Bits and pieces

[neci]

warning processed
shaking leg
no one here
carry on

 

[_Milky_Whites_]

You, Y, may be the only thing that I still come back to Lit for. The sensual images, the mind fucks, the chaos. I'll never tire of it.

 

[DeepRedLips]

Shit... I even forgot to clarify my use of the term "limp-wristed". I just wanted to make it clear that it wasn't, and isn't my intention to offend homosexuals. If I happened to do so I seek your forgiveness.

I also seek to cleans my mind of hipster faggotry. For those wishing to reclaim their masculinity (gay or straight) please feel free to join me as I watch this short (and in a way, oddly seasonal) video.

I secretly (well, not so secretly now, is it?) love this song. I also love Wye Oak's cover of it even though it probably falls under your "limp-wristed" tirade. It's just interesting to see a chick cover Glenn Danzig.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4Q0CaV4Uuw&list=FLhw42XH2bjwXUqKQEIL7HAA&index=5&feature=plpp_video

 

[Honey123]

I am bumping your thread..since you were on top of me on the thread page.....

I should be on the third page..you should not.

step off, buddy.

 

[y=mx+b]

The night before group therapy day was always a kick to her crotch. Even after a year of the bullshit she found herself laying awake into the wee hours of the morning wondering why the fuck she continues on with it when it seems to be nothing more than a reminder of her failed marriage, and aging body... which gets her to thinking about nothing... but it's never really nothing. Sometimes it's about everything.

Sometimes that everything is about one of two things; her ex-husband, and being alone. Which usually ends up being two parts of one big thing, that's actually two other different things in-and-of-itself; loss, and emptiness. And it all keeps her up worrying if they'er going to make her cry or not. Which; when she does, reminds her why she's going to attend tomorrows meeting.

 

[Vixxennn]

The night before group therapy day was always a kick to her crotch. Even after a year of the bullshit she found herself laying awake into the wee hours of the morning wondering why the fuck she continues on with it when it seems to be nothing more than a reminder of her failed marriage, and aging body... which gets her to thinking about nothing... but it's never really nothing. Sometimes it's about everything.

Sometimes that everything is about one of two things; her ex-husband, and being alone. Which usually ends up being two parts of one big thing, that's actually two other different things in-and-of-itself; loss, and emptiness. And it all keeps her up worrying if they'er going to make her cry or not. Which; when she does, reminds her why she's going to attend tomorrows meeting.

This.... is me. I'm tempted to hate. I'm tempted to be disgusted by this girl. And I'm tempted to love her more than is necessary. But unfortunately (and fortunately), this is me.

 

[Vixxennn]

In addition to this, I've just seen this new icon...

Fuck you, with those shoulders.

You make it too hard for a girl.

 

[y=mx+b]

He woke up before the alarm went off and found himself looking at the young woman sleeping under the covers naked, one and a half body widths away.

Although it was the weekend he still liked to be up earlier than most.

Setting the alarm the night before seemed to have become more out of routine than necessity lately. Not that he gave it much thought until just then, which also seemed to be a convenient time for a bunch of other thoughts he never gave much thought to think about... to think about.

 

[y=mx+b]

"I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains..."​

James didn't so much wake up as much as he became aware that he was alert.

He didn't have to turn to see that the pillow and blankets where his wife would have been sleeping hadn't been disturbed.

Which is why he hated having to change the sheets and make the bed.


Part of him wanted to slide a leg over to her side and feel the crisp coolness of untouched sheets. His body wanted it. The urge seemed reminiscent of a childhood memory. Something he did to comfort himself after having moved away from home. Another little known comfort mothers pass on to their children that reaches far into their adulthood.

But he thought better of it even though it no longer mattered for the thought itself triggered what has become an all too familiar feeling of his sinuses preparing him for another breakdown.

His body had adapted to such an event and before his mind had a chance to recall the moment of Casey's death he found himself naked standing under the hot running water of the shower with an urgent need to piss; which he did, hands-free.

 

[y=mx+b]

The Break-Up Letter

I'm at a loss for words right now
and I feel profoundly foolish for having to be the one
to state what we both very much know needs to be stated
but I know the difficulty you would have
having to tell me what I already know

which is that it's over.


