Sex and Suicide Mature content No. 91 Published June 22nd, 2019 5:15am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Here I am again, in the middle of the shit and up on high. Yes, again. Every six months or so we spend these few days in the mountains and fall I through the floor despite the dramatic elevation. I have been in this location for approximately nineteen hours and already the wreckage has begun. The afternoon was not too bad, however dinner and the short period just after brought me down. Not good. And now, just like each visit to this beautiful place, I am sullen and angry over the last several years of crap and loss and wonder. Sullen. Fucking down. The two women at the table across from us leered slightly and one appeared as the Raven. It was her nose which resembled that gorgeous creature and the rest of her face carried timeless beauty. Across the table from her? Oy fuck, a nose I could live a lifetime attempting to describe. Huge eyes, dark hair, tall, you know. Shortly after glancing covertly, we exited the restaurant and made a path away. To the nickels near the California border for a seat. And then the fucking Eastern European goddess of a cocktail server came along moments later with her long hair and young, bright smile just in time to help me off that high cliff. Smiling wide, sweet voice, slender everything, fuck me in the elevator shaft. Damn it. No sooner do I get two sips into my drink when I spy her nearby and smile. She immediately points her long stems toward my location and smiles wide while asking if I need something else. Yes, I do, but nothing on the menu, my dear. Fuck. Bye. Time to get the fuck out of her service area. Later when I decided to leave the casino and relax... Yep, I passed the dinner girls as the nose made a point of staring toward my ink. I smiled, imploded, and headed up the elevator alone. Upon reaching the room and dropping my mass of jewelry and clothes I realized that the sundry shop was overlooked. Everything back on, down eighteen floors, words with the cuties in the shop, back upstairs yearning for everything which is gone. Everything. All of it. What the fuck do I do now? Wait? Pay cash? Lunge? I do not know the answer, however the end is close. I am to the point where a change had better come along or bad things are going to happen. And I mean very uncomfortable for others. Bad. Short of being any more specific, suffice to say the others are going to roll through a combination of emotions which will be difficult if not impossible to understand. Mark the words right this second. I am that close. The world is not helping me. That big hand again. No, not him... The other one. This moment represents the beginning of another full day here. Out the window I see the sun rising over the mountains and the lake glowing with the shine of early summer. All around my location the peaks show off their coating of snow against the beautiful green pines. To my right at this very second is the big gondola waiting for the first snow people to head up and out. Light. Morning. Coffee. Lousy coffee. Ugh. That cocktail server is floating within, too. There is just no getting around it anymore. Too much. Too often. Too painful. Too compelling. I am traumatized like in the city but the situation is far more difficult due to the others being right there. Sometimes the same people popping up over and over throughout the entire trip. The server is just one of many. There was also a dealer -- like six months ago -- and that was one of the toughest walks through the club in recent memory. Again, all of the typical traits which draw me in and knife the insides. Eyes. Yep. They looked at mine. Walking, walking, keep walking. No table games. Back to the hiding places in the rear of the club. Her rear? What? Never. Fuck no. I am mired. Completely. And in a place which will continue to draw out the old life and inject the new. Nothingness. Despair. Black, soon. Wait for it. Late during the first evening we decided to branch out a bit and look around. Typically we are creatures of habit and stick to the usual areas of the club, but this time we felt that something different was in order. So, toward the center of the casino to a pair of newer, very interesting machines. That turned out to be a good plan because not only were the machines generous, but the vantage point for yours truly was unreal. People to and fro throughout the evening, money flying out of the machines, and excellent cocktail service combined to leave me quite comfortable and feeling as if the remainder of the trip would be ok for the inside of my head. Nope. That's right folks... Too much searching eventually results in finding. And just as I suspected after seeing many examples of beauty all over the floors, a woman came along and pushed all others to the rear. She walked right on by my position, arm-in-arm with her partner, and toward the rear of the club on heels and looking as out of place as a Volkswagen on the moon. I leered for a moment or two and that was that. Like always, damage done, ridiculous thought processes, and falling through the floor just like the girl in the buffet six months ago. The screaming difference was my immediate and overwhelming need to pounce. I normally do not feel as if I need to throw myself at a woman, however these very late days have shown me that recklessness does not appear as bad as in the past. My composure did not waver one bit as the inside of my head fractured into tiny pieces at the thought of never seeing her again. Andrea. How many times have I stated that a woman carried a shape similar to hers? That goddess of goddesses has been very difficult to describe, and the woman who glided by me last night is equally elusive when it comes to terms outlining her form. I have nearly nothing. The pants and shoes absolutely resembled Andrea's day-to-day outfits in Florida and I could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy as she clung to her partner's arm. That was me, way the fuck back during my wreckage and ongoing mental faltering which led to running away over and over. I sought that ass in DFW, ended up glued to Andrea, and during that time enjoyed the most beautiful and shapely woman I had ever seen attached to me twenty-four hours a day for weeks. And then gone. And then wrecked. And then suicidal for years. And then nothing. And now nothing. And now why? Fuck the questions. The world already knows there are no answers. So do I. Well, there is one question left which still remains without consideration: Which of the incidents now or in the future is going to cause or force a change? Hmm... There is no simple solution or easy explanation, but suffice to say that if the thought and analysis over time does not bear fruit soon, there will be no more. God damn fucking hell, I did not need to see a woman like that and at a time when my place in the world is so fucking defensive and sour. It's like the milk has been out in the summer sun for days. The milk is in my head and churning up the most vile thoughts. I need to get out of such a routine and toward things which can help me, if they exist at all. Yes, top of that list is being wrapped in loving, caring, understanding arms (and that is available when possible), however the historic parallels between such simplicity and the dramatic nature of how I move life around to fit my needs do not help anyone… Least of all me. But I do not care. I need it. Right at this moment I know I can be okay for the most part while still here. Underneath the creature comforts and my little corners of the casino, though, is that monstrous and very dangerous desire to switch the world to favor me. Yes, me. The cocktail server (two of them now) and the woman with the slender, unreal legs tattooed with the numbers of my life and her rear end creating patterns of Andrea across the huge room… All of it. All of them all over all of me. Fuck. Just fuck. This sounds just like every other bitch session from the last six months, right? Whatever. I do not give a shit anymore. Eventually the site will do nothing more than continue to look the same as this diatribe and no one will wish to visit anymore. I do not give a fuck about that either. This is not a paid space, nor are there any advertisements which cover costs. Just