The Ways We Think...Are Immeasurable.

"Human fate gives itself to human fate, and it is the task of pure love to keep this self-surrender as vital as on the first day.”

-Martin Heidegger

 

 

 

   I'm not going to pretend like I'm the best looking person in the world. Yet, I'm also not going to pretend that I have the creepiness factor of an aging hipster that owns a vintage clothing shop. I like to feel that I fall somewhere in between having to bribe a decent looking woman, and Justin Timberlake. Plus, I never discount my personality. I account 90% of all intimate relationships in my life to nothing more than personality.

   And dick size.

   That being said, I am still astounded by the utter lack of sexual energy that comes off the normal human being. I am also equally shocked by the subordinate disgust that sexual energy gets met with. Now, I know that not everyone is as casually energetic as I am. Trust me, I have had my share of run ins with those lackluster in the field of intimacy. The problem is the occasional conflict of personality.  The bored attitude I have towards those unable to digest casual conversation about what I consider one of the greatest gifts we have to give each other. The ability to make each other lust.

  J'aime la luxure

   That is putting it simply. The adoration of lustful thoughts, and the subsequent ability to manifest those into action is no less than heavenly, to me. It is overwhelming at times. It is a burden of thought and time. It can come with a bit of regret. These things are easy for me to admit.

   My mind wonders about the mind's of other people. How do they not feel this way? Why do they not wear it on the outside of their psyche as I do? Does this mean it is an addiction, or a personality flaw? My answer has constantly been, "I don't know."

   This is a short blog because right now I am in the midst of a conundrum. Writing, for some people, helps with large questions about life, love, lust, friendship,...etc. It doesn't do that with me. Writing makes me unable to think. It sets up a roadblock in my psyche. This is why I write when I am at my most despondent. It blocks out the bad thoughts for a brief shining moment. I have no bad thoughts right now. Just weird questions.

 



If I Die Before I Wake

   She lives in this oddly, fragile bubble. What makes it worse is that I don't want to pop it. Don't get me wrong. I want to crawl inside it with her. Do you realize how hard that is? Bubbles do not take kindly to the intrusion of foreign objects, and that is exactly what I am. I am a foreign object, in all sense of the words.
   "Do you ever wonder if I'm just a novelty?", she asks through wine stained eyes.
   "You don't think that I wonder the same thing about myself?", it's rude to answer a question with a question. "I'm sorry, that was rude, but let's be honest. I could be the same thing, Yet, I'm not going to spend our time worrying about that. When I look into your eyes I don't see a series of clichés, or interests. I don't see someone defined by what they wear, or where they go. When I look into your eyes, or hold your hand, or walk down the street with you, I see.....hope. I see respect. I see interest in what I say, even if it is ridiculously ludicrous. When I am with you, I am with you. Not a novelty."
   "You talk too much."
   "Isn't that why you like me?"
   "That's one part of it", she slinks down in the booth seat, next to me, as if she's hiding from someone. It's no less than adorable. This is new for me, and by all accounts, new for her also. This is the best part. It feel new to me.
   I don't miss seeing her body. I miss seeing her. I don't miss dirty words coming from her mouth. I miss any words, from her mouth, that take the time to grace my ears. I don't miss making out with her. I don't miss sex with her. I don't miss the groping, and late night sweating that comes with being in bed with a past woman. I just miss laying there, listening to her breath, and moving her hair away from my mouth so that I don't end up chewing on it in the middle of the night.
   At one time I was confusing her shyness with a lack of self confidence. I was wrong. She is a woman. A confident, radiant, independent woman. She is also coy, aloof, guarded, and meaningful. Spending so much time defining people by one quality has made me pretentious. It has made me judgmental. The realization that one faceted people are everywhere is not a new thing. Yet, it does not mean that I have to surround myself with them.
   She is not a novelty.
   She is a novel.
   And as long as she is writing it.
   I will continue to read every page.



 

I Am on Hiatus

Till next Monday. Have a great holiday.

