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The drunken desperation of sex on booze

Posted on 2009.02.10 at 06:46
The true core of having drunken sex is to understand that you're absolutely numb, and that the feelings you're feeling are completely and utterly psychological.

The numbness of booze starts in your nose, and radiates to your entire body, leaving nary a cell or molecule untouched and unmolested by its glorious blanket of unfeeling intoxication.
In the time it took you to pick up that chick you've been looking at all night, youre drunk, and so is she. Its the shared numbeness that brings you together, and you love every second of it.
You reach out with bloodless fingers and remover her top, and with blinded eyes you appreciate the sight before you, 120 pounds of alcohol marinated meat, writhing and twisting beneath the caresses of her lover, a specter that you cant see, even in you inebriated state.

"Let me take over baby" you whisper into her ears,as your hands find their way to her waist, and your lips to her neck.The moans that escape her mouth echo in your hearing,between the space destroyed by the speakers in that club and the region of sounds given to bats and dolphins.
A low guttural yowl escapes her mouth, and without patience or pretense you plug it up with your lips tongue teeth.

In the final moments of your memory playback, you direct her delicate fingers to the clasp on your pants, and then the film in your mind skips a few frames.

All you remember is waking up the next morning, with a mouth tasting like turtle poo, and a head ringing like a fire alarm.
And all that's left from the night before is the smeared lipstick on your dick and the ringing in your head.
And you're grateful for that.

Dreams are hard work

Posted on 2008.12.15 at 05:03
Ive been told by people that I dream too much, that I put too much stock into aspirations and day dreams. And too a certain extent, I agree wholeheartedly. I do dream a lot, I get lost in my thoughts more often than I care to remember.

But more and more, I get the feeling that certain dreams aren't achievable no matter how hard you try. A person will be captured by obligations, and responsibilities, and dragged to the ground, kicking and screaming, as he watches his one purpose in life fly away without him.
This image has been stinking up my mind with fear and self doubt.

I have a dream of wandering, traveling, getting lost, and disappearing. In that order.

So I wonder, can I dodge, avoid and otherwise escape these obligations?
With careful and meticulous planning, maybe.

I need to avoid falling in love, I cant buy a house, I can't rack up too much debt, I can't get injured or sick, I can't let anyone become dependent on me, and vice versa, and I need to save up a metric fuck ton of cash.

Easy as kittens.

But how does one avoid falling in love? If it isn't obvious already, I am an extremely hopeless romantic, so this point provides a particularly difficult challenge for me.
I could avoid all relationships for the next 5 years, but that would just make me a very sad man. I could compartmentalize my emotions...fat chance. Or I could just fuck around, avoid emotional commitment where possible.

Fuck it all.

Its hard for me to think these days, to link threads of perception to those of revelation and realization, where once it was so easy for me, to just take a deep breath in an empty field and know that I would have answers by the time I finished exhaling.

Is this the death of my mind?
Or is the complexity of my problems slowly growing?
The latter.

This internship has made a whole new world of issues, doubts and regrets burst out of me like an arterial bleed. Realizing that I am barely a microscopic speck in the big picture was something I needed, something I had been waiting for. Just a brief glimpse into the wide world, to know how big you really are. This new perspective has been a blessing, and it has been a hard one to accept.

Ive been rambling, I apologize.

back to the matter at hand. Can I avoid all obligations and responsibilities that could tie me down to this place?


is it going to be hard?

Fuck yeah.

Is it going to be worth it?

God willing.

And with that, this entry is ended.

Working hard or hardly working

Posted on 2008.11.04 at 13:28
Working hard or hardly working. When I’m in the office, dumb work jokes like these keep popping into my head. And I take it as a symptom of one thing. One, I’m finally here, in the working world, and my mind is mocking my body and brain, mocking the ease at which I allowed myself to be assimilated into the rat race. And I retort, advertising is as relaxed and creative a rat race as there is. Where else could one write all day, and be paid for it. I sit down with other funky people, and we wax innovation and creativity. We talk about ideas, and wonderful dreams. And then we turn the intangible thoughts into paper and spoken word. It’s an invigorating profession.

I can honestly see myself doing this for a good long time, and loving it.

And one day, when I’m content with my legacy, when I’ve left behind enough to satisfy society, I’ll walk away. I’ll walk around the world; I’ll walk into the dreams of the world. And I’ll see it all.

The end justifies the means. In this case, the means is just as important as the ends. This industry might break me, it might make me cynical and jaded, but not without a fight. And if I survive, I’ll be better for it.

Locked in a photograph

Posted on 2008.10.18 at 05:43
There is a girl, as there always is with me. and she lives in a special place, in a special time, locked in a photograph.
This girl lived in a dream, as the best ones always do.

This girl was real, but I loved her in my dreams, and only in my dreams. In the real world, I couldn't stand her, she made me angry, and I her voice felt to me like cats being gutted.

But god, i was in love with her

So this girl, in my dream once told me that if I ever took a picture of her, the real her, I could keep her forever. Sealed away in this place within my skull, to relive and relove till eternity burned the stars away.

I took the picture, in some vain insane hope. The hope of madmen. But after the first day, I realized that she was all I could dream about.