this. So, if people go elsewhere the site will remain unchanged, words will carry on into the short future, and I will keep repeating myself until no longer breathing. All the while the images in my brain stay put. Fuck it all. I cannot extract or deal with them easily. I see everything. All of it remains within as I attempt to move through each day with some semblance of social skill and composure. None of that exists, of course, and the effort required in maintaining my appearance and demeanor in a social setting is tremendous. I am exhausted from the work to make myself presentable around others. I cannot open the door to me. I simply cannot do that. Everything stays right here for the time being. And with each letter and space you see, keep in mind there is a limit. The beginning of this paragraph was correct. This is another group of words seemingly represented by that word. Why the fuck not? What else do I have at this point? Nothing. I need the occasional trip up here if only to remind me from where I developed. This atmosphere is unlike any other and stands as a good portion of the reason I think in such a manner. Being around the gaming, servers, high-end restaurants, and imagery dripping with sex appeal has helped the obsession to mold me into what has been displayed and described on the site for quite some time. Years ago I did not know what awaited me. Back then I just looked around like any young person in such a place. As far as I can remember, three occasions had me looking upon the female form differently for a time, and now I can understand where at least one aspect of my lifestyle was first born. Just one. She was a prostitute -- and readers here know that such a term is used with respect -- who approached me in the old lobby of the hotel just outside the arcade. I was standing and awaiting my grandfather when a voice from behind me greeted my seventeen-year-old frame. 'Hello there.' 'Um... Hi.' I turned while saying hello and gazed upon a very tall, very exotic looking woman showing off quite a bit of skin in and around her top and skirt. I was immediately floored and did not know what to say. I do not believe I was able to close my mouth at any time during our short conversation. She asked what plans I may have had, I stumbled with a ridiculous answer, and she adorably replied that perhaps she would see me again. Yeah. Uh huh. Nope. I was far too intimidated for speaking further or even attempting to know what would be appropriate to say to a woman in her line of work. As she turned and walked away, I remember being fascinated by the manner in which her legs moved and the way the top fit her breasts. Never before had I been so close to a woman with such a dramatic appearance. I was immediately in enormous wonder and would consider the exchange with that gorgeous woman daily for the coming several years. I gingerly stepped back into the small arcade and attempted to understand her line of work and my own brain. The woman was stunning and smiling. Her voice was smooth, sexy, and to the point immediately. All business and looking like a dream walking away from my hungry yet misunderstanding eyes. The games no longer held my interest and I could not get anywhere with them after one of the defining moments of my young life. Enthralled, just like now. Broken, too. Today is our last morning here and my intention is to haul ass soon. I can take no more of the visions, money, booze, or anything else related to the dreams of past trips and women. I have to get the fuck out of here just in case one of the dinner girls or the ass of asses comes into view. That would be bad. The resort is typically quiet on a weekday morning and this one is no different. That means few people and fewer possibilities of spying something I am better off not seeing. Yesterday morning when the dealers came out to work there was one (doesn't that always happen?) who stood out due to features I do not need to describe here anymore. She was amazing and unique. Naturally, as we moved about the floor I saw her over and over. Just another vision to send me spiraling into my familiar hole. We strolled to the cashier, sat for a few minutes at a pair of machines, and are about to depart for home. Along the way we will stop a few times to stretch and possibly eat, but that is all. This afternoon will likely find me holed up and saddened by the events which have transpired in this place for the last few days. The only saving grace is being away from all that damages me each time. Although there is no stopping the thinking. Valet, bags, car, out. A hundred-plus miles of uneventful driving. Comfortable, quiet, smooth. And then the big family-run farmer's market. Inside, cool, crowded as always. Moments later a vision strolled through the door and entered my eyesight causing yet another issue within. All at once I wished to speak with her, grab that woman and run away. I needed to drown into her slender arms and bury my face in her fragrant hair for days. No means. No resources, no time, no hope. Just my eyes and brain going through those harsh permutations which arrive like a flood of pain and leave me depressed. I gazed when able, packed up our things and hit the road again as my head dreamed of the unavailability. Vegas flashed, Andrea flashed, I fell. Again... Cool, smooth driving with calm music at a low volume. Home, fucked up, but away from everyone. Honestly, being back in my little space means nothing. All of it still swirls. My head is a blender again. The high country always holds plenty of visions, situations, and desires that I expect each day and night. After spending a good portion of my childhood years and on into adulthood floating through such an adult atmosphere, well... I always know. None of it makes me happy, however. Everything adds up to the failing fantasy. Every fucking time. And then we end up here (yes, I said 'we'). The situation has come to pass so many fucking times that I do not have the time nor inclination to recall. The line which was once fluid and responsive, filled with possibility and awaiting a push is now forcing my hand. It is pushing back. The essay from two years ago outlining the beginning of the dramatic difficulty -- including the fact that such an issue became enough to force placing it here, albeit ambiguously -- has gone by the wayside and likely been forgotten by most readers, if not all. Alexis was there on display in order to shove the idea of a lack of happiness and feeling of no possibility for the future into people's eyes with force. I have no idea if that came across, but perhaps the end of this entry will put somewhat of a finer point to the current dissatisfaction and disappointment spinning my world into a black hole. The suicidal thoughts never go away. There is no stopping anything, but I have time to work on the manner in which the visions and events affect me. Despite the clock rushing along and destroying most feelings of possibility, I do know that time can also help me by allowing for exploration. The events which take place in and around day-to-day life can cripple. Others do not hurt quite as much and tend to fade. The more striking events stick. And one such event is fresh... Left, right, center. Right was as always. Warm, comfortable, flannel. Center was a mental analysis machine. Pressure, strain, wonder. And the left? Also warm, yet not. Warmer. Hot. Flaming. Lingerie. Exposed skin all over. Radii. Softness. Inviting. Right there, yet a million miles away. The comfort was alien. Different enough to force thought processes vast and unknown. A string across, and a bridge. Back. Front. Warm to warmer to confusion. Both sides. Never before were three at the same time. Pressure was only seconds after realizing what took place the night before. Much pressure. The desire was nearly too much while trying to think of whether or not to head toward the usual routine. A long while passed before the decision to get out and away for fear of the pressure becoming overwhelming and pushing thought away. Clear thought. The toughest... Heading toward the coffee pot and space to allow my brain to cool. Coffee. Sofa. Oy gawd. Time passed and things changed. Comfort and warmth away from the situation which caught me off guard. More time led to solace and clarity. Holy shit. What a morning. Going back to how certain situations can affect me, well... That was striking and caused all manner of inner workings to fail. Combined with everything which took place throughout the prior days in the high country, I am surprised to be putting words to the screen at all. The night before the three was comfortable, relaxing, and enjoyable. Yes, one of those times when I can let go and just be a person rather than a mechanism for analysis and pain. The late hour and alcohol dictated that we sleep. With the spare space unavailable, the idea was to all be in the same place and at the same time. Thus... Yes, that situation which is now at the forefront of my thinking and dreaming. I cannot help it due to the exotic nature of the image. All of it is gone now as the three became separated after that occasion, however another opportunity may find me reaching in directions I cannot easily explain. That means I will sit on it and concern myself with other things. The pressure will not let up, though, and the longer that type of feeling spins inside, the worse off I will be. That situation took place on the heels of returning from the high country. Not good. Switchgear. 