I Feel Remorse, For Whomever Knocks on My Door

   The car ride was nothing less than completely uneventful. I was kept busy by the constant, rhythmic thump of the creases in the road. Normally, my imagination would devise some sort of song, or rap to go along with it. This was not one of those trips. There was a consistent low hum in my brain, that caused me to become myopic in thoughts. I looked to my passenger seat, hoping for a sneaking smile. Maybe she would see that my head had gotten ahead of itself, and gently reach over and hold my hand. She was wholeheartedly asleep, in the back seat of the truck.
   This is a flashback. This is how they come. It is a whirlwind tornado, of all encompassing thought, that gets away from me. There is a smell, or a sound, that triggers it. When that happens, it just fades in for a few brief moments, and leaves, like a thief in the night.
   Dinner was odd. Is it strange to set up a dinner with an ex lover, so that she can pick you apart mentally? Literally, on purpose, we had planned dinner around this psychological profile she had worked up in her time knowing, and being apart from me. She was spot on. Yet, she held back. Why? She was constructive, when she could have been harsh. I can handle harsh, and she knows it. She looked amazing. She always does. The low cut tops that bare enough cleavage to remind me of what I was missing. Her eyes, bright, full of optimism, and determination. That little click sound she makes with her mouth when she winks knowingly. I think that is where she was being harsh. Killing with kindness. I could still see her laying on my couch, fully nude, on Christmas day. Eating an enormous meal that I somehow pulled out of nowhere. That day, we laughed, and danced, and fucked like it was our last day on Earth. Little did we both know, it wasn't far off.
   When the mind wanders it can only be described as a frail woman holding the leash of a determined Great Dane. It is going to lead you. You will follow. The leaves of your senses, start as a small wind swept swirl, in the middle of a suburban street. Slowly, it grows and takes them upwards. Since these memories are merely daydreams, it takes just seconds for them to become a tornado. Grabbing the Midwest homes of your psyche, pulling them into the air, and tearing them to shreds.
    No matter whether I see her for a second, or sit next to her for hours on the patio of some local bar, she is both, elation and depression. I'm forever intrigued by her boots. They seem to turn my nearest hand into a magnet. She's never told me to stop. It has never been treated as an intrusion. Well, there was that one time, but I think even she knew it was an over reaction. Every once in a while I will wrap my hand around the shin part of the boot, and gently tap my fingers, as if to let her know I'm there. That small tap. That small pat. The slight, gentle noise of rain starting to hit the pavement. Our day could not have been more perfect, and her impromptu company made it exactly that. We had danced all day. Drank until the evening sun dropped into an orange and purple sky. The shows were loud, and we danced close like two wolves hungry to just play with each other. Earlier in the day, I had been mouth deep below her moans, which, at that moment, seemed like an eternity ago. We ran to the car, and that slow patter of rain began. It grew quickly. I was thirsty for any water, whether in my mouth or on my body, and I began to laugh. Throwing my hands in the air, I looked at her, and saw a small halo form over her head with each street lamp we passed. She was smiling that anxious smile of someone that thinks I have gone mad. I was grinning from the fact that she has no idea how beautiful she continued to look, even with her wet hair matted to her face. We grabbed each other like we had been starving for each other's lips.
   Every time my rough hand, slides up and down that soft, smooth boot, I can feel that breath. The breath of a perfect day.

  

My Homeless Looking Dog, Isn't Doing Me Any Favors

The all too familiar look,
and a small shake of the hips.
She lights up my life,
like an explosion.
With a smile she uses to get her way.

The light touch of conversation,
and the slight begging in her voice.
She drowns out the daylight,
like curtains I wish I owned,
With her raspy voice she shakes the trees.

Two of a kind,
they are the sun and the moon.
The enticement of warmth and heat,
but I still need the darkness that travels over the hills.

   So, waking up next to two different ex lovers, in a matter of 48 hours, needs only one word for description. Weird. Really fucking weird. Having cast one of them so far from my thoughts, that the mere idea of being in the vicinity of her, is completely foreign. Let alone, going to dinner, and having her suggest that we "casually date".
   "Um....Eliza.....not just no, but......fuck no", these were some of the hardest words I had said to another human being in a long time.
   I think her reaction was typical, which made it even more, odd. She has never been one for typical responses. Yet, the dinner was enlightening. I learned things that made me realize that her brand of life may never fit easily into mine. I would have created a Powerpoint, but instead I give you my list.

Reasons why it is hard to love Eliza:

1. Eliza has a Body Dismorphia problem that causes her to think that she is simultaneously able to get whatever she wants because she is gorgeous, and still the little fat girl that was ignored by her parents.
2. Her parents never ignored her. She's just an only child, with parents that drank a lot.
3. In a matter of the year or so, in which we have been broken up, she has fallen in "love" twice, and already been through a 9 month relationship.
4. I realize that she may have a completely different definition of "love" than I have.
5. Eliza has an ability to make me smile on the outside. Yet, not spark a piece of intellectual excitement. This dinner was no different.
6. Sleeping next to her was a reminder of why I never dreamed when I was with her.
7. I love my dreams.
8. She still, to this day, picks the worst friends and acquaintances.
9. The realization that I give fantastic advice to people I care about, and love, and deserve someone that will listen to it when they ask for it.
10. Her butt is still lacking. I know she's proud of it, but her face is so much more, and she doesn't realize it.
11. Take note: If you are doing something for the better of yourself and the world around you, it doesn't mean you have to remind everyone of the same.
12. Did I mention that she has already been in "love" twice? Hahahah

   Ok, So, this is the problem. I could easily list all the reasons it is easy to love her. I could. Easily. The love I feel for her is unfathomable, and has been since I first fell for her, and since we left each other's side. Yet, what good does that do.
  "You just can't let yourself be happy, can you?", she has said this too many times, and it sounds no different a year later in my truck. Here's the problem with that. I am happy. I am. I mean, life is never perfect, and sometimes contentedness is as close as you get to happy. I'll take that. I truly will. I can let myself be happy, and I do, often.
   Yet, let's be honest. This is nothing more than holiday blues, hitting her. It's happened before. Well, it hasn't hit me. I actually feel a little better. Especially after writing this. It has popped my psyche open to things that aren't even mentionable here. I'll leave this with quotes from two texts that I just got from a dear friend. Batting a problem around with someone completely removed from the situation, like exes coming out of the woodwork, is something I highly recommend.

