MojoX
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2004
- Posts
- 395
This has always been sort of an erotic story to me...maybe not to you...
The Singer
I have finally been brought together. My life has always been a plethora of singularities … miniscule pieces that are completely independent of each other and yet somehow related. I have had many thoughts before, but never a complete thought. I do not know where my pieces are from, or even what they have done. I am not even sure if I am a core with pieces missing, or if I am no more than one of the pieces. I call them pieces as if they are separate entities from myself. This is not quite correct. I have learned that they are all part of me, so they are no longer separate objects with separate thoughts. All of the pieces have been placed together and the separate thoughts now mold together to form a single thought. That thought is what I feel…so I must be the pieces. Previously, I believed I was experiencing thoughts, but they were very random and incomplete. There was no concept to build upon. But I still am unsure as to what these thoughts…or feelings…are supposed to do. They appear to be relatively useless. The conceptualization of what would appear to be a simulation of emotion does not present itself with a purpose, as of yet.
These curves and outstretches are rather smooth, almost to the pont of sensuality. I do not know what the purpose is, and if there is one, is it for practicality? My neck is quite long, stretching out as if trying to obtain an infinite outreach. I am compelled to extend it out for all to see, and to feel. I am still unaware of the purpose of my existence…what I am supposed to do…but it feels like I am supposed to be here. It is as if my existence has always been expected, and it was simply a matter of time until my parts were ready. I am not finished, though. My surface is rough and my thoughts continue to be somewhat unconnected. I must still be missing some pieces. It is time for my thoughts to stop for a while. I have been placed in a smooth bed. Clearly I am worth someone's time and consideration. Perhaps I will find out tomorrow.
I have grown impatient. Time is a new concept. It is very interesting, but also quite aggravating because along with the concept of linear time comes the obligation to wait for it to pass. My thoughts wander aimlessly and refuse to connect. Concentration is low. I have grown tired again, so I will sleep.
Finally! The objects which have been bringing me together have come back for me. I am more anxious than ever to learn more about myself and what my purpose is. Hopefully, these constructors will provide me with enough links to complete my awareness.
At last I feel complete. I am no longer pieces strewn across my tiny universe, but a network of thoughts designed to work together and exist as a unit. I have become a singleton. An organism separate from all others. I can feel my long veins of steel running the length of my hardened neck. My curves are vibrant with an infinite set of echoes brought forth by the quietest breeze. These exceptionally subtle tones twist around my insides and eventually find their way out to freedom through a single escape route with a joyous but almost silent explosion. Everything feels so smooth and clear. I can almost feel my veins pulsating, but they do not move or vibrate. Perhaps it is their wish to quiver that I feel.
The hands which have shaped and molded my shell and pulled me together are present. They are rubbing me, and caressing me. They know why I am here. The purpose of my existence is known by these hands. As they massage my curves, I feel an intense urge to speak out. While they move across my neck, I find myself experiencing such a strong desire to speak that the irritation of my forced silence is beginning to overtake me. My veins are exceptionally angry. The hands are teasing us. I want to scream at them, but I do not know how. The suppression is demeaning and self-damaging. They have no right to do this. The hands know what the truth is about my existence. I need to express myself, but I am not permitted to do this.
Ah, but now I hear something. The hands have stopped moving randomly. They seem to be very organized, now. My entire neck and soul vibrate with heavenly patterns that coincide and work together to produce a sound that would soothe the most impure entity. I can feel the sounds as they race down my veins as if their very existences depended on it and then fight to fill the void within myself. The fingers move across my neck and place pressure in a variety of areas. Each time this happens, I seem to feel a different surge of patterns. A new sound, and a wonderfully new sensation every time. I now know what my purpose is…it is to speak. I must take the information given to me and enhance it so that everyone may absorb and interpret these sensations. But it must not be the same for everyone. I will never speak to anyone else the way I have sung with the hands that so carefully chose my pieces. Perhaps I will never sing for anyone else at all, but at the very least not in the same way as I do for these hands which are caressing me, now. No one else has earned that right.
Life has been so wonderful. In such a short time since completeness, I have learned what I am, and that I am here to sing forever. The hands have moved across my body and soul as if they have wanted to become a part of me. We work together and sing together as if we are showing life that we understand that this is our purpose. We are integrating. Unfortunately, I have been experiencing impatience again and even fear. The hands have not made me sing for a while. It is confusing. Why would I be brought into this world with such glamour just to be ignored? I guess I am a little jealous of what I had just a short time ago. Perhaps the hands are just too busy. I will find out soon. Until then I will just rest in my case, and dream of singing.