'Why don't you ask pretty boy over here.' My head spun quickly and sharply to the left. 'What the fuck did you just call me?' 'Oh, sorry.' 'Yeah. Shut the fuck up and do not talk to me.' 'Geez.' Her reaction to my forceful comments was not pleasant. After more than one confused look from her I decided to go outside and cool off. Being addressed in such a manner was not something I enjoyed, be it jokingly or otherwise. That occasion grew out of an earlier situation in which the woman stated that she liked me very much, however my interest was elsewhere. I made that fact clear but she kept pushing. The reference which snapped my head left was a combination of her irritation with my lack of affection toward her and the typical societal outlet in which a person tends to belittle another human being in order to raise themselves. Toward me? Not good. The point of her words cut me. All of the shit I plowed early in life adds up to making me quite sensitive with regard to another person referring to me as a boy. Couple the past with my unending compulsion to make others happy and comfortable in day-to-day life and the sum becomes dramatic. I work, push, and stretch myself with little routines in order to ensure stability and warmth. Years of it. The mixture of sex, masculinity, societal standards and the ongoing obsession has shaped me for all time. I will not move in reverse, and forward means the need for care and some semblance of validation that I am what I believe I am has become an everyday struggle. Nearly all of the time it is not there. Occasional words of appreciation -- yes -- however the tremendous need just behind my thin facade is increasing to the point of recklessness. That night and morning of the three in a row caused all manner of analysis and desire, but in the end... Nothing more. Once again, and just as the lion's share of days throughout a given year, I am left alone. The situation is causing all sorts of thoughts. The present is so tough and narrow that I am beginning to think as I did sixteen years ago when I dashed from everything and ran at high speed into the arms of Juliette. Such is not good. Now the resources are thin and I am seeing the other option. Yes, that one. Mentioned here on and off for a decade. Since I cannot run away, well, I can do something else. The countdown which has been in process for months may speed and is not a joke. There is an exit. Am I different? Vastly, yes. Unique? I do not know. Juliette said unique, Andrea told me beautiful. As for myself, I honestly have no idea. But do not refer to me as a boy. That is unfair, insulting, and condescending. Say nothing at all. Another mess of thought this week. Fuck it anyway. Getting back to that unfeeling line up there, the image of what others see when they look at me might be a man. I do not know. I work my ass off for others and leave the desire and obsession behind in order to maintain relationships and keep them happy. My effort in doing so is exhausting and unrewarding. I feel as if the actions and daily needs are expected of me. The failing fantasy is just that... Failing. Alexis' images on that entry two years ago represent all of the obsession from a visual standpoint and press me when I think of them. They press with enough mass to assure my level of depression remains very high. The worry overtakes my ability to think clearly and railroads me into believing that the exit is becoming the sole option for relief. Everything is tiring, frustrating and sad. Man? Something else? I still do not know. Others have an opinion, however my view generally supersedes theirs, and the resulting diametric gradient causes tension. Well, fuck everyone. My words are paramount. And when I say such a thing the meaning is so harsh that I will not spell it out. Read the past. Reason it. Add it. Understand. Listen. Hear me. The alternative is to be pushed through the same thought after I am dust. And then no one gets an answer to anything. So, let us get to the flesh of the fruit right now. The title has pierced the skin, so why not just dive into the black of the shit and get it over with, right? Yes? No? Fuck you. My words. Buckle up. The failing fantasy has as much to do with Alexis, Andrea, Ashley (lots of the letter 'a'), Juliette, Ellie, Lanie, Natalie... all of them (the fucking Raven too) as it does me. I stated in the last entry that all of it is my fault, and though a recent essay may have touched the beginning of the whole shitaree, the fact remains that my unhappiness will continue unimpeded until precisely the moment when I decide to stop everything. Yep, fucking read it. The downhill slide has gone on far too long. I am sick and tired of trying to locate a path which brings some comfort and satisfaction in life. I am exhausted from the analysis, exposition and effort. I am beginning to see where things are leading and that focal point is not going to make anyone happy. My universe is between two lines which converge in blackness. Freedom from thought, feeling, damage, difficulty, desire. All of it gone in a fucking flash. Suck it. Do not push. Leave me alone." 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
Sex and Suicide Mature content No. 91 Published June 22nd, 2019 5:15am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Here I am again, in the middle of the shit and up on high. Yes, again. Every six months or so we spend these few days in the mountains and fall I through the floor despite the dramatic elevation. I have been in this location for approximately nineteen hours and already the wreckage has begun. The afternoon was not too bad, however dinner and the short period just after brought me down. Not good. And now, just like each visit to this beautiful place, I am sullen and angry over the last several years of crap and loss and wonder. Sullen. Fucking down. The two women at the table across from us leered slightly and one appeared as the Raven. It was her nose which resembled that gorgeous creature and the rest of her face carried timeless beauty. Across the table from her? Oy fuck, a nose I could live a lifetime attempting to describe. Huge eyes, dark hair, tall, you know. Shortly after glancing covertly, we exited the restaurant and made a path away. To the nickels near the California border for a seat. And then the fucking Eastern European goddess of a cocktail server came along moments later with her long hair and young, bright smile just in time to help me off that high cliff. Smiling wide, sweet voice, slender everything, fuck me in the elevator shaft. Damn it. No sooner do I get two sips into my drink when I spy her nearby and smile. She immediately points her long stems toward my location and smiles wide while asking if I need something else. Yes, I do, but nothing on the menu, my dear. Fuck. Bye. Time to get the fuck out of her service area. Later when I decided to leave the casino and relax... Yep, I passed the dinner girls as the nose made a point of staring toward my ink. I smiled, imploded, and headed up the elevator alone. Upon reaching the room and dropping my mass of jewelry and clothes I realized that