Now this is where I go on to point out all my faults
only to later justify them with examples of your own
thereby passing blame of failure onto you

but I'm not going to...
what would be the point?

the awareness I have of this (familiar) process pretty much
lays all blame on me.

We had a good go.
At least I like to think that we did.

I mean...
I fell in love with you
Which ultimately developed into a deep compassion for you...
into something
beyond first-glance desires to fuck and playful teasing.
We developed a language with our eyes
where a glance told the other it's time to go...
it's time to stop...
it's time to listen...
it's time to hold and caress and comfort...

and love.

I know we both want things to be different
but I also know we both know they never will be
...at least not for very long.

We've had our discussions in the past
and looking back I now see clearly that they were road signs pointing us in this direction.

So this is it?

Yes.


Though...
I wish
to
say
one
last thing...


I stopped for a moment the other day to really look at you...
really look at you...
outside of myself
outside of my emotions
outside of the relationship that we've had
outside of the memories
...and heartache
...and tears
...and hungry wantoning desires
...as a stranger I best could make myself be
and found myself wishing I had the same composure I had when I first asked you out.


Anyway... the clock says 4:01a.m. and my heart is now trying to find away to get my mind to not give up on us... but it's time.

 

[y=mx+b]

I remember her from back then

she didn't think she did
but she did
the photos shows it.

They are all on the internet

the site was secure but it wasn't
and now she'll never make it much past middle management
at least not with out doing some "special favors"

but women these days seemed to have lost a certain something or another.

then again, so have the men.

It's sorta like a reverse evolution

Wasn't there a time when the ideal was to become an upstanding citizen?
I'm not talking about some bullshit notion of religious ideals... or prim and proper Victorian era etiquette model... or fuck... even the Leave it to Beaver notions of nuclear family blah d'blah... but wasn't there something?

What is there now? What's the ideal upstanding citizen? What is it that we strive fore... today... right now... in this lifetime of you and I?

I'm drawing a blank.

Seriously... who the fuck do you look up to that's still alive? And don't give me the fall-back weak response of "my father/mother/brother/sister/etc..." Are you dignified enough to be looked up to? To have your footsteps followed? Do you even want someone to follow them? Can you imagine it?

I'm going to give you fucks the fall back response of my father. fuck... throw the dead one in there as well even though I don't know him. My dad's old as fuck and poor as fuck, worked as a general contractor all his fucking life, been duped a number of times by real estate partners, divorced twice, before meeting my mom, took her and the three of us boys in seemingly sight unseen, and forwent producing children of his own. I've seen the man fall off scaffolding at a job site, tear... tear his goddamn rotator cuff... shoulder out of fucking socket... climb back up up the scaffolding and finish laying a the two rows of fucking 14 inch cinder block he was working on ONE FUCKING HANDED. Few years later what happens? same goddamn thing... but this time to the OTHER FUCKING SHOULDER. I never saw the man smoke, he's never been shitfaced drunk, never called any of us idiots or fuckhead or bastards or said the only reason why he sticks around is because our mom's a good solid fuck. Only actually saw him get pissed and lose his shit once... which, coincidentally involved a cinder block that simply would not set right causing him to take hold of it, hold it over his head like it was a goddamn basketball and throw the thing saying something along the lines of "FUCK YA, YA PIG-FUCKING, MOTHERFUCKING, COCKSUCKER!" and the thing flew like it had 20 maxi-pads for wings then tumbled its way down into the lake where I am certain it still is. And sweet jesus the number of nails striking unseen knots in the lumber thereby errantly changing the proper trajectory of them into his hand and fingers since the advent of the power-nailer...

Diabetic, cadaver parts in his neck, shoulder muscles torn so many times that he can no longer raise either arm above his head, carpal tunnel syndrome, abscessed teeth because... what the fucks dental insurance? (but seriously stand up wind when you're talking to him... which makes it all the more sad really because he's a nice guy), old as fuck, born poor, will die poor, and hopes to do so at work or out hunting, because that's all he's got where he won't have to see much of anyone fall into grief when it happens.

fucking FIN.

 

[Vixxennn]

I remember her from back then

she didn't think she did
but she did
the photos shows it.