So I took the picture in my hand, and with my cigarette I burned it away, piece by piece. And in my head her screams resonated, her screams burned away all of me. and I was left there an empty shell, with a burnt piece of paper in my hand, and ash around my feet.

This girl, in my dream, doesn't exist anymore, and I feel like a murderer. I murdered a dream, one who came only to me, in my darkest hours.

And with the same vain hope, I wished upon all that I could undo it, I wish maybe I could have fallen into that dream and never have woken up.

A madmens hope.

new pages from the good book

Posted on 2008.08.13 at 05:32
Too lazy to type anything. So here are some journal scans.

scansiaCollapse )

Posted on 2008.08.02 at 05:25
I realized something,I enjoy being alone.
Dont get me wrong, I enjoy the company of my friends immensely, I love partying and just chilling over a cold drink, but I dont mind being alone. I know people who cant stand being alone, I cant recall more than a few people who enjoy it as much as I do.

Solitude doesn't mean loneliness, i guess thats what Im trying to say. At least for me, because Ive always got a running dialog in my head, with whatever embodiment of my mind sees fit to respond to me.

Solitude to me means not having to be ashamed, not having to be self conscious, not having to lie. Being alone is a blissful respite from the expectations and obligations to the world and its people. I feel more secure when I'm alone more than any other time I bother to recall.

I remember having a dream, one of the earliest i remember having, where Im walking in an endless void, I remember thinking in that dream that this void was amazing, and beautiful. I guess my mind always knew that I would be here at this point in my life. My mind always knew that I would encounter a time where I would not have a choice but to accept being alone, and it steeled itself for the long winter.

There is such a beautiful melancholy to this realization of mine, so much so that I am happy to have stumbled upon it.

I like being alone. And that is all that is keeping me afloat in this beautiful void.

Posted on 2008.07.12 at 06:12
Current Music: John Mayer - Gravity
I guess this is the first real journal type entry Ive done in a while. Where to start.

Start again at the beginningCollapse )

I guess I dont really feel the need to write in here as much about life and shit. I scribble enough of it in my paper journal that whats left feels unworthy of a post.

But Ill try to keep writing as much as i can, now that my constipation level writers block has died. I think Ive identified a style Im comfortable with, Im trying to meld Haruki Murakami's flowing poetry-like prose with Neil Gaiman-ish character concepts and dialogue styles. Yea, thats not gonna be hard.


Posted on 2008.07.03 at 02:23
If I have to die, I want to do it on an old boat, floating effortlessly on the Pacific Ocean. I will build it with my own hands, this funeral boat. It won’t matter that I will be alone, it only matters that I will be there, on the brink of eternity, with nothing around me but what my mind makes of the world. I will have the eternal blanket of stars to cover my dead body, and I will have the rocking of the ocean to put me to eternal sleep. I will have the lullaby of the sea, the song of whales and birds to still my soul forever. I want, if even for a moment to be in a moment of absolute peace, even if that moment is the moment of my death. Life has too long denied me this peace, and I will find it in death.


Posted on 2008.07.03 at 02:23
When the sun sets, and the night falls, I find it hard to imagine that I am living in the same world that I was in when I woke up. The world I woke too was bright, and loud, and filled with life, and the world at dusk becomes a magical place, and stays that way till I wake again. I see in the night unlimited possibilities for life. In the dark corners, under the brown light street lamps, and in all the places that people avoid. Darkness is the secret to the human soul, light is transparent, light is known and understood, but darkness is infinite, and beautiful. Darkness is so heavy it can be felt, it can be seen, it can be touched.

When I wake to the dark world, I walk aimlessly, music playing in my ears. I hop from oasis to oasis, noticing the absence of life, except in the small pockets of light. I shun these places and wander the dark. I see homes, warm homes, abandoned homes, and I imagine asking them if they would follow me, leave the light and travel the darkness for one night.

And finally the darkness holds stars, o how they shine. The infinite dark, and the infinite night sky with its blanket of eternal unblinking beauty. If I’m lucky I see the hole in the sky, a perfect circle of nothingness, and my eyes tear, and my tears reflect the most amazing sight in the world.

Till the sun comes again, I will cherish the night. Gods gift to me, and me alone


Posted on 2008.07.03 at 02:23
I painted the wall with chalkboard paint. To leave messages to myself, to let others leave messages to me, or at least to give myself the dream of other people caring enough to talk to me on this wall.
I came home one day, and the message was there, from someone I don’t know, and it asked me “Who are you?” I left it alone, and walked backwards; I left my room, telling myself it’s a dream.
I returned, and the chalk scrapings described the girl of my dreams, in meticulous detail, in flowing verse, in beautiful sonnets. The wall said, “This is me”
I nervously picked up a bit of chalk, and in shaky handwriting wrote out the me that resided within my heart , I shared my dream of meeting her, of waking up with her, and letting the morning sun turn darkness into the world. “I love you” was what I wrote at the bottom of the words.
I slept that night with my body pressed against the wall, imagining it was her, and that she somewhere was doing the same the wall that faced her. I could feel warmth, alongside the cold of the night; I could feel warmth on my flesh that touched the wall.
She told me later that she never existed, that she never will exist. That this was all a dream. Finally she wrote, “When you wake up, I will die”
And I did.

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