the sundry shop was overlooked. Everything back on, down eighteen floors, words with the cuties in the shop, back upstairs yearning for everything which is gone. Everything. All of it. What the fuck do I do now? Wait? Pay cash? Lunge? I do not know the answer, however the end is close. I am to the point where a change had better come along or bad things are going to happen. And I mean very uncomfortable for others. Bad. Short of being any more specific, suffice to say the others are going to roll through a combination of emotions which will be difficult if not impossible to understand. Mark the words right this second. I am that close. The world is not helping me. That big hand again. No, not him... The other one. This moment represents the beginning of another full day here. Out the window I see the sun rising over the mountains and the lake glowing with the shine of early summer. All around my location the peaks show off their coating of snow against the beautiful green pines. To my right at this very second is the big gondola waiting for the first snow people to head up and out. Light. Morning. Coffee. Lousy coffee. Ugh. That cocktail server is floating within, too. There is just no getting around it anymore. Too much. Too often. Too painful. Too compelling. I am traumatized like in the city but the situation is far more difficult due to the others being right there. Sometimes the same people popping up over and over throughout the entire trip. The server is just one of many. There was also a dealer -- like six months ago -- and that was one of the toughest walks through the club in recent memory. Again, all of the typical traits which draw me in and knife the insides. Eyes. Yep. They looked at mine. Walking, walking, keep walking. No table games. Back to the hiding places in the rear of the club. Her rear? What? Never. Fuck no. I am mired. Completely. And in a place which will continue to draw out the old life and inject the new. Nothingness. Despair. Black, soon. Wait for it. Late during the first evening we decided to branch out a bit and look around. Typically we are creatures of habit and stick to the usual areas of the club, but this time we felt that something different was in order. So, toward the center of the casino to a pair of newer, very interesting machines. That turned out to be a good plan because not only were the machines generous, but the vantage point for yours truly was unreal. People to and fro throughout the evening, money flying out of the machines, and excellent cocktail service combined to leave me quite comfortable and feeling as if the remainder of the trip would be ok for the inside of my head. Nope. That's right folks... Too much searching eventually results in finding. And just as I suspected after seeing many examples of beauty all over the floors, a woman came along and pushed all others to the rear. She walked right on by my position, arm-in-arm with her partner, and toward the rear of the club on heels and looking as out of place as a Volkswagen on the moon. I leered for a moment or two and that was that. Like always, damage done, ridiculous thought processes, and falling through the floor just like the girl in the buffet six months ago. The screaming difference was my immediate and overwhelming need to pounce. I normally do not feel as if I need to throw myself at a woman, however these very late days have shown me that recklessness does not appear as bad as in the past. My composure did not waver one bit as the inside of my head fractured into tiny pieces at the thought of never seeing her again. Andrea. How many times have I stated that a woman carried a shape similar to hers? That goddess of goddesses has been very difficult to describe, and the woman who glided by me last night is equally elusive when it comes to terms outlining her form. I have nearly nothing. The pants and shoes absolutely resembled Andrea's day-to-day outfits in Florida and I could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy as she clung to her partner's arm. That was me, way the fuck back during my wreckage and ongoing mental faltering which led to running away over and over. I sought that ass in DFW, ended up glued to Andrea, and during that time enjoyed the most beautiful and shapely woman I had ever seen attached to me twenty-four hours a day for weeks. And then gone. And then wrecked. And then suicidal for years. And then nothing. And now nothing. And now why? Fuck the questions. The world already knows there are no answers. So do I. Well, there is one question left which still remains without consideration: Which of the incidents now or in the future is going to cause or force a change? Hmm... There is no simple solution or easy explanation, but suffice to say that if the thought and analysis over time does not bear fruit soon, there will be no more. God damn fucking hell, I did not need to see a woman like that and at a time when my place in the world is so fucking defensive and sour. It's like the milk has been out in the summer sun for days. The milk is in my head and churning up the most vile thoughts. I need to get out of such a routine and toward things which can help me, if they exist at all. Yes, top of that list is being wrapped in loving, caring, understanding arms (and that is available when possible), however the historic parallels between such simplicity and the dramatic nature of how I move life around to fit my needs do not help anyone… Least of all me. But I do not care. I need it. Right at this moment I know I can be okay for the most part while still here. Underneath the creature comforts and my little corners of the casino, though, is that monstrous and very dangerous desire to switch the world to favor me. Yes, me. The cocktail server (two of them now) and the woman with the slender, unreal legs tattooed with the numbers of my life and her rear end creating patterns of Andrea across the huge room… All of it. All of them all over all of me. Fuck. Just fuck. This sounds just like every other bitch session from the last six months, right? Whatever. I do not give a shit anymore. Eventually the site will do nothing more than continue to look the same as this diatribe and no one will wish to visit anymore. I do not give a fuck about that either. This is not a paid space, nor are there any advertisements which cover costs. Just this. So, if people go elsewhere the site will remain unchanged, words will carry on into the short future, and I will keep repeating myself until no longer breathing. All the while the images in my brain stay put. Fuck it all. I cannot extract or deal with them easily. I see everything. All of it remains within as I attempt to move through each day with some semblance of social skill and composure. None of that exists, of course, and the effort required in maintaining my appearance and demeanor in a social setting is tremendous. I am exhausted from the work to make myself presentable around others. I cannot open the door to me. I simply cannot do that. Everything stays right here for the time being. And with each letter and space you see, keep in mind there is a limit. The beginning of this paragraph was correct. This is another group of words seemingly represented by that word. Why the fuck not? What else do I have at this point? Nothing. I need the occasional trip up here if only to remind me from where I developed. This atmosphere is unlike any other and stands as a good portion of the reason I think in such a manner. Being around the gaming, servers, high-end restaurants, and imagery dripping with sex appeal has helped the obsession to mold me into what has been displayed and described on the site for quite some time. Years ago I did not know what awaited me. Back then I just looked around like any young person in such a place. As far as I can remember, three occasions had me looking upon the female form differently for a time, and now I can understand where at least one aspect of my lifestyle was first born. Just one. She was a prostitute -- and readers here know that such a term is used with respect -- who approached me in the old lobby of the hotel just outside the arcade. I was standing and awaiting my grandfather when a voice from behind me greeted my seventeen-year-old frame. 'Hello there.' 