They are all on the internet

the site was secure but it wasn't
and now she'll never make it much past middle management
at least not with out doing some "special favors"

but women these days seemed to have lost a certain something or another.

then again, so have the men.

It's sorta like a reverse evolution

Wasn't there a time when the ideal was to become an upstanding citizen?
I'm not talking about some bullshit notion of religious ideals... or prim and proper Victorian era etiquette model... or fuck... even the Leave it to Beaver notions of nuclear family blah d'blah... but wasn't there something?

What is there now? What's the ideal upstanding citizen? What is it that we strive fore... today... right now... in this lifetime of you and I?

I'm drawing a blank.

Seriously... who the fuck do you look up to that's still alive? And don't give me the fall-back weak response of "my father/mother/brother/sister/etc..." Are you dignified enough to be looked up to? To have your footsteps followed? Do you even want someone to follow them? Can you imagine it?

I'm going to give you fucks the fall back response of my father. fuck... throw the dead one in there as well even though I don't know him. My dad's old as fuck and poor as fuck, worked as a general contractor all his fucking life, been duped a number of times by real estate partners, divorced twice, before meeting my mom, took her and the three of us boys in seemingly sight unseen, and forwent producing children of his own. I've seen the man fall off scaffolding at a job site, tear... tear his goddamn rotator cuff... shoulder out of fucking socket... climb back up up the scaffolding and finish laying a the two rows of fucking 14 inch cinder block he was working on ONE FUCKING HANDED. Few years later what happens? same goddamn thing... but this time to the OTHER FUCKING SHOULDER. I never saw the man smoke, he's never been shitfaced drunk, never called any of us idiots or fuckhead or bastards or said the only reason why he sticks around is because our mom's a good solid fuck. Only actually saw him get pissed and lose his shit once... which, coincidentally involved a cinder block that simply would not set right causing him to take hold of it, hold it over his head like it was a goddamn basketball and throw the thing saying something along the lines of "FUCK YA, YA PIG-FUCKING, MOTHERFUCKING, COCKSUCKER!" and the thing flew like it had 20 maxi-pads for wings then tumbled its way down into the lake where I am certain it still is. And sweet jesus the number of nails striking unseen knots in the lumber thereby errantly changing the proper trajectory of them into his hand and fingers since the advent of the power-nailer...

Diabetic, cadaver parts in his neck, shoulder muscles torn so many times that he can no longer raise either arm above his head, carpal tunnel syndrome, abscessed teeth because... what the fucks dental insurance? (but seriously stand up wind when you're talking to him... which makes it all the more sad really because he's a nice guy), old as fuck, born poor, will die poor, and hopes to do so at work or out hunting, because that's all he's got where he won't have to see much of anyone fall into grief when it happens.

fucking FIN.

This is sweet. I realize that probably isn't the response you were expecting but it's true.

 

[_Milky_Whites_]

When a writer elicits certain thoughts and emotions, well, thats a true writer. I adore you, Y. Even when you make me sad instead of turned on.

 

[y=mx+b]

Wood​

In all honesty the idea of sharing her husband with another man caused her to feel ill inside when he brought it up years ago. Of course how he phrased the proposal was different as to how she heard it. He rather diplomatically expressed his interest of sharing her with another man... which admittedly she was 100% behind though never fully gave the impression. But there was a qualifier to the proposal leading her to conclude with certainty that she wouldn't be the center of attention as she had always been... in the shower... soaped up between two fuck-stud men... as dictated by her fantasies.

It wasn't that she attributed the such as being homosexual, and even if she did, she wouldn't be opposed to it... as long as her husband wasn't one of the two men.

She acknowledged the double-standard. After all she was also all for establishing a sexual relationship with a few other couples throughout the last number of years... ones where she was all up and eager to divide the "Y" of another woman should she express such interest; or curiosity, and never turned down the opportunity to receive... particularly from those that had no problem giving but had a major hang-up about looking down her body and seeing a woman between her legs rather than a man.

And such was the case regarding her husband. The thought of seeing him touch and be touched, suck and be sucked, and *shudder* fuck and be fucked by another man simply wasn't something she could bring herself to allow happen...


at the time.