"Because they are alone, and want the comfort of something great, they once possessed."

"They want to see that certain look that you get when you look at a woman. I have seen it, and craved it."

Thank you, Adrienne. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.



P.S. If anyone out there could get me off The Royal Tenenbaums soundtrack that would be very nice. Thank you.


  

Ocean Waves Recess

   The week progressed just as I thought it would. Four days of rest, three days of excess, and seven days of grasping for the straws behind my psyche. Waking up at 3am is clockwork to me. I'm not up too long, but it gives me just enough time to dole out a few sets of push ups and sit ups. Jeff watches me with a look of disgust that only a dog awakened by nonsense can give to you.
   "Listen Robert, I'm finally five years old. That's.....", dogs are not very good at math. "That makes me.....hmmmm...... thirty two?" See I told you. "I think we should talk, man to man."
   "First of all, I'm not even going to talk about your poor arithmetic skills. Yet, I will say, it's three in the morning, I'm trying to wear myself out, and obviously the "man to man" reference doesn't really work in this situation", I am this sarcastic, even to my dog.
   "You have good points, but I could also say, you are the one, in your briefs, holding a conversation with a dog." It is a really sad state of affairs when your mutt is dead fucking on point. Needless, to say, the push ups have ceased.
   "Ok, you have my undivided attention", I sigh as I roll over onto my back.
   "Robert, listen man, I keep trying to find a good way to bring this up, but I think I need to be direct", he has now switched into an oddly serious tone. Don't ask me what a dog's serious tone sounds like. It will just embarrass the both of us even further.
   "Ok, just spit it out", I sit up and we are nearly eye level now. Yes, I let him sleep on my bed. I mean, come on, he's a talking dog.
   "You've been single for what.....a year....year and a half now?"
   "Jeff! That is not entirely true. I mean Amalie. That was a few months, right?"
   "You know, I'm really wondering whether that relationship even counts", he said it. He really did.  
    "I don't want to discount her at all. Lovely girl. She truly was. Yet, was that really what we would call a 'relationship'? I mean, you gotta put yourself out there man."
    "Wait. What? I put myself out there", I'm starting to get a little insulted by this conversation.
    "Oh, I'm sorry, by yourself, I meant more than just your dick", my dog is well versed in the sarcasm, also. "Listen man, you gotta stop it with this wall building shit. Don't get me wrong. You really do...um......how can I say this.......play the 'man' role? But, you gotta be more giving with yourself."
   "Example?"
   "I need you to look me in the eyes for this", Jeff has turned dead serious.
   "Sure", I say with just a bit of uncertainty. I ease up on my knees. A lot is starting to sink in. It's three o clock in the morning. I'm in my underwear. Kneeling nose to nose, in front of my dog. Having an imaginary conversation about my relationship with women. This is not a high point in my life.
   We are now staring into each other's eyes.
   I've always found it weird how human his eyes are. They seem to come from another place. It, at times, has been unsettling, but for the most part, comforting. I can see his nostrils flaring with each breath. His little black lips are thin and a bit pouty. He lets out a small bark. It refocuses my attention on his eyes.
   "Robert, I want you to listen closely to me. You are wonderful. Not only the parts that you show people, but the parts you hide away. You are smart, and funny, and witty, and anyone can tell, no matter how much you hide it. You have a ton of love in your heart. I mean a fucking ton, man. I see it everyday. You can't ever stop hugging things. I think it's funny when you try to be all mean, and gruff. Because I see what your smile looks like when we wrestle around your bedroom. You're problem isn't that you love too little, and people think you're an asshole. You're problem is that you love so much, and it hurts people to watch you try to hide it. I know you have been hurt, and I know you want to do the same to everyone else. Yet, it's frustrating you even more because you can't. Just stop it. If I had arms I would hug you, but I don't. So, all I can do is this." With a quick motion his tongue hit me on the tip of nose.
   I buried my face in my hands and started to cry. I found myself at an odd crossroad. A dog. A stupid, furry, mangy, mutt had told me what no one else has had the balls to say. In that one little doggy kiss, he had broken down everything I had tried to build. A big, fucking, mean, black, sarcastic, wall. I looked up at his gorgeous, brown eyes. Tears soaking my face. There was only one thing I could say to him.
   "Who wants a tummy rub?"
   "Oh, oh, oh, oh, I do!!! I do!!!!!", he exclaimed.

 

 

  
  

My Favorite Game

It's called, "I Wonder if She is Thinking About me, As Much As I Am Thinking About Her?"