X-Ray Vision

Too much of the super serial.  I need to get back to the goofy, the evil, the world-conquering madness.  Like I talked about in one of my first posts, many moons ago, I have always had a penchant for evil motherfuckers.  Why are the bad guys so much more deliciously entertaining, and why do I ALWAYS inevitably root for them?  Probably because they are so much more human.  I hate to use Superman as an example, because he isn't human, but he's so flipping perfect that it's annoying.  He's nice and smart, and blah blah blah.  He has superpowers, and he uses them to save the world, and do good deeds, and get kittens out of trees.  No real person would do that.  They would just check out ladies in the locker room for awhile, and then go rob a bank.  Which is I'm pretty sure what villains do.  They have sweet lairs and death rays and check out chicks' boobs.  They have flaws, like anger and vengeance and greed and just plain homicidal crazytown.  I want to hug them all, and clink my gin martini against theirs, and cackle wildly.  They get to tell it like it is, and make the hero cry because he can't handle it.  Also lackeys!  I want lackeys!  I promise you, random internet readership, when my accounting prowess allows me to rise the ranks of political power and I become the lady that gets to sit on the Iron Throne, I will remember you.  And I'll have need of tons of lackeys.

(Speaking of evil geniuses, like myself, I'm gonna be an asshole and plug my friend's comic here.  It is absolutely brilliant.  The art is evolving at an exponential rate, the dialogue feels incredibly real, the characters are intricate, the story is about a fucking mad scientist.  What more could you want?  It's called String Theory, and it is dark and magical.  Go read it.)

This next piece is actually new.  I wrote it at the behest of a friend of mine who yelled at me for the last post I made, and told me to write something new, and gave me the topic of a recent encounter.  And while I thought it was wretched (thus the name), he told me it was "hot", and had "flair".  Anyway, I was sick and tired of being so dark and moody and godawful depressing in this blog, so I decided to post it.  Fuck it.  I can't be pretentious ALL the time.

hackhackhack

Like a kid on a tire swing, I am giddy and awkward.  The first touch is blue electricity, you make me into a slack-jawed moron.  My brain puts out the Away For Lunch sign, and all my movements become animal.  Sharpened shoulder blades and snarling lips.
Fourth of fucking July
Tiny explosions
Claws and teeth
An order, a command
Pulling hair, pushing the wall
A bright white flash!
Sticky spots on the carpet and the corners of my lips.  Grasping for air, searching for clothes.  Awkward again, but a satisfied sense of a cat licking his lips after a bowl of milk.  I stretch, and give him a high-five for his dick.

Mosquitoes

Aeee, over a month with no entries.  I am a terrible blogger.  I think once I realized that I had no more old shit to put up, and I had to start writing actual things again, I got terrified and hid my head in the sand.  Little girl.  Also for the last two weeks I've had what the doctors think is West Nile, but can't confirm without stupid expensive tests.  So mostly I've been sleeping and trying to get rid of crushing headaches.  My body is awesome.

I was thinking about it the other day (No, really?) and I don't think I've been capable of love for a very very long time.  I think the last few serious relationships I've had were more me trying to pretend that I could still feel.  And I don't say this in a dark gothy "my heart is black like my lipliner" kind of way.  It's just sort of a startling observation.  I think I've been a very broken woman.  Strike that, AM a very broken woman.  And I think that my inability to really let go and fall and feel and love has given me a very twisted and jaded sense of what sex should be.  Not that I think I'm alone in this, we as a nation are a very bitter people.  I guess I'm not real sure what the "right" way to think about sex is either.  I've tried all of the wrong ways.  I spent years using it as a weapon, and years avoiding it like a shack with a chainsaw killer inside.  For a while I was completely bored by it, and only put up with it as a person does their laundry.  I've been obsessed with it, and terrified of it.  I spent years only having "Oops, probably shouldn't have done that" sex. There have only been a few times ever that I have felt what I imagine normal people feel after sex.  Satisfied.  Ick-free.  Satiated?

So now what?  I mean this both in a metaphorical sense and a literal one.  How do I continue living with a broken sense of love and sex, and how do I end this post?  My brain has been a little too fuzzy since I've gotten sick to really write anything new, and since brain swelling is a symptom that things are getting worse, let's not push the pretentious.  I could just end this post without having a bit of... whatever at the end.  From the feedback I get, no one really likes that part anyway.  I have a piece from way back when that I wrote about my ambivalent feelings towards sex.  But it is some seriously dark shit.  And I'm feeling a tad judgy at myself right now for even having written it. Although, looking back a few posts ago, I had another bit of embarrassing nonsense, and I puffed my chest out and posted it anyway.

So yeah.  Because I hate being self-censoring and judgy, which are things I never wanted this blog to be, and things I always seem to find myself being, let's just do it anyway.  I'd apologize for how absurdly dark this piece is, but really, it's coming of age poetry, of COURSE it's dark.  I'll make it up to you guys (my vast readership in Russia and Malaysia) at some later date when I'm not quite so exhausted by everything.  I promise, I won't stop writing wordy pretentious pieces of metaphor anytime soon.  <3

Vacant

I'm just a rag doll
touch me, use me, abuse me
throw me out with yesterday's coffee grinds
twist my little legs into
your favorite position
I don't mind
just tell me what you like
And I'll try my damnedest to comply
Give me a time, a location
and E Inc. is on the job
and when you fill me up
and I'm motionless on your bed
pick me up and get me on my way
I have the world to please
Don't fret about my feelings
I have none anymore
I am a hollow shell
with soft warm places
for you to exploit
just tell me what you like
bend me, break me, bruise me
If I get sore, don't stop
my cries will only get louder
and I'll hold back my tears
so you don't lose your precious excitement
Impale me again
I can't say I'll like it
but I'll make sure you do
At your service
my legs are open