 

[Sweetone70]

you astound me sometimes sir...so much talent...and looks too
thank you...as always...for sharing

 

[AG82]

What to me really makes good writing (and therefor good reading) is empathy - the writers ability to really take on the emotions and thoughts of the characters....And you are a very empathic man - sorry if that ruins you bad boy cover....

 

[shadysmurfette]

What to me really makes good writing (and therefor good reading) is empathy - the writers ability to really take on the emotions and thoughts of the characters....And you are a very empathic man - sorry if that ruins you bad boy cover....

The regular visitors know better. He is a total sweetheart.

 

[AG82]

The regular visitors know better. He is a total sweetheart.

Yeah I figured that much by now Which maked the scowling 'dont get close'- attitute even cuter!

 

[McKenna]

How many will be enough?

 

[auslittaketwo]

Where did you (where did you) go (gooo) my lovely? Ba da da da da dummm Where did you gooo?

 

[y=mx+b]

I've been wondering...

how I'd come back when I came back
what I'd say
or share.

how I would incorporate things into thoughts into letters into words into sentences, paragraphs...

should I even?
or should I skip over, move on, carry on, and do what I could to forget what I can't forget yet fear the day that I do?

I came back as I do... pondering wordery circling the skies above looking down upon those looking up trying to make sense; wondering what and why, or at the very least, when.

Read what you can and they will whisper into your ear that I am tired; not just tired, but worn out, beat down... mentally, emotionally, creatively, physically... spiritually.

Run ragged by events, by experiences, by life and love
and hurt when I was on my way to hurting already
but not fake hurt that for reasons unknown seep into me when there is no need...
but real hurt when hurt is needed and hurt is felt in the heart and not the head.
Organic hurt
the kind that pulls beautifully in movies and in books and in message boards and blogs where readers who want will work what they can to make out what they can't but have an idea and make attempted offers of understanding and comfort and claim a role in another individuals encyclopedia dramatica... even if only as a footnote.

Elegant isn't it?





I have 499 messages in my PM box. I am not responding. I am not emptying. It's been a long time coming and it is finally here. The last two individuals that got me to this point...


1) you shouldn't be unless you cannot help to be. yes, I know who you are.

2) did they help me come out of my reclusive state? they were appreciated... as are you.

 

[Vixxennn]

how I'd come back when I came back
what I'd say
or share.

how I would incorporate things into thoughts into letters into words into sentences, paragraphs...

should I even?
or should I skip over, move on, carry on, and do what I could to forget what I can't forget yet fear the day that I do?

I came back as I do... pondering wordery circling the skies above looking down upon those looking up trying to make sense; wondering what and why, or at the very least, when.

Read what you can and they will whisper into your ear that I am tired; not just tired, but worn out, beat down... mentally, emotionally, creatively, physically... spiritually.

Run ragged by events, by experiences, by life and love
and hurt when I was on my way to hurting already
but not fake hurt that for reasons unknown seep into me when there is no need...
but real hurt when hurt is needed and hurt is felt in the heart and not the head.
Organic hurt
the kind that pulls beautifully in movies and in books and in message boards and blogs where readers who want will work what they can to make out what they can't but have an idea and make attempted offers of understanding and comfort and claim a role in another individuals encyclopedia dramatica... even if only as a footnote.

Elegant isn't it?





I have 499 messages in my PM box. I am not responding. I am not emptying. It's been a long time coming and it is finally here. The last two individuals that got me to this point...


1) you shouldn't be unless you cannot help to be. yes, I know who you are.

2) did they help me come out of my reclusive state? they were appreciated... as are you.

I'm in love with your words.

 

[AG82]

Sometimes, your words set my my mood for the day - today: melancholia!
I wish my words were that powerful.

I was glad to see you back, but I hope you will bring other moods with you as well.

 

[shadysmurfette]

Hello sir,

I am pleased to see your return. I hope this trend continues.

Your writing made me wonder about many things.......

 

[auslittaketwo]

First and foremost I'm sorry to hear you're in pain.

Secondly, I'm sorry I had something to do with you not emptying or replying but I also think it's slightly fitting.

Thirdly, if you're at all spiritual, know that this is the right time for you to be going through what you're going through and there's a reason for it.

Glad you're hear, sad that you're hurting. Kisses and a snuggle if you'll take it xoxox