'Um... Hi.' I turned while saying hello and gazed upon a very tall, very exotic looking woman showing off quite a bit of skin in and around her top and skirt. I was immediately floored and did not know what to say. I do not believe I was able to close my mouth at any time during our short conversation. She asked what plans I may have had, I stumbled with a ridiculous answer, and she adorably replied that perhaps she would see me again. Yeah. Uh huh. Nope. I was far too intimidated for speaking further or even attempting to know what would be appropriate to say to a woman in her line of work. As she turned and walked away, I remember being fascinated by the manner in which her legs moved and the way the top fit her breasts. Never before had I been so close to a woman with such a dramatic appearance. I was immediately in enormous wonder and would consider the exchange with that gorgeous woman daily for the coming several years. I gingerly stepped back into the small arcade and attempted to understand her line of work and my own brain. The woman was stunning and smiling. Her voice was smooth, sexy, and to the point immediately. All business and looking like a dream walking away from my hungry yet misunderstanding eyes. The games no longer held my interest and I could not get anywhere with them after one of the defining moments of my young life. Enthralled, just like now. Broken, too. Today is our last morning here and my intention is to haul ass soon. I can take no more of the visions, money, booze, or anything else related to the dreams of past trips and women. I have to get the fuck out of here just in case one of the dinner girls or the ass of asses comes into view. That would be bad. The resort is typically quiet on a weekday morning and this one is no different. That means few people and fewer possibilities of spying something I am better off not seeing. Yesterday morning when the dealers came out to work there was one (doesn't that always happen?) who stood out due to features I do not need to describe here anymore. She was amazing and unique. Naturally, as we moved about the floor I saw her over and over. Just another vision to send me spiraling into my familiar hole. We strolled to the cashier, sat for a few minutes at a pair of machines, and are about to depart for home. Along the way we will stop a few times to stretch and possibly eat, but that is all. This afternoon will likely find me holed up and saddened by the events which have transpired in this place for the last few days. The only saving grace is being away from all that damages me each time. Although there is no stopping the thinking. Valet, bags, car, out. A hundred-plus miles of uneventful driving. Comfortable, quiet, smooth. And then the big family-run farmer's market. Inside, cool, crowded as always. Moments later a vision strolled through the door and entered my eyesight causing yet another issue within. All at once I wished to speak with her, grab that woman and run away. I needed to drown into her slender arms and bury my face in her fragrant hair for days. No means. No resources, no time, no hope. Just my eyes and brain going through those harsh permutations which arrive like a flood of pain and leave me depressed. I gazed when able, packed up our things and hit the road again as my head dreamed of the unavailability. Vegas flashed, Andrea flashed, I fell. Again... Cool, smooth driving with calm music at a low volume. Home, fucked up, but away from everyone. Honestly, being back in my little space means nothing. All of it still swirls. My head is a blender again. The high country always holds plenty of visions, situations, and desires that I expect each day and night. After spending a good portion of my childhood years and on into adulthood floating through such an adult atmosphere, well... I always know. None of it makes me happy, however. Everything adds up to the failing fantasy. Every fucking time. And then we end up here (yes, I said 'we'). The situation has come to pass so many fucking times that I do not have the time nor inclination to recall. The line which was once fluid and responsive, filled with possibility and awaiting a push is now forcing my hand. It is pushing back. The essay from two years ago outlining the beginning of the dramatic difficulty -- including the fact that such an issue became enough to force placing it here, albeit ambiguously -- has gone by the wayside and likely been forgotten by most readers, if not all. Alexis was there on display in order to shove the idea of a lack of happiness and feeling of no possibility for the future into people's eyes with force. I have no idea if that came across, but perhaps the end of this entry will put somewhat of a finer point to the current dissatisfaction and disappointment spinning my world into a black hole. The suicidal thoughts never go away. There is no stopping anything, but I have time to work on the manner in which the visions and events affect me. Despite the clock rushing along and destroying most feelings of possibility, I do know that time can also help me by allowing for exploration. The events which take place in and around day-to-day life can cripple. Others do not hurt quite as much and tend to fade. The more striking events stick. And one such event is fresh... Left, right, center. Right was as always. Warm, comfortable, flannel. Center was a mental analysis machine. Pressure, strain, wonder. And the left? Also warm, yet not. Warmer. Hot. Flaming. Lingerie. Exposed skin all over. Radii. Softness. Inviting. Right there, yet a million miles away. The comfort was alien. Different enough to force thought processes vast and unknown. A string across, and a bridge. Back. Front. Warm to warmer to confusion. Both sides. Never before were three at the same time. Pressure was only seconds after realizing what took place the night before. Much pressure. The desire was nearly too much while trying to think of whether or not to head toward the usual routine. A long while passed before the decision to get out and away for fear of the pressure becoming overwhelming and pushing thought away. Clear thought. The toughest... Heading toward the coffee pot and space to allow my brain to cool. Coffee. Sofa. Oy gawd. Time passed and things changed. Comfort and warmth away from the situation which caught me off guard. More time led to solace and clarity. Holy shit. What a morning. Going back to how certain situations can affect me, well... That was striking and caused all manner of inner workings to fail. Combined with everything which took place throughout the prior days in the high country, I am surprised to be putting words to the screen at all. The night before the three was comfortable, relaxing, and enjoyable. Yes, one of those times when I can let go and just be a person rather than a mechanism for analysis and pain. The late hour and alcohol dictated that we sleep. With the spare space unavailable, the idea was to all be in the same place and at the same time. Thus... Yes, that situation which is now at the forefront of my thinking and dreaming. I cannot help it due to the exotic nature of the image. All of it is gone now as the three became separated after that occasion, however another opportunity may find me reaching in directions I cannot easily explain. That means I will sit on it and concern myself with other things. The pressure will not let up, though, and the longer that type of feeling spins inside, the worse off I will be. That situation took place on the heels of returning from the high country. Not good. Switchgear. 'Why don't you ask pretty boy over here.' My head spun quickly and sharply to the left. 'What the fuck did you just call me?' 'Oh, sorry.' 'Yeah. Shut the fuck up and do not talk to me.' 