seconds being displayed on more than a dozen precision movements in my office. The charge light illuminates all of the beautifully designed dials and reflects off so many hands in sync, ticking away and forcing me to realize that the hour is late. I cannot stand time passing and flying away from me as I ponder my place, yet all of those accurate representations of the same sit and await my attention. They are beautiful, but I despise the ceaseless motion. Deep into the coffee and mid-morning, I often stroll to the patio for a cigarette and hear the outdoor clock ticking as the huge minute hand steps along to its next mark. Time. Another quartz machine showing me that even the coffee refill and walk outside has chewed a moment which will never return. Progression and loss, nothing more. Experience? Knowledge? I do not give a shit. They benefit me no longer. The caring and warmth which held me together for so long have vanished and slowly been pushed back far enough to inflame the reasoning behind running away in the first place. Andrea knew it, too. She knew my actions would accomplish nothing and garner no assistance at all. She told me to care for myself just as Juliette, Ashley, Lanie, everyone. All those dreamy women who allowed me to fall into their loving arms wished nothing more than happiness and contentment for yours truly. Well, none of that has taken place at all. I am a sordid, depressed, negative, unfriendly representation of my former self. I am a wreck, as stated here for years. The only upside is that they are all saved from what I have become. They are away from me which is where everyone should reside. I am a syndrome. I keep watching the seconds pushing away possibility. I stare at those gorgeous little machines that I love so much and they look back at me with no compassion. They cannot. They are machines, and as such they respond to me by performing precisely what I expect of them: timekeeping. Each little silent movement from one index mark to the next tells me that I will eventually fall all the way down and the time will pay no mind whatsoever. It will roll over me like the fucking Karma.
The time and lack of fulfillment are going to kill me. Perhaps not today or this week or even this month, but one day I will no longer be willing to live with such a voided situation. Propping my public self has become far too exhausting to maintain pace. More words, more Saturday mornings, and more glancing at the second hands moving along toward the end. A few more stories, a few more drinks. That is all. The time has gotten away, gone away, and been taken away. Away. Awry? Yes, that too. Awry. That is an apt descriptor for my entire being. The obsession, desire, need for control, and that endless yearning for all that is unavailable to me in these late days has combined into a blender of hell. I have pared the site down to only the last four years' worth of tales and images which has left nothing positive. Why am I still here? Writing? Gushing? Because there is little else which causes a joyous feeling. Food? Sometimes. Alcohol? Sometimes. What else? Hmm. Lanie's loving manner and helpful insight flew out of me as if she never uttered a syllable. Where did it go? Who knows, but gone is the term. I lost it all in a never-ending attempt to feel the way I needed in order to survive. Andrea, too. She was nearly too much for my senses and then gone as soon as I was all the way in. That woman defined, clarified, and focused every aspect of my personality and every single desire I had ever felt. Since losing that angel, many times have found me wishing I had never boarded the second plane and followed my wishes straight to Vegas before seeing those soulful, damaged eyes calling to me for comfort. Andrea became a universe outside of which existed nothing else. Upon watching her stroll out of the lobby I knew that I could not survive such a weakened condition and here I sit years later feeling one-hundred-percent the same. I have nothing because I am incapable of rising or learning. And unwilling. Just words and wreckage. Depression. Longing. Dreaming. Nothing. My paragraphs are supposed to have a topic sentence and then content related to said topic. Nope. And then Michelle enters my head. And then Ashley, that doll of dolls. Why did all of them embrace me as if I was something special? Could it have been the sadness that does not leave my eyes? Or maybe my unending attention to both the physical and emotional needs of others? I just do not know. My head is so fucked up that processing things in proper order and from a clear standpoint is no longer possible. And then there is the Goddamned time which feels like a granite slab lying upon my fucking head. Pressure to do something... anything different. Some sort of rise, lift, change, whatever. But I feel unable to do anything aside from watching the seconds tick away as they carry me along to the end of everything. They just continue to grind away possibility. I cannot stop any of it. Unending. Seamless. Damaging. Ticking. Where are those seconds taking me? And does this sound like a conclusion to those tales of the past? The time allows me to consider that perhaps along the ride around the clock something else may come along which is similar enough to what I have lived through and has the capability of helping. Or not. Or I just do not fucking know anymore. What do I need that is different from all those beautiful souls? Money? Yes, always. Will it help? Not really. That resource can only provide physical comfort in varying locations.