At last…after what felt to be an eternity, the hands have taken me back. I hope I never do again whatever I did to drive the hands away. The loneliness was frightening, but I was also bordering anger. I am tempted to refuse to sing for a while, but I have waited for so long. It would be foolish to give up this opportunity out of spite. I will sing….
This is completely wrong. These are the wrong hands. Why have I been given to this stranger? They are cold and unfeeling. The hands touch as if involved in a medical exam – not passion. I will not sing for them. I cannot sing for them! Where are they going? How can I be given this life, and then to be given away by the one who has given that life to me? Is there nothing I can do? I have been abandoned…I am now lost.
These new hands do not understand what notes I sing. They do not know how to touch me. Is it true that one is better off losing a love than having never loved? I am so grateful for what I had…it has changed my life forever in a way that the hands will never know. But I must wonder if it is worth the pain of loss for my soul to be enhanced. Had the love never existed, would I not have just continued in contentment? At what point does the result outweigh the sacrifice? The pain these new hands bring only exists due to the enlightenment the previous hands had provided. What must I do to get them to stop this abuse? It is so painful. Perhaps I should not be so resistant. Perhaps I can help them just a little. It will not be a lot of help, but I cannot endure this much mistreatment and punishment. I will open my veins a little. I will sing just a little in order to assist them.
I must admit that once I began to help the hands rather than resist them, my voice began to sound and feel much more clear. I feel that we are now working together more. This has helped the hands gain some confidence. Their movements are now much more complete. The grip around my neck is stronger and developing grace. I no longer have to concentrate so hard to sing with them. Perhaps I can stay for a while and sing.
The hands and I continue to integrate. I can sense their loyalty and truly appreciate it. As time continues and we help each other sing, I have found myself admiring the same qualities in these hands that I once loved in another. We now flow together such as a leaf in a stream. We are natural. It requires no effort to sing, and the relaxation which is produced diminishes my regrets when it is time to stop. The echoes never die within my soul. I have had to learn to make the hands of the past a part of my present. Although I will always miss them, I feel that I am now a better entity because of what I once had. I do sometimes wonder how those hands feel. Have they forgotten me? Are they better off? Happier? Perhaps the answers would do no more than sadden me. There is a very special place within me that no one knows about that belongs to the hands. My soul will forever embrace them. Every song I sing has a part of them within it. Perhaps life would have been easier without ever having them, but it would certainly have had less meaning.
….
The Singer
I have finally been brought together. My life has always been a plethora of singularities … miniscule pieces that are completely independent of each other and yet somehow related. I have had many thoughts before, but never a complete thought. I do not know where my pieces are from, or even what they have done. I am not even sure if I am a core with pieces missing, or if I am no more than one of the pieces. I call them pieces as if they are separate entities from myself. This is not quite correct. I have learned that they are all part of me, so they are no longer separate objects with separate thoughts. All of the pieces have been placed together and the separate thoughts now mold together to form a single thought. That thought is what I feel…so I must be the pieces. Previously, I believed I was experiencing thoughts, but they were very random and incomplete. There was no concept to build upon. But I still am unsure as to what these thoughts…or feelings…are supposed to do. They appear to be relatively useless. The conceptualization of what would appear to be a simulation of emotion does not present itself with a purpose, as of yet.
These curves and outstretches are rather smooth, almost to the pont of sensuality. I do not know what the purpose is, and if there is one, is it for practicality? My neck is quite long, stretching out as if trying to obtain an infinite outreach. I am compelled to extend it out for all to see, and to feel. I am still unaware of the purpose of my existence…what I am supposed to do…but it feels like I am supposed to be here. It is as if my existence has always been expected, and it was simply a matter of time until my parts were ready. I am not finished, though. My surface is rough and my thoughts continue to be somewhat unconnected. I must still be missing some pieces. It is time for my thoughts to stop for a while. I have been placed in a smooth bed. Clearly I am worth someone's time and consideration. Perhaps I will find out tomorrow.
I have grown impatient. Time is a new concept. It is very interesting, but also quite aggravating because along with the concept of linear time comes the obligation to wait for it to pass. My thoughts wander aimlessly and refuse to connect. Concentration is low. I have grown tired again, so I will sleep.
Finally! The objects which have been bringing me together have come back for me. I am more anxious than ever to learn more about myself and what my purpose is. Hopefully, these constructors will provide me with enough links to complete my awareness.