'Geez.' Her reaction to my forceful comments was not pleasant. After more than one confused look from her I decided to go outside and cool off. Being addressed in such a manner was not something I enjoyed, be it jokingly or otherwise. That occasion grew out of an earlier situation in which the woman stated that she liked me very much, however my interest was elsewhere. I made that fact clear but she kept pushing. The reference which snapped my head left was a combination of her irritation with my lack of affection toward her and the typical societal outlet in which a person tends to belittle another human being in order to raise themselves. Toward me? Not good. The point of her words cut me. All of the shit I plowed early in life adds up to making me quite sensitive with regard to another person referring to me as a boy. Couple the past with my unending compulsion to make others happy and comfortable in day-to-day life and the sum becomes dramatic. I work, push, and stretch myself with little routines in order to ensure stability and warmth. Years of it. The mixture of sex, masculinity, societal standards and the ongoing obsession has shaped me for all time. I will not move in reverse, and forward means the need for care and some semblance of validation that I am what I believe I am has become an everyday struggle. Nearly all of the time it is not there. Occasional words of appreciation -- yes -- however the tremendous need just behind my thin facade is increasing to the point of recklessness. That night and morning of the three in a row caused all manner of analysis and desire, but in the end... Nothing more. Once again, and just as the lion's share of days throughout a given year, I am left alone. The situation is causing all sorts of thoughts. The present is so tough and narrow that I am beginning to think as I did sixteen years ago when I dashed from everything and ran at high speed into the arms of Juliette. Such is not good. Now the resources are thin and I am seeing the other option. Yes, that one. Mentioned here on and off for a decade. Since I cannot run away, well, I can do something else. The countdown which has been in process for months may speed and is not a joke. There is an exit. Am I different? Vastly, yes. Unique? I do not know. Juliette said unique, Andrea told me beautiful. As for myself, I honestly have no idea. But do not refer to me as a boy. That is unfair, insulting, and condescending. Say nothing at all. Another mess of thought this week. Fuck it anyway. Getting back to that unfeeling line up there, the image of what others see when they look at me might be a man. I do not know. I work my ass off for others and leave the desire and obsession behind in order to maintain relationships and keep them happy. My effort in doing so is exhausting and unrewarding. I feel as if the actions and daily needs are expected of me. The failing fantasy is just that... Failing. Alexis' images on that entry two years ago represent all of the obsession from a visual standpoint and press me when I think of them. They press with enough mass to assure my level of depression remains very high. The worry overtakes my ability to think clearly and railroads me into believing that the exit is becoming the sole option for relief. Everything is tiring, frustrating and sad. Man? Something else? I still do not know. Others have an opinion, however my view generally supersedes theirs, and the resulting diametric gradient causes tension. Well, fuck everyone. My words are paramount. And when I say such a thing the meaning is so harsh that I will not spell it out. Read the past. Reason it. Add it. Understand. Listen. Hear me. The alternative is to be pushed through the same thought after I am dust. And then no one gets an answer to anything. So, let us get to the flesh of the fruit right now. The title has pierced the skin, so why not just dive into the black of the shit and get it over with, right? Yes? No? Fuck you. My words. Buckle up. The failing fantasy has as much to do with Alexis, Andrea, Ashley (lots of the letter 'a'), Juliette, Ellie, Lanie, Natalie... all of them (the fucking Raven too) as it does me. I stated in the last entry that all of it is my fault, and though a recent essay may have touched the beginning of the whole shitaree, the fact remains that my unhappiness will continue unimpeded until precisely the moment when I decide to stop everything. Yep, fucking read it. The downhill slide has gone on far too long. I am sick and tired of trying to locate a path which brings some comfort and satisfaction in life. I am exhausted from the analysis, exposition and effort. I am beginning to see where things are leading and that focal point is not going to make anyone happy. My universe is between two lines which converge in blackness. Freedom from thought, feeling, damage, difficulty, desire. All of it gone in a fucking flash. Suck it. Do not push. Leave me alone."
Sex and Suicide
Mature content No. 91 Published June 22nd, 2019 5:15am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Here I am again, in the middle of the shit and up on high. Yes, again. Every six months or so we spend these few days in the mountains and fall I through the floor despite the dramatic elevation. I have been in this location for approximately nineteen hours and already the wreckage has begun. The afternoon was not too bad, however dinner and the short period just after brought me down. Not good. And now, just like each visit to this beautiful place, I am sullen and angry over the last several years of crap and loss and wonder. Sullen. Fucking down. The two women at the table across from us leered slightly and one appeared as the Raven. It was her nose which resembled that gorgeous creature and the rest of her face carried timeless beauty. Across the table from her? Oy fuck, a nose I could live a lifetime attempting to describe. Huge eyes, dark hair, tall, you know. Shortly after glancing covertly, we exited the restaurant and made a path away. To the nickels near the California border for a seat. And then the fucking Eastern European goddess of a cocktail server came along moments later with her long hair and young, bright smile just in time to help me off that high cliff. Smiling wide, sweet voice, slender everything, fuck me in the elevator shaft. Damn it. No sooner do I get two sips into my drink when I spy her nearby and smile. She immediately points her long stems toward my location and smiles wide while asking if I need something else. Yes, I do, but nothing on the menu, my dear. Fuck. Bye. Time to get the fuck out of her service area. Later when I decided to leave the casino and relax... Yep, I passed the dinner girls as the nose made a point of staring toward my ink. I smiled, imploded, and headed up the elevator alone. Upon reaching the room and dropping my mass of jewelry and clothes I realized that the sundry shop was overlooked. Everything back on, down eighteen floors, words with the cuties in the shop, back upstairs yearning for everything which is gone. Everything. All of it. What the fuck do I do now? Wait? Pay cash? Lunge? I do not know the answer, however the end is close. I am to the point where a change had better come along or bad things are going to happen. And I mean very uncomfortable for others. Bad. Short of being any more specific, suffice to say the others are going to roll through a combination of emotions which will be difficult if not impossible to understand. Mark the words right this second. I am that close. The world is not helping me. That big hand again. No, not him... The other one. This moment represents the beginning of another full day here. Out the window I see the sun rising over the mountains and the lake glowing with the shine of early summer. All around my location the peaks show off their coating of snow against the beautiful green pines. To my right at this very second is the big gondola waiting for the first snow people to head up and out. Light. Morning. Coffee. Lousy coffee. Ugh. That cocktail server is floating within, too. There is just no getting around it anymore. Too much. Too often. Too painful. Too compelling. I am traumatized like in the city but the situation is far more difficult due to the others being right there. Sometimes the same people popping up over and over throughout the entire trip. The server is just one of many. There was also a dealer -- like six months ago -- and that was one of the toughest walks through the club in recent memory. Again, all of the typical traits which draw me in and knife the insides. Eyes. Yep. They looked at mine. Walking, walking, keep walking. No table games. Back to the hiding places in the rear of the club. Her rear? What? Never. Fuck no. I am mired. Completely. And in a place which will continue to draw out the old life and inject the new. Nothingness. Despair. Black, soon. Wait for it.