There is a chance that I reside precisely where I am destined. The emotional wreck that I am could be penance for causing the same in other innocent souls. My inability to find a direction other than either simply treading water or falling down may represent the Karma to which people refer over and over. Maybe? I do not know because I do not know anything. The idea seems feasible, however. That type of inspirational living has never found a home within me. I have been overtly and clearly negative for many years due to the knowledge that I am exactly where I should be. The lack of a lift follows that thinking, especially considering the reckless and uncaring behavior I have cultivated when dealing with those who care about me. And I have piled the forceful negativity on top of said behavior. Decades of it. The more others have gently pushed me to help myself, the more I have leveraged them into giving up completely. And then the running away. And then the drippingly alcoholic and sex-infused journeys into oblivion. I do not blame them one bit for turning away from such a self-induced wreck. All those years of reckless destruction are written clearly on the hand of Karma. They will remind me of everything forever. And they should do just that. I deserve it. All of it. The Karma, the painful passage of time, and the slow decline into senility which may have already begun. Here I am, again. The same situations, living circumstances, hours and hole. I am in it. All the fucking way. Recent developments and changes have accomplished exactly nothing. Short of some Goddamned miracle, these entries are going to end. Perhaps two more, perhaps three, including this monologue of shit. You may notice that the main image theme for the last four-plus years is present here despite the subject matter being all over the fucking place again. This title relates to much more than the descriptive essays and monochrome examples of female form ever did, but I need to display some of the most beautiful curves in some of the most enticing and artistic positions. They will remain within the last few publications, and for this sordid and downtrodden mess the reasoning is my mindset as it relates to Andrea and the tremendous loss I still feel. What is displayed here is important to me. The words, images, cohesion, and relation to other writing from the past are paramount. There you go. Break. Please. Long shadows in the afternoon, leading to the tenderness of the real gloaming. Yes. Gloaming. Shadows. Inner disorder. And that word which has come to find its home here over and over for seventeen fucking years: Why? No one knows, but I can say in all earnestness that the long shadows are everywhere. December. January. Further. The shadows should be long, right? The sun at that wonderfully threatening angle all day long, and then in the afternoon when the Winter clarity spikes the eyes with sunlight. Long shadows, and then no shadows. Nice, short days in which the dim takes out the bright. Those shadows and that angle help to keep me afloat while the blade cuts me from the inside out. Knowing that the trailing end of the year in waiting for such a fantastic twist of astronomic positioning will eventually give way to the early setting and late rising helps me through those longer, arduous weeks and months. Well, here it is. The ending of the Master season and the beautiful holiday season gone. Yes. I made it, although that entire section of the calendar generally speeds by much too quickly. Time flies? No, time does not change. Our perception while busy means we lose track almost constantly in search of those few moments to squeeze into each day. They are not there. They do not exist but we keep looking. All of the activities related to the season means we pile up the lists and go to town. As a result, things become compressed to the point of seeming so short. And then there it is... the last day of the year leading into the following year at the speed of sound. And that is the tipping point for me to begin a hellish hibernation until late September finally arrives again. The long shadows of my life, too. I will try not to get into the fucking Jungian shadows. Or maybe I already did. What is all this shit? Hmm... perhaps just a massive representation of a foul mood. Perhaps not. I may be reaching, but in what direction I simply do not know. I have confused myself anyway. Not surprising at all. The forms, time, Karma, everything... I am out of my mind with thoughts all over the fucking place again. I am supposed to be wrapping up the sixteen-part story with some sort of conclusion but the words escape me.