At last I feel complete. I am no longer pieces strewn across my tiny universe, but a network of thoughts designed to work together and exist as a unit. I have become a singleton. An organism separate from all others. I can feel my long veins of steel running the length of my hardened neck. My curves are vibrant with an infinite set of echoes brought forth by the quietest breeze. These exceptionally subtle tones twist around my insides and eventually find their way out to freedom through a single escape route with a joyous but almost silent explosion. Everything feels so smooth and clear. I can almost feel my veins pulsating, but they do not move or vibrate. Perhaps it is their wish to quiver that I feel.
The hands which have shaped and molded my shell and pulled me together are present. They are rubbing me, and caressing me. They know why I am here. The purpose of my existence is known by these hands. As they massage my curves, I feel an intense urge to speak out. While they move across my neck, I find myself experiencing such a strong desire to speak that the irritation of my forced silence is beginning to overtake me. My veins are exceptionally angry. The hands are teasing us. I want to scream at them, but I do not know how. The suppression is demeaning and self-damaging. They have no right to do this. The hands know what the truth is about my existence. I need to express myself, but I am not permitted to do this.
Ah, but now I hear something. The hands have stopped moving randomly. They seem to be very organized, now. My entire neck and soul vibrate with heavenly patterns that coincide and work together to produce a sound that would soothe the most impure entity. I can feel the sounds as they race down my veins as if their very existences depended on it and then fight to fill the void within myself. The fingers move across my neck and place pressure in a variety of areas. Each time this happens, I seem to feel a different surge of patterns. A new sound, and a wonderfully new sensation every time. I now know what my purpose is…it is to speak. I must take the information given to me and enhance it so that everyone may absorb and interpret these sensations. But it must not be the same for everyone. I will never speak to anyone else the way I have sung with the hands that so carefully chose my pieces. Perhaps I will never sing for anyone else at all, but at the very least not in the same way as I do for these hands which are caressing me, now. No one else has earned that right.
Life has been so wonderful. In such a short time since completeness, I have learned what I am, and that I am here to sing forever. The hands have moved across my body and soul as if they have wanted to become a part of me. We work together and sing together as if we are showing life that we understand that this is our purpose. We are integrating. Unfortunately, I have been experiencing impatience again and even fear. The hands have not made me sing for a while. It is confusing. Why would I be brought into this world with such glamour just to be ignored? I guess I am a little jealous of what I had just a short time ago. Perhaps the hands are just too busy. I will find out soon. Until then I will just rest in my case, and dream of singing.
At last…after what felt to be an eternity, the hands have taken me back. I hope I never do again whatever I did to drive the hands away. The loneliness was frightening, but I was also bordering anger. I am tempted to refuse to sing for a while, but I have waited for so long. It would be foolish to give up this opportunity out of spite. I will sing….
This is completely wrong. These are the wrong hands. Why have I been given to this stranger? They are cold and unfeeling. The hands touch as if involved in a medical exam – not passion. I will not sing for them. I cannot sing for them! Where are they going? How can I be given this life, and then to be given away by the one who has given that life to me? Is there nothing I can do? I have been abandoned…I am now lost.
These new hands do not understand what notes I sing. They do not know how to touch me. Is it true that one is better off losing a love than having never loved? I am so grateful for what I had…it has changed my life forever in a way that the hands will never know. But I must wonder if it is worth the pain of loss for my soul to be enhanced. Had the love never existed, would I not have just continued in contentment? At what point does the result outweigh the sacrifice? The pain these new hands bring only exists due to the enlightenment the previous hands had provided. What must I do to get them to stop this abuse? It is so painful. Perhaps I should not be so resistant. Perhaps I can help them just a little. It will not be a lot of help, but I cannot endure this much mistreatment and punishment. I will open my veins a little. I will sing just a little in order to assist them.
I must admit that once I began to help the hands rather than resist them, my voice began to sound and feel much more clear. I feel that we are now working together more. This has helped the hands gain some confidence. Their movements are now much more complete. The grip around my neck is stronger and developing grace. I no longer have to concentrate so hard to sing with them. Perhaps I can stay for a while and sing.
The hands and I continue to integrate. I can sense their loyalty and truly appreciate it. As time continues and we help each other sing, I have found myself admiring the same qualities in these hands that I once loved in another. We now flow together such as a leaf in a stream. We are natural. It requires no effort to sing, and the relaxation which is produced diminishes my regrets when it is time to stop. The echoes never die within my soul. I have had to learn to make the hands of the past a part of my present. Although I will always miss them, I feel that I am now a better entity because of what I once had. I do sometimes wonder how those hands feel. Have they forgotten me? Are they better off? Happier? Perhaps the answers would do no more than sadden me. There is a very special place within me that no one knows about that belongs to the hands. My soul will forever embrace them. Every song I sing has a part of them within it. Perhaps life would have been easier without ever having them, but it would certainly have had less meaning.
….