Late during the first evening we decided to branch out a bit and look around. Typically we are creatures of habit and stick to the usual areas of the club, but this time we felt that something different was in order. So, toward the center of the casino to a pair of newer, very interesting machines. That turned out to be a good plan because not only were the machines generous, but the vantage point for yours truly was unreal. People to and fro throughout the evening, money flying out of the machines, and excellent cocktail service combined to leave me quite comfortable and feeling as if the remainder of the trip would be ok for the inside of my head. Nope. That's right folks... Too much searching eventually results in finding. And just as I suspected after seeing many examples of beauty all over the floors, a woman came along and pushed all others to the rear. She walked right on by my position, arm-in-arm with her partner, and toward the rear of the club on heels and looking as out of place as a Volkswagen on the moon. I leered for a moment or two and that was that. Like always, damage done, ridiculous thought processes, and falling through the floor just like the girl in the buffet six months ago. The screaming difference was my immediate and overwhelming need to pounce. I normally do not feel as if I need to throw myself at a woman, however these very late days have shown me that recklessness does not appear as bad as in the past. My composure did not waver one bit as the inside of my head fractured into tiny pieces at the thought of never seeing her again. Andrea. How many times have I stated that a woman carried a shape similar to hers? That goddess of goddesses has been very difficult to describe, and the woman who glided by me last night is equally elusive when it comes to terms outlining her form. I have nearly nothing. The pants and shoes absolutely resembled Andrea's day-to-day outfits in Florida and I could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy as she clung to her partner's arm. That was me, way the fuck back during my wreckage and ongoing mental faltering which led to running away over and over. I sought that ass in DFW, ended up glued to Andrea, and during that time enjoyed the most beautiful and shapely woman I had ever seen attached to me twenty-four hours a day for weeks. And then gone. And then wrecked. And then suicidal for years. And then nothing. And now nothing. And now why? Fuck the questions. The world already knows there are no answers. So do I. Well, there is one question left which still remains without consideration: Which of the incidents now or in the future is going to cause or force a change? Hmm... There is no simple solution or easy explanation, but suffice to say that if the thought and analysis over time does not bear fruit soon, there will be no more. God damn fucking hell, I did not need to see a woman like that and at a time when my place in the world is so fucking defensive and sour. It's like the milk has been out in the summer sun for days. The milk is in my head and churning up the most vile thoughts. I need to get out of such a routine and toward things which can help me, if they exist at all. Yes, top of that list is being wrapped in loving, caring, understanding arms (and that is available when possible), however the historic parallels between such simplicity and the dramatic nature of how I move life around to fit my needs do not help anyone… Least of all me. But I do not care. I need it. Right at this moment I know I can be okay for the most part while still here. Underneath the creature comforts and my little corners of the casino, though, is that monstrous and very dangerous desire to switch the world to favor me. Yes, me. The cocktail server (two of them now) and the woman with the slender, unreal legs tattooed with the numbers of my life and her rear end creating patterns of Andrea across the huge room… All of it. All of them all over all of me. Fuck. Just fuck.
This sounds just like every other bitch session from the last six months, right? Whatever. I do not give a shit anymore. Eventually the site will do nothing more than continue to look the same as this diatribe and no one will wish to visit anymore. I do not give a fuck about that either. This is not a paid space, nor are there any advertisements which cover costs. Just this. So, if people go elsewhere the site will remain unchanged, words will carry on into the short future, and I will keep repeating myself until no longer breathing. All the while the images in my brain stay put. Fuck it all. I cannot extract or deal with them easily. I see everything. All of it remains within as I attempt to move through each day with some semblance of social skill and composure. None of that exists, of course, and the effort required in maintaining my appearance and demeanor in a social setting is tremendous. I am exhausted from the work to make myself presentable around others. I cannot open the door to me. I simply cannot do that. Everything stays right here for the time being. And with each letter and space you see, keep in mind there is a limit. The beginning of this paragraph was correct. This is another group of words seemingly represented by that word. Why the fuck not? What else do I have at this point? Nothing. I need the occasional trip up here if only to remind me from where I developed. This atmosphere is unlike any other and stands as a good portion of the reason I think in such a manner. Being around the gaming, servers, high-end restaurants, and imagery dripping with sex appeal has helped the obsession to mold me into what has been displayed and described on the site for quite some time. Years ago I did not know what awaited me. Back then I just looked around like any young person in such a place. As far as I can remember, three occasions had me looking upon the female form differently for a time, and now I can understand where at least one aspect of my lifestyle was first born. Just one. She was a prostitute -- and readers here know that such a term is used with respect -- who approached me in the old lobby of the hotel just outside the arcade. I was standing and awaiting my grandfather when a voice from behind me greeted my seventeen-year-old frame. 'Hello there.' 'Um... Hi.' I turned while saying hello and gazed upon a very tall, very exotic looking woman showing off quite a bit of skin in and around her top and skirt. I was immediately floored and did not know what to say. I do not believe I was able to close my mouth at any time during our short conversation. She asked what plans I may have had, I stumbled with a ridiculous answer, and she adorably replied that perhaps she would see me again. Yeah. Uh huh. Nope. I was far too intimidated for speaking further or even attempting to know what would be appropriate to say to a woman in her line of work. As she turned and walked away, I remember being fascinated by the manner in which her legs moved and the way the top fit her breasts. Never before had I been so close to a woman with such a dramatic appearance. I was immediately in enormous wonder and would consider the exchange with that gorgeous woman daily for the coming several years. I gingerly stepped back into the small arcade and attempted to understand her line of work and my own brain. The woman was stunning and smiling. Her voice was smooth, sexy, and to the point immediately. All business and looking like a dream walking away from my hungry yet misunderstanding eyes. The games no longer held my interest and I could not get anywhere with them after one of the defining moments of my young life. Enthralled, just like now. Broken, too.
Today is our last morning here and my intention is to haul ass soon. I can take no more of the visions, money, booze, or anything else related to the dreams of past trips and women. I have to get the fuck out of here just in case one of the dinner girls or the ass of asses comes into view. That would be bad. The resort is typically quiet on a weekday morning and this one is no different. That means few people and fewer possibilities of spying something I am better off not seeing. Yesterday morning when the dealers came out to work there was one (doesn't that always happen?) who stood out due to features I do not need to describe here anymore. She was amazing and unique. Naturally, as we moved about the floor I saw her over and over. Just another vision to send me spiraling into my familiar hole. We strolled to the cashier, sat for a few minutes at a pair of machines, and are about to depart for home. Along the way we will stop a few times to stretch and possibly eat, but that is all. This afternoon will likely find me holed up and saddened by the events which have transpired in this place for the last few days. The only saving grace is being away from all that damages me each time. Although there is no stopping the thinking. Valet, bags, car, out. A hundred-plus miles of uneventful driving. Comfortable, quiet, smooth. And then the big family-run farmer's market. Inside, cool, crowded as always. Moments later a vision strolled through the door and entered my eyesight causing yet another issue within. All at once I wished to speak with her, grab that woman and run away. I needed to drown into her slender arms and bury my face in her fragrant hair for days. No means. No resources, no time, no hope. Just my eyes and brain going through those harsh permutations which arrive like a flood of pain and leave me depressed. I gazed when able, packed up our things and hit the road again as my head dreamed of the unavailability. Vegas flashed, Andrea flashed, I fell. Again... Cool, smooth driving with calm music at a low volume. Home, fucked up, but away from everyone. Honestly, being back in my little space means nothing. All of it still swirls. My head is a blender again. The high country always holds plenty of visions, situations, and desires that I expect each day and night. After spending a good portion of my childhood years and on into adulthood floating through such an adult atmosphere, well... I always know. None of it makes me happy, however. Everything adds up to the failing fantasy. Every fucking time. And then we end up here (yes, I said 'we'). The situation has come to pass so many fucking times that I do not have the time nor inclination to recall. The line which was once fluid and responsive, filled with possibility and awaiting a push is now forcing my hand. It is pushing back. The essay from two years ago outlining the beginning of the dramatic difficulty -- including the fact that such an issue became enough to force placing it here, albeit ambiguously -- has gone by the wayside and likely been forgotten by most readers, if not all. Alexis was there on display in order to shove the idea of a lack of happiness and feeling of no possibility for the future into people's eyes with force. I have no idea if that came across, but perhaps the end of this entry will put somewhat of a finer point to the current dissatisfaction and disappointment spinning my world into a black hole. The suicidal thoughts never go away.