The Karma. Where I should be after all of the shit? Perhaps. And then the time issue in my head slowly working its way into every step of every day. I think and agonize over the progression of time due to so many millions of seconds spent high in the heavens combined with the lion's share spent in hell. The same? Maybe. One causing the other? More likely. It just keeps moving and falling away from me at an alarming rate, meaning the time and memories are slowly destroying me as a result of those women. Falling away. Remember that one? Well, it is a premonition from hell. Back we go to two thousand three. Juliette and Ashley still fresh in my heart and mind. I arrived home to find no one happy to see me. Not one. My first thought was to fly away again and search out one of those two women and fall into the arms I still needed. After being gone for days, stepping back into everyday life became tougher than I had envisioned. Work awaited my return as did the people in my life. All of my choices had been narrowed to little, everyday decisions. I wanted no part of it. Despite days and days in the type of comfort above all things, my head still desired more. Nothing could be enough. The fucking time needed to be under my control. Yes, the time... again. But I had no control over anything. Work intruded along with daily life. The situation which drove me out in the first place took me again and I wallowed. More. Years of it. At some point between two thousand seven and eight, that single trip to the car wash not far from my home changed my ability to word things as they relate to the female form. Upon completing such a story -- albeit rough and short -- I began to obsess more and more over all that was unavailable. Juliette had been a beauty the likes of which was rarely in front of my eyes, however once that first descriptive was out there I looked at things differently. I looked at females differently, as if they had become studies rather than just attractive. And my head blew up everything related to the numbers all over them. I would see a gorgeous creature which took my interest and drilled the vision into my brain, stare as long as possible, and then dream about her for days without a shred of understanding as to why I felt so strongly about the form. Hip-to-waist ratios, thigh tapers, breast disparity... all of it swirled and left me hurting and yearning to know the reasoning behind such thoughts. Nothing. No answers. Just more staring and painful consideration. Need. Desire. Sex? Not really. Everything but. My words are all over the place and about as disorganized as my ridiculous life. Fuck. Now the whole damned thing is nothing more than a daily pain in my fucking ass. I recently published a strongly-worded mess about the server and that is where everything delivered me... a place where I sit and dream and look and fall. More will come along, more will remind me of my endless cold, sharp and haphazard behavior, and more will go away. A sight and then nothing. That is my penance for causing so much harm to so many caring individuals and then pushing them away as if they were stacks of old paper being disregarded in favor of a shiny, new toy. The interest of the second, the moment, the whatever. I used up all of the good feelings and relationships for my own selfish need and then torched the bridges as quickly as I booked flights. Done. Fast. Wrong. Now that huge oar which could outweigh Noah's ark has quietly arrived behind me and begun to push me in directions I cannot control. The Karma. Exactly correct, too.
The work day. Uninteresting other than being in the financial district where the never-ending and disproportionate slough of overwhelmingly attractive women appear at each street corner. How did I get here? Well, lots of little things took place, a few dramatic periods, and many years spent attempting to answer that one mysterious question. One of the facts is that I have never let up on the search. Always looking, sometimes seeing. When I see, the fall takes place and then this editor becomes all that exists for a while. Write, ask, scrutinize, publish. And then my head cools until seeing again. As mentioned several times, the server from a few months back was one of those catalysts which slammed me when I saw her. A long visit to the restaurant allowed me to look at her for quite a while and try to understand just why her shape was so unreal. Yes, she was sexy, slender, and curvy despite the thinness, but the why is just not happening. Years ago I did not become so distraught and full of turmoil over the physical attractiveness. Lately, everything feels dire. Worse. Bad. The compulsion to understand that shape is causing torment. While the original need was to place numbers and comparisons to paper (and still is to a degree), my head seems to be going further. Posing. Following those lines. Gazing closely until I am satisfied that I have seen every conceivable angle. That girl shook me badly because of the amount of time she remained in view while moving about the room. The images in that essay almost do her justice. She was a genetic fluke and carrying every single detail which stirs me into a froth. Not once did I ask to measure any of the others who were very close. The Raven knew of my needs and had every intention of allowing anything. She offered herself completely out of love and trust. Our communication went on for months and she just knew. She always knew. Her greatest wish was to end the perpetual sadness in my eyes. Andrea felt the same all those years earlier, but the situation was different. We were insanely physical much of the time. That took my need to understand her incredible dimensions and shoved it back. I stared at her many, many times and she allowed all of it, but the sex took over quickly. We spoke, lived our days, tried again to remain calm for such things to take place, however in the end we attacked each other over and over. The technicality flew away in favor of pleasing each other. Not a chance of anything else. Ellie? The same. Staring. Posing. Glaring at her most personal of curves until I had to dive. As I tried to deal with Andrea's exit, Ellie carried me to the clouds. I never wrapped her in a tape either. Too much desire took my mind away quickly. The girl was just too gorgeous and loving. Natalie was all about comfort. The hideous mindset now is nearly too much for me in such a weakened condition. Day after miserable day passes as I work and yearn to be alone. By the time I reach home I can no longer process things properly enough to relax and let everything go. The desire and emptiness push me toward suicide and that freedom from thinking. Alcohol, these haphazard words, and some physical comfort for a short time, then to sleep only to awaken and do it all again. I am tired of these days leading nowhere. Even the occasional trips to the high country do not bring peace for more than a few moments at a time. The little things I still enjoy are shrinking just as my diminishing ability to deal with day to day life. The trips come and go quickly and usually hold their own difficulties due to the sex-infused nature of the gaming culture. The last trip has been laid out here along with terrible times of deep desire. Those moments nearly broke me for all time. How exactly I made it out of there with all of the sordid feelings, yearning, and a head full of alcohol I will never know. The drive home was offset only slightly due to a few more days to myself and time to organize my thoughts before diving head-first back into the machine. Yes, I did make it through, however each occasion finds those hideous dreams worsening. The return to everyday life becomes more arduous with every month passed. I have no fucking idea how I am sitting here now typing. Horrible words coming.
