Write, Alright

I consumed a cool four beers this evening, while my colleague and roommate and best friend visited the climbing gym with his girlfriend. I declined the invitation in favor of reading, though I didn’t read. No. I reflected. I wish I read, but I instead drank, and rested my eyes while allowing my thoughts to germinate and froth, and project fresh imaginings onto the back of my eyelids, onto the canopy of consciousness that envelops the senses when I escape the lucid ligatures of open eyes. I creep inward, towards myself, and begin to dig deep, begin to run my fingernails along the corners of this vague sensation, these memories, these crystalline landscapes of feeling, and begin to pull, until my nails stress and crack, and the pain electrifies the dullness into wakefulness, and I can feel again. This is the aim.

I laid on the couch. I purred to myself, basking in the radiant heat of the fireplace.

The bay area is chilled, ever so slightly. Bearing in mind that my homeland in Tennessee is suffering much more unbearable temperatures, I am thankful.

The alcohol loosens my inhibitions.

I went on a date yesterday. She was blonde, 28, and much more attractive in person. Very disarming on the phone, and very pleasant in person. We ate at a sushi restaurant. The conversations seemed fluid enough, except that it wasn’t. She wasn’t comfortable, even though she seemed at ease. I’m not the funniest man in the world, so I don’t expect to loosen her up in my presence without reason, but it would have been nice if she was already loose. She had beautiful long blonde hair, and large pretty eyes, and… enormous breasts. Like, the largest natural breasts I have ever seen on a frame of 5’4. Her pink long cut shirt didn’t hide these assets either, and when she revealed them after removing her coat, I literally had to regain focus and look at the table while preparing for an evening battling the impulse to stare. Why on earth would she do this? Was it a test? Did she want me to say something? It was beyond me. Did I like them? Well, sexually speaking, yes. But from a proper courtesy and etiquette point of view, no I did not. It made everything harder, and made me feel less at ease and more strained, having to focus ever so intently on maintaining eye contact rather than being absorbed in these overgrown sexual organs hanging off her chest.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed my time with her as much as possible. She wasn’t the most colorful person, but then again, maybe neither was I. I tried, however. But maybe she did too. I walked her to her car and she gave me a rather ginger hug, which did’t instill the confidence that she enjoyed herself. For shame.

Perhaps she did? It was a blind date anyway. She didn’t know who I was. Perhaps she was following the basic etiquette for such things.

Did I like her? I suppose I did. It was confusing because my basic sexual impulse overrode my rational judgement to evaluate her character in a productive way. As in, any way that didn’t involve me having my way with her, which was very hard to put out of mind.

Regardless.

Work has been good.

I am leaving for Asia in a week, and the thought of it is giving me butterflies. Three weeks in Asia, thousands of miles away. Then I will return to the bay area, stay a couple weeks, then return back to Tennessee to pay bills
Imagination. The dreamy world. Dreamy. Hazy. Colorful. Flowing. It flows and forms and these outlines sketch and breath colors of feeling and familiar faces and distant places with no bottom or end, just empty shelves where longings reside and wait to be picked and placed.

I have so many stories to tell.

I am looking forward to returning from Asia. My life feels amazing, and sometimes this concerns me. More pain. More discomfort. What will it take? Pain is the only impetus for growth. No more of the same old same old. I want fresh eyes, not the same steely stare. Breath.

I’d like to find a companion to share my time with, someone who calls me every evening, and occasionally asks to fuck. A person that knows my place in their life, and they refuse to relinquish that role, even against my best objections. A strong woman. But a deep woman, a woman of convictions, but a fragile woman, who begs to be considered, to be held in high regard. This woman is my dancing star.

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