There is no stopping anything, but I have time to work on the manner in which the visions and events affect me. Despite the clock rushing along and destroying most feelings of possibility, I do know that time can also help me by allowing for exploration. The events which take place in and around day-to-day life can cripple. Others do not hurt quite as much and tend to fade. The more striking events stick. And one such event is fresh... Left, right, center. Right was as always. Warm, comfortable, flannel. Center was a mental analysis machine. Pressure, strain, wonder. And the left? Also warm, yet not. Warmer. Hot. Flaming. Lingerie. Exposed skin all over. Radii. Softness. Inviting. Right there, yet a million miles away. The comfort was alien. Different enough to force thought processes vast and unknown. A string across, and a bridge. Back. Front. Warm to warmer to confusion. Both sides. Never before were three at the same time. Pressure was only seconds after realizing what took place the night before. Much pressure. The desire was nearly too much while trying to think of whether or not to head toward the usual routine. A long while passed before the decision to get out and away for fear of the pressure becoming overwhelming and pushing thought away. Clear thought. The toughest... Heading toward the coffee pot and space to allow my brain to cool. Coffee. Sofa. Oy gawd. Time passed and things changed. Comfort and warmth away from the situation which caught me off guard. More time led to solace and clarity. Holy shit. What a morning. Going back to how certain situations can affect me, well... That was striking and caused all manner of inner workings to fail. Combined with everything which took place throughout the prior days in the high country, I am surprised to be putting words to the screen at all. The night before the three was comfortable, relaxing, and enjoyable. Yes, one of those times when I can let go and just be a person rather than a mechanism for analysis and pain. The late hour and alcohol dictated that we sleep. With the spare space unavailable, the idea was to all be in the same place and at the same time. Thus... Yes, that situation which is now at the forefront of my thinking and dreaming. I cannot help it due to the exotic nature of the image. All of it is gone now as the three became separated after that occasion, however another opportunity may find me reaching in directions I cannot easily explain. That means I will sit on it and concern myself with other things. The pressure will not let up, though, and the longer that type of feeling spins inside, the worse off I will be. That situation took place on the heels of returning from the high country. Not good.
Switchgear. 'Why don't you ask pretty boy over here.' My head spun quickly and sharply to the left. 'What the fuck did you just call me?' 'Oh, sorry.' 'Yeah. Shut the fuck up and do not talk to me.' 'Geez.' Her reaction to my forceful comments was not pleasant. After more than one confused look from her I decided to go outside and cool off. Being addressed in such a manner was not something I enjoyed, be it jokingly or otherwise. That occasion grew out of an earlier situation in which the woman stated that she liked me very much, however my interest was elsewhere. I made that fact clear but she kept pushing. The reference which snapped my head left was a combination of her irritation with my lack of affection toward her and the typical societal outlet in which a person tends to belittle another human being in order to raise themselves. Toward me? Not good. The point of her words cut me. All of the shit I plowed early in life adds up to making me quite sensitive with regard to another person referring to me as a boy. Couple the past with my unending compulsion to make others happy and comfortable in day-to-day life and the sum becomes dramatic. I work, push, and stretch myself with little routines in order to ensure stability and warmth. Years of it. The mixture of sex, masculinity, societal standards and the ongoing obsession has shaped me for all time. I will not move in reverse, and forward means the need for care and some semblance of validation that I am what I believe I am has become an everyday struggle. Nearly all of the time it is not there. Occasional words of appreciation -- yes -- however the tremendous need just behind my thin facade is increasing to the point of recklessness. That night and morning of the three in a row caused all manner of analysis and desire, but in the end... Nothing more. Once again, and just as the lion's share of days throughout a given year, I am left alone. The situation is causing all sorts of thoughts. The present is so tough and narrow that I am beginning to think as I did sixteen years ago when I dashed from everything and ran at high speed into the arms of Juliette. Such is not good. Now the resources are thin and I am seeing the other option. Yes, that one. Mentioned here on and off for a decade. Since I cannot run away, well, I can do something else. The countdown which has been in process for months may speed and is not a joke. There is an exit. Am I different? Vastly, yes. Unique? I do not know. Juliette said unique, Andrea told me beautiful. As for myself, I honestly have no idea. But do not refer to me as a boy. That is unfair, insulting, and condescending. Say nothing at all.
Another mess of thought this week. Fuck it anyway. Getting back to that unfeeling line up there, the image of what others see when they look at me might be a man. I do not know. I work my ass off for others and leave the desire and obsession behind in order to maintain relationships and keep them happy. My effort in doing so is exhausting and unrewarding. I feel as if the actions and daily needs are expected of me. The failing fantasy is just that... Failing. Alexis' images on that entry two years ago represent all of the obsession from a visual standpoint and press me when I think of them. They press with enough mass to assure my level of depression remains very high. The worry overtakes my ability to think clearly and railroads me into believing that the exit is becoming the sole option for relief. Everything is tiring, frustrating and sad. Man? Something else? I still do not know. Others have an opinion, however my view generally supersedes theirs, and the resulting diametric gradient causes tension. Well, fuck everyone. My words are paramount. And when I say such a thing the meaning is so harsh that I will not spell it out. Read the past. Reason it. Add it. Understand. Listen. Hear me. The alternative is to be pushed through the same thought after I am dust. And then no one gets an answer to anything. So, let us get to the flesh of the fruit right now. The title has pierced the skin, so why not just dive into the black of the shit and get it over with, right? Yes? No? Fuck you. My words. Buckle up. The failing fantasy has as much to do with Alexis, Andrea, Ashley (lots of the letter 'a'), Juliette, Ellie, Lanie, Natalie... all of them (the fucking Raven too) as it does me. I stated in the last entry that all of it is my fault, and though a recent essay may have touched the beginning of the whole shitaree, the fact remains that my unhappiness will continue unimpeded until precisely the moment when I decide to stop everything. Yep, fucking read it. The downhill slide has gone on far too long. I am sick and tired of trying to locate a path which brings some comfort and satisfaction in life. I am exhausted from the analysis, exposition and effort. I am beginning to see where things are leading and that focal point is not going to make anyone happy. My universe is between two lines which converge in blackness. Freedom from thought, feeling, damage, difficulty, desire. All of it gone in a fucking flash. Suck it. Do not push. Leave me alone."
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