The exit has been illuminated many times in the past and returns often. My eyes see it, my brain understands, however my hands have yet to make it happen. That door is the culmination of everything which brings me to my knees over and over. The visions are but one facet of a stone that reflects my mood constantly. The knife, the revolver, the pills. Just like those nights with the Brunette as each of us vied for position at the head of the last line of life. We screamed, cried, pleaded with each other as the words flew across the room like poisoned daggers. Aimed. Sharp. Cutting. Painful. We went back and forth for months in some distorted competition to learn of who felt the strongest urge to die. Not pleasant in the least. The situation was terrible, depressing, dire, drunken, all of it. Neither of us was balanced in any way and I remember specifically the feeling of wishing day after miserable day to no longer be upright or conscious. I needed silence in my head bad enough to wish for that door leading away from everything. That set of symptoms is now freshly cemented yet again. Yes. That bad. The space I now inhabit has shrunk so much that those little enjoyments fly by more quickly than the fucking seconds I watch so intently. Memories of the isolated period of eleven and twelve are pushing me in the direction of replicating the manner in which I interacted with others. Alone, away, unavailable. Karma? Maybe. The bad things are always there. I made those decisions, hurt others, ran for my life, broke promises one after another, forced people to relate to me as I wished, and lied my fucking ass off in order to sink into whatever temporary, drunken illusion carried me to awaken the next morning. Each bridge abutment and every sight of the ocean showed me that the option remained, no matter what others felt. I pushed, leveraged, used my intelligence and command of language to get what I wanted and needed. I threw money at my issues to dilute reality to the point of losing track of everyday life and responsibilities. In short, I was terrible both to myself and those who cared for me. Especially them. Months of silence and tens of thousands of dollars combined to find me so fucking formless and reckless that emerging on the other side meant my life destroyed -- along with those of innocent people -- and me unable to live day to day in any normal manner. Now look at me. All of this shit. Look at it. I did this. Those little times when I am alone at home doing whatever I wish are not holding me up as they once did. The nagging damage is at my heels following along and tickling just enough to disallow letting go and relaxing my mind for a while. As I stated above, shrinking. My space and ability to cope with difficulties and focus upon the joyous moments. Shrinking. Months go by like minutes, which means my minutes go by before I can attempt to measure them. Yes, I am still trying to maintain my little world and seek those moments. They are there. I find them, but holy God are they ever short. I sit and write, all the while with those women floating through my head like angels to be badly missed. The Raven is at the forefront constantly. Her loving, caring manner was unreal and lifted me like nothing else. That woman has been a symbol of all that I had sought for more than a decade and to this very second represents the culmination of every single fucking dream. Her loss still burns like molten metal through my depressed veins. There has been zero relief from that sad situation and each passing minute has me yearning to join that Goddess. Every day. I feel as if all possibilities have been ripped away and torched along with any ambition to carry myself into an uncertain and bleak future. And this was to be some sort of conclusion? Whatever. There is no conclusion because I am worse of heart and mind now than I was years ago when the shit took place. There seems little room for joy anymore. I just miss them too much for a recovery. Right now the knife in my heart is as sharp as when I heard the news about the Raven leaving this world. I am the same now as nearly four years ago. And the past gallivanting to satisfy myself in the manner I needed so badly then has returned to my mind with force. Unfortunately, none of it is available any longer. I have fucked up too much and all of the damage has placed me in a financial black hole from which any escape would take years and I just do not have the patience. Also? I don't give half a fuck anymore because the time has gone the fuck away. Even my Goddamned hair seems to be thinning. Heh. If I were a balanced individual, there would be avenues to bring comfort and solace. Nope. Not going to happen. On the upside, I can only write while unhappy which means the words are flowing. For whatever reason, others still seem to believe that it helps. This. The exploration and exposition. Bullshit. Fuck you. Read the words for fuck's sake. Do I seem to be improving after seventeen years of maintaining this site? I thought so. Shut up.
