My stalker tendencies

I spy with my eyes
...music. It has the ability to pierce an unidentifiable speck in me. That speck swells, subtly exploding, flowing into my bloodstream, etched into my DNA. Now it has become an ongoing intoxication, a hit...

(you get the picture.) My stalker tendency led me to track it down, own it, warm myself with it.

I spy with my eyes
...words. Tangible, flexible, stable. The power to seduce and intimidate in one breath. Deliriously erotic and enticing. A vow to hold me under a spell, become my doom. My failure.

I spy with my eyes
...a fantasy. Unknown ending, in progress.

Hollow Effect

There is something limiting, painful, empty-ing in expressing a deep seeded want. Releasing words used to grant ease; now they just terrify me that I might scare away the hope. Hope used to be what I painted with, devoured, and thought could be harnessed. No, not so.

Words. Leave me feeling empty. Hollow.

Even these words have a hollow effect...

and all that oozes out of me are these ill-formed words, purged out of me to ease the unsettling effect of using words. 

Bury This

I exist for you.

That's the saddest part. Not to be able to own my very will to do as I please.

And I'm shaking all the time, trembling, fearing its undo-able, wondering if its a lifelong state I should resign myself to.

I bury this. Hiding it. Folding it softly between the folds of old words. Part of me wants to be released and also part of me feels a sort of freedom from it. It doesn't make sense. There's a contradiction in it.

L Defined

Logic

A skewed mentality where labor is the self-imposed responsibility to protect him from any harm, discomfort, or flaw. Always feeling regrettably lower than a parasite when failing to complete this overwhelming urge to please (see also Harm, Reasonable and Unreasonable Concepts of). Trying to put one last and giving too much to continue longer than short bursts.

Loneliness

The feeling of losing oneself. This seems to come about after a submissive act. The imperceptible pieces of one’s ego taken in small shards, and when it becomes clear that this is what is being confused for loneliness, it won’t matter (see also Submission, Act of; Compromise, Fair or Unfair; Despair, Tears of).

Lost words

The words that become the magical lines you repeat in your mind and dissect for a deeper meaning. That meaning becomes the crutch by which hangs all your dreams for future possibilities (see also Love Notes, Imagined or Real). Years later the derived meaning is used as a reason to continue the unreturned affection.

Love

An unreal expectation. Known only in the form of one’s discomfort, tears, or submission (see also Unrealistic Expectations). It’s the hope of actual love that keeps one waiting, gripping to those slight glimmer of love in subtle memories replayed in one’s mind (see also Lost Words; Acts of Kindness). What is love, again?

Loyalty

Defined by him. And his twisted mind…

And the day ends...

       I'm so happy.¹  Right now, it feels as if the world has a thousand possibilities, and I finally have the momentum to follow through.² Part of me wishes I was a little bit dumb. You know, one that can mindlessly resolve to do what I need to everyday and block out stress and mostly my laziness.³  Until then, I will just be a mind with dreams.⁴

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¹ It could be starting my day with interval jogging or the Summermoon coffee after work. It’s been a pretty good day.

² Again, could be this morning’s workout or the caffeine intoxication.

³ I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have someone control me. Wait a second, let me explain. This person would be able to help me mindlessly get things done, to act when asked, not plan. When I come home, someone could tell me to go practice my viola, instead of me contemplating practicing. It’s odd that just planning and knowing the long haul of what has to be done wears me out.

⁴ Like every person. And carry around that belligerent arrogance that I could have done something with my life.

Chimes

No words. None.

My mind is beginning to lack, to lessen, or maybe its just being fed. Outside the world seems so gorgeous. I'm finally able to do instead of plan for someday.

Good to know at least you are fine and alive.

Ugly Worn Crease

It seems like the routine of everyday, again and again and again, rubs an ugly worn crease on my sensibilities. I lose my sense of calm, wonder, and eagerness. Today those parts of me returned. Moving restored me.

Moving

Maybe life is a succession of pawn moves. A little here. Again there. Patching together a "journey" of mishaps.

We chase down the madness. The liquor. The perfect high. The exquisite pain of doubt, of hope. If I could have your brain, these words, thoughts, ideas would have the arrogant power to convey themselves as law.

My mind. Raw. Aching. Perfectly enamored.

Small but Important

The two friends I have looked up to the most...

They both
have tattoos,
are tidy,
brilliant,
Readers,
logical,
drinkers.

And I admire the role they take on within their respective relationships. Patiently accepting the other's flaws, setbacks, and worries. How they each build and insulate their lives.

Lifted

Somehow reading, even more so in the library of magnificent shelves crammed with books, restores my faith in world and possibilities. Inspired...

Warmth

Lifted, lighter, and eyes so drained. Night night stranger staggering in the periphery.

Something to miss

   Searching for another book to add to waiting list of must read. Crap. Crap. Might be good. Read later.
   Few people I know share an urge to hold a book, carry one as armor, read to feed an addiction. One cool breezy evening, Matt and I were the last ones in the music building. He was sitting against the hall wall invested, eyes pasted to the page.
   "Hey," he greeted. "Have you read this?"
  I shake my head no.
  He stands up and walk to one of the back doors of the building. There's nothing built for at least a mile from the building. It's gorgeous. I'm constantly mesmerized by him. He can easily bounce from sweet to wordlessly demanding. I followed him, just like that. Outside, he pops a cigarette in his mouth, lights it, and begins reading to me. Later when I borrowed the book from him, I would realize he read the oddest chapter. There we were outside, in a soft night, light from the building, cigarette smoke, impromptu reading, wordlessly following.
   Skimming through the shelves, I pass over Choke by Chuck Palaniuk. I wish I had more times of some gorgeous voice reading to me. I check out two books and leave the library.
 

Vision fiction

My vision is slowly failing me, my heavy desire to read the day away, but my hearing is keeping the music coma, drinking in the words, the discordant, swirling.

I turn in two books, check out three, again discordant, sweeping through the chapters, counting progress, comparing.

Restructure

Walking into another house,  another room, all I do is breakdown what I would change, restructure, reorganize, repurpose. Entering any classroom, I feel the same impulse. Mold to my design, comfort, practicality, ease.

Warm in frost. Sleepless and cravng another book. Another song to listen to. Another fantasy to replay. Slightly off.

Jittery

Caffeine infested, spread, invaded. It keeps sweeping through, fresh waves of doubt from the night before...
The urge to cry doesn't stop, yield to my will, wait til I'm alone. The track keeps playing in my mind, all the mistakes. To have a good lover or a trusted partner, both are preferred as a package deal I can't afford or find...
You force me to keep stripping and exposing my thoughts to you. I'm vulnerable, at a disadvantage, at your mercy.

First line

I miss intimacy. Comfort from a distance and trusting touch. A sweet, vulnerable mind drawing me from a will to say no.