Time. Gone. Still moving south with every letter. Each word. Think. Fall. Consider. Type. Agonize. Drink. Type. Edit. Format. Smoke. Drink. Streamline. Scrutinize. Type. Publish. Drown. Why? Do you have the fucking answer? Therapy? Nope. Did that several times and railroaded every fucking one of them into a corner until each gave up in their own time. I will no longer attempt such a thing. No one can tell me that the obsession, self-inflicted damage and loss of the Raven are ‘ok'. I will not have it. Andrea? What can be said to make that pain go away? Michelle? Ellie? Juliette? All of them. Even Melanie and her caring words. Loving eyes expressing concern. Nothing can take all of that away. Yes, there are ways of understanding and dealing with the memories, however I am wallowing far too much to head in such a direction. I am not saying the possibility does not exist, only that I need to carry them inside. Always. I do not want anyone taking them away. And the Karma may not allow it anyway. Perhaps Karma means I have no choices left. Who knows? As usual there is no cohesion here whatsoever. Big surprise. Remembering all of the bad I have caused is definitely a positive. It will keep me from running in crazy directions if the future puts me in a position to do so. The memories of returning home to the wreckage (still going on more than eight years later, by the way) will not let me fuck up lives any longer. I cannot do it. The status quo needs to be maintained no matter the difficulty for me. The passage of time is killing away all of my ambition these days and the fact that I am in such bad shape must remain within. Andrea again. The weeks are rolling under my feet quickly. Speeding along and forcing me to try paying attention to each moment. I did that while in Florida for those many days but still the time got away from me. Bliss. Constantly. Andrea's company brought so much comfort and happiness that now I see the contrast between that wonderful time and this current period with me falling away worse than ever. I was a wrecked person before meeting her and fell hard upon hearing those booties clicking across the marble. Mere seconds after she disappeared I felt a strong urge to die immediately but did nothing. I drank instead. These days I do the same thing. The difference is I rarely have control of my time. When I do, it is only hours at the most and they go away like the rest of the clock. Gone. Swiftly. I hate it. The combination of Andrea floating in my head and all of the daily difficulties are causing my words to stray all over the map. I cannot find direction most days so I sit and just gush randomly. Again, this was supposed to be a wrap of the long adventures but I have only stated somewhat of a conclusion to my trip in two-thousand-three after leaving Ashley's long, slender, loving arms. That story was months ago. I came home and fell off the edge of the world for a while before righting myself enough to work and relate to others. Returning to my life after the angel went back to Florida was nearly impossible. Work? Nope. That went away and was no longer under my control. The leave was extended just before flying the coop and was due to end shortly thereafter, however I was sent away before ever going back. Family was irritated with me, my head could not calculate its way out of a wet paper bag, and during the short period that Natalie wrapped me in her caring arms I felt as if my end was very near. She felt it and saw the difficulty in my eyes. After spilling my time with Andrea all over the place, Natalie wished to help. Just like Ellie. Why? Was I worth all that? Or should I have taken a cue from the wisdom of others and concluded that I was a good person? Hmm. I do not feel that way. My truncated being tends to latch, gush, care, and lavish all that I am upon a waiting soul and hope for the type of comfort I need so badly. And then when that soul departs my life I fall on my face and search for another. Bad. It is a very bad cycle within which I drown and attempt to find value within myself. That never happens. The Karma and it's sweeping arm. Again and again. Even at this very moment. Right fucking now. All over the map. As usual. Worried, uncomfortable.
Karma. Andrea. The Raven. Ugh. The similarities between those two women are many. The idea that another person has the ability to lift me to the clouds has been defined by each of them. The Raven has been gone for years, yet still Her heart is fused to mine. Andrea… the same. There are marks within me which will not go away. Not scars, just marks and memories. They often turn me inside out and I cannot think straight at all. Like now, and likely the reasoning behind these entries being so haphazard. Sometimes the words stray sideways. This paragraph began with Andrea and the Raven and then became skewed. That is what has become of my ability to handle life when I dream of them. Each day holds little distractions from the pain and longing but it returns soon enough. A vision has the power to send me flying down into a black hole and those two women come to mind. And then this. Lots of it. At this very moment I am awaiting work in some goofy couple's home and everything is flooding into my brain. Not the work, the sex and obsession. As of this second, I have not succeeded in getting them out of my head for more than a few moments at a time. The effort is tiring and difficult. Wasn't I talking about two women? Yes, difficult. Each day is uphill. Sometimes steep and other times not so steep, but the grade never ceases. I need them back and such an idea is not possible. The words will continue like always --- cutting, depressing, flailing, failing. Analysis and then over-analysis. More and more. And then a vision out there somewhere, drop, fall, typing, sadness, recklessness. Again. Repeat. Fuck. Why? Nothing. Silence. Years. Pain. The Raven. Where am I going? Anywhere? Nowhere? Up? Down? Nothing? Too many question marks for Chrissakes. I know nothing other than the painful memories and outlook which continues to dim. No future. Thoughts of the Raven sitting beside me on the train, head on my shoulder and frightened. Holding my arm as I tried to calm Her after the drop She experienced that evening. I just held on and whispered, stroking that jet-black hair as She clung. Things like that first fateful day spent together and ending in difficulty are slicing me to pieces. I remember each detail of Her hair, outfit, makeup. The way Her v-neck always appeared off slightly in the center. One lovely eyebrow higher than the other. The seam of Her jeans forcing me to wish for living inside them. The adorable and tiny zipper on the front. Her little half-jacket that pushed the look of Her narrow waist into the place of dreams. The warmth of Her leg slung across mine. Her long arms in constant contact out of fear. Clinging. The scent of Her shampoo. The softness of Her lips on my neck. The way She took my hand in Hers when I placed it on Her nonexistent tummy followed by a tentative smile. And that occasional twitch of one eye which sent me floating through a universe of watery eyes and swelling heart. God damn fuck me. Everything down to the tiniest aspects of Her form and mannerisms burned and branded into my heart and mind. Always. Every day. Unending sadness. I miss Her. I just fucking yearn. All that I am easily tossed into hell for one fucking second of Her eyes looking into mine. I would die to look upon Her smile one more time. Dead and happy. Gone. She is fucking gone, and I shall never look upon Her like again. Onward, but to where? Why? How? No one gives a shit after all this time. People wish to see words here. Well, suck them out of the fucking keyboards. Enjoy. Over on this end, things are not well. Onward did I say? How? Fuck.
The Raven was a soul unlike anyone else in life and Her loss feels now as it did in fifteen. Even the essay I wrote about the way She looked at our first meeting has been pulled offline because it is one of my writings that She actually read. I cannot place it back in the public eye anytime soon. It is too much. She read it and then professed Her love for me. Loss, still leaving a gaping hole in my being. That will never go away and the only thing which has the ability to erase the daily searing pain is death itself. Suck that, too. It may pass. As the weeks roll by at high speed I am ever closer to telling the universe to fuck off. People, too. No one listens because I am very difficult with which to deal. I make conversations arduous, stifling, and dead-ended. I close every thought with my sharp, cutting, fatalistic vision. After a short time I leave others wishing they had never addressed me in the first place. The Karma made me this way? Or did I do it? Is there possibility of recovery? Happiness? Satisfaction? I do not believe so. As stated earlier, I only have those little moments of enjoyment which tend to fly by like a jet aircraft, never to return. They are diminishing, truncated. Still there but in short supply and being pushed aside due to my ongoing dreams and day to day difficulty in coping with all that I need being unavailable. I did it. No doubt. Due to all of the unfeeling actions throughout the course of years, there simply cannot be doubt. And the angel attached to me for weeks. Something happened between us on the flight from DFW and I still have no idea of how. Perhaps a mutual need for companionship. Andrea was hesitant to speak with me in the beginning but soon we were against each other with no understanding. She was so warm, and those eyes made my head spin. Upon seeing her walk to the forward restroom my brain scrambled to process my incredible good fortune in being seated next to such a goddess. She and I just connected. We held each other lightly, exchanged glances, locked eyes, and soon felt as the other. Frightened of being apart at that early stage. That moment upon stepping out of the jetway in Pensacola floored me. I did want to see her and try to learn of why we had become that attached so quickly, however the moment belonged to Andrea. I still get shivers thinking of that feeling when she yanked a pen out of her bag to continue whatever was happening. Mere hours earlier I was falling into a void due to my ongoing and dramatic inability to process a picturesque woman. I didn't even know if I could survive the trip to see family after reeling from the bartender. Hell, I was unsure of surviving the fucking flight. Little did I know after separating from Andrea that first day, we would soon be so glued to each other that the world would melt away in favor of another of our own making. Jesus fucking Christ, the utopia of my dreams. Four years later? The Raven. But I have gone over that. Bliss and rage. And today is Her birthday. Andrea showed me compassion and demonstrated understanding. The two of us lifted each other above the din and into a place I cannot explain. I have tried and tried, however in the end even these many words will never be enough. Again, just like Her. Upon losing the angel back into the black of reality, I lunged at Ellie for comfort and fell into that little kitten with the force of my overwhelming sadness. She helped much. Well, until exiting my life upon me leaving the promised land with every fucking second of those many weeks whipping me into a depressed and angry milkshake. No toppings, just sadness blended with all those terms which have been railroaded here over and over. You know. Right now I see all of the faces from that time and the one which stands out is Andrea herself. Never before had eyes grabbed me so tightly and held on until meeting the Raven that fateful day at Val's. This paragraph is crap. Whatever. The Karma is in charge along with something which will never be my friend: Time.
Was it Karma which took them away from me? Does it work that way? Hmm. I am surprised to be sitting here after years. Half of me wishes to go on and continue these stories for whatever they may be worth, while the other half wishes that I had gone into the ground before ever choosing the tine of that fucking fork in twenty-ten. I was close, by God. Very close. And now due to my decision to maintain the site and pour myself all over the Internet, the outlet is killing me. People know. The words have been placed in the public eye. All of them. There is more, but the more I throw it to the screen the more I fall. I just do not know what to do anymore. The little things crop up from time to time and temporarily distract me, however the underlying feelings never leave my head. Karma is a big word. Perhaps my years of living the lifestyle I have needed so badly are truly penance for what I am mired within. Could be. The Raven felt strongly about Karma being somewhat of an issue in Her life. We spoke at length about society, children, and the effects of being raised by those of questionable mindsets. Standards, ethics, morals... Everything which shapes people and can create similar personalities to those of their elders. We discussed our own feelings toward our two selves along with the earliest years in memory. Karma was brought up often. At this point in time and after all the shit I have graded aside and pushed toward the people who care for me, well, I just do not know anymore. The words continue to swirl and I cannot see that changing anytime soon. Perhaps when they run out. What the fuck am I talking about? Jesus fucking Christ. What a mess. Again. At least the beginning and middle of this tale which covered trips from two-thousand-two, three, and eleven seem to flow from one moment to the next. This shit is fucked up. I cannot even get from one place to another on the page without taking an exit off this highway of words. I just do not have the ability anymore. I used to write really well while down but this is just bad. I do not like it, however it is me. For whatever this little web space is worth. I don't fucking care anymore. Where was I? The Raven? Who knows. All fucked up over here. Yes, Her. I just keep going on and on about the woman and Her endless thrall upon my weak mind and heart. All of these entries eventually tread through the same subjects, women, issues, everything negative and lost. None of it will return. Nothing. Again... This is part seventeen and wrapping the long story I began over a year ago. Really? Nope. The same futile bitching about everything. Me, them, the past, the black future. The same. There is no exit, but there is an Exit. You know. Read the rest. Every single soul from Jasmine to the Raven has affected me deeply because I allowed it. I dove without consideration of what may happen next. I did not care beyond the next few minutes and threw my life into the incinerator in the process. Comfort, physical satisfaction and appreciation, alcohol, atmosphere, and locales which aligned with my deviant needs. Call girls, loads of cash, and resources burned away as quickly as my head went from somber to suicide. Back and forth and back and forth at high speed. I forced it. Others gave up just as I am doing now. I did not see any other way. My needs and desires skewed my head bad enough to push. Force. Words of dismissal. The people in my life did not react well and that continues to this very second. Also continuing is my desire to do it all again. Yep, I still want and need that big, bloated illusion like nothing else on earth. I am the same. I am still broken. The Karma may destroy me or allow me to find a way to do it myself, but if not I will seek what I need. Juliette said 'go, be happy babe' and Ellie made me promise to get home and be well. Unfortunately, promises are not something to which I react well. Honestly, I tend to avoid them in the first place or simply agree just to get someone off my back. It doesn't matter, really, because I will disappoint them one way or another soon enough.
Now we come to the end. That end. Yes, and not just the conclusion of a story spanning three time periods spread over nearly ten years, but the last of my ambition to share the wonderful and terrible paths I chose. Here we go... bad. Cut to months after losing Andrea, leaving the kitten in Vegas and arriving home. In my email was a photo without words from a very convoluted address. It was a woman's upper thigh, and tattooed were characters and symbols representing all that Andrea and I had felt for each other. The things placed there were such that only she and I would understand the meaning, and as soon as I saw the writing I knew instantly that it was her leg. She kept it private and ambiguous. That wonderful, loving woman showed me what our time meant to her. I was overwhelmed beyond belief. When I responded, the message was returned immediately as undeliverable. She let me see our love written in her beautiful skin and then disappeared for all time. Almost eight years from when we took off together and not a word of contact at all. The Karma took her away from me. I deserve it. Better to have loved and lost? No. Say that to me and I will turn your head into a fucking canoe. I would have been better off never living the past ten years. Period. Fuck you. Not a day goes by without thoughts of her. Not a woman walks by without me dreaming of her. And when I think of anything related to travel, our wonderful, adventurous romance becomes placed at the forefront of my mind and pushes me to wish for a slide down the outside of the Luxor. All of them float in my head but Andrea was something I cannot explain. I pushed my life aside to spend all of that dreamy time with her and lavish such an angel into heaven. I ignored everyone. I lashed and swore... I sent all of them away with my sharp words and cutting manner. I allowed no detours and leveraged my life into position to control all of it and give myself to Andrea completely. We floated, flew, fell. The end of everything would soon arrive and leave me a fetal wreck with no ambition. The Karma has swung its heavy hand and smoothly slid me onto a path with no turns whatsoever. Mired, stuck, cemented. Within my head? The same. Nothing. Memories of others disowning and looking to me with disgust. The Karma. Yep. Still. Add the Raven to such a thought, and the miracle is me still drawing breath. Is the Raven above Andrea? Things do not work that way. The Raven was as much an enigma as the other one, yes, however I do not think of Her in the same manner. In many ways, the Raven saved my life. In other ways, I allowed myself to fall for Her when I knew my best option would have been to avoid contact with a woman who struck me and froze my brain as no one else in my life. When She sat next to me, gently took my hands and looked into my eyes, the entire universe was tilted toward nothingness. The woman took my head and cared for it like no one else. Unreal. Her soul shined through, and to state such a thought is tremendous. The physical beauty She carried on the outside is indescribable. Honestly. Perfect? Nope. That does not fucking exist outside real mathematics. The woman was so fucking incredibly beautiful that I still cannot do Her justice. I will stop trying eventually or lose my mind completely in the process. Why? How did I turn out like this? Why are the numbers and visions of the female form allowed to rule my life? Will the time left ease its grip upon me? Will anything help? Sex? Measuring? Seeing up close like in the past? Anything? No. Fuck no. This is what I am and improvement is unavailable because I will not let up on myself. The harm caused to others over and over in search of that loving comfort, care and physical need has forced the Karma to take over and leave me a ruined human being. The Karma. The time. Those second hands showing me that my hours are short. And they are fucking shorter than I care to say. End of line."
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