Deep eleven and ever deeper...

Reading material: Tom Robbins / Even cowgirls get the blues

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I wear blue when I feel the need to forget the bullshit. Not because I feel blue on the inside. I wear blue when I feel like being happy, not bothering with facades, letting go of intensity, shedding insecurity and remembering, it's not what you look like, but how you feel.

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Every single fucking one of us has a secret. And most of us intend to keep it that way. Secrets are powerful, dangerous fucking things, whether they are secret feelings, secret information or secret squirrels. Secrets about ourselves live so far down inside us that though they may be easy to hide, they actually have a profound effect on our subconcious, little cerebral termites eating away at the frame of our lives.

This bugs me.

Ba-boom.

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Initially, it was the lust. And the words. The words dense with passion and fire. An aching in each sentence. Reciprocated. Two computer screens scrolling longing and emotional rescue at one another. And behind the screens, the Writers-Readers drank it all in, and grew drunk and giddy on the Word Wine.

Every single morning, he would wake and think of three simple words: Send and Receive.

Get to that computer.

And when he sat down and tilted the screen just so and opened Outlook and there, BOLD was his treasure and bold indeed was its content, one hand would instinctively reach for his stomach, and the other for the keys, the contact, that blind road ahead...oh god.

Sometimes the only thing to type is: salkdhkajhdknsabvansjvb

Eventually the Golem that was created grew too strong to be held in cyberspace and was unleashed, destructive, upon the world. Its strength astounded them both but its hypnotic effect would not be tamed and so it was too late. Everything around them came crashing down and all that was left was two Lost Souls, raw, naked, afraid.

This was when the golem began to destroy itself.

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Soundtrack: Dinosaur Jnr/ Raisans (sic)

The lights exploded
She stood burning in front of me
She ripped my heart out and gave it to me
My eyes wouldn't open, cemented to her face
Have I begun a feeble chase?
I'll be down, I'll be around
I'll be hanging where eventually you'll have to be
I'll just stare and hope you'll care
It's only everything standing in front of me

It's on now and it's loud and I am stripped down and I want rock and I don't and I want this city but I don't and oh god why does letting go of myself seem like freefall?

You'd think you were in Hell or something, all grown up and scared to make a joke. It happens everytime I sit here now. No more googling for a laugh inducing Tonic. Only a Slip-n-Slide that leads who knows where. Sprinklers optional.

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Eventually, there was nowhere left to run. So they sat down and began to talk. And the secrets poured out and flooded them both. And drowning, all that was left was to hang on tight. Taking turns to hold the other's head above the water.

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Fuck me, I want to finish this self-absorbed journey soon. I want to write it all down so I can be all grown and all good and OVER with questioning and OVER with doubting. I thought I was done, thought I had shifted the rocks, but everytime you take a step, it not only shows you how far you've come, but also how far you have left to go.

Bollocks. Titpoobumwee.

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In my dream last night, I told everything I had to tell, sexual fantasies, sexual insecurities, ambitions, fears, cynical observations on the Human Condition, how I love to dance and haven't in so long, how in the afternoon I browse porn and think of...how my smoking of cigarettes is an attempt to slow the vicious speed of my mind, how I think possibly meditation would work better, how my shrink is trying to teach me that, how sometimes in social situations, around people I don't know, I retreat into a shell and seem withdrawn, when in fact, I am trying to seem approachable so that someone will be interested in drawing me into conversation, how I wonder at myself for other times I am the instigator, the Life, the cheeky trouble maker without a care in the world...how hard it is to balance everything and still focus on change, on growth. How I fear when I am finally ready, I will have no-one to say:

Well done. Now shut up and kiss me fool.

When I awoke and gazed, I had to smile because, I didn't need to say a thing.

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When the waters receded they were both ashamed. Ashamed of what they had told, of what the other knew. Ashamed of the neediness that had presented itself, though circumstances had dictated that it had been the only way to survive the storm.

Nervously, they avoided eye contact and their hands slipped away. Turning their heads from side to side they jumble mumbled,

"oh, err, hey look over there..."

and,

"I should really..."

And both wanted to run, never stop, get as far away as possible. Flee the scene of the crime.

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Is this a Love Story? I don't know. Everyone is looking for something deeper. But what happens when you find it? Are you prepared for the consequences? How much of yourself can you open up to someone before you start to feel ashamed? Before you start to grow wary and begin to feel the itch.

Before you want to surround yourself with people who have no idea of what lies inside.

Why reveal yourself when it seems happiness comes more easily when you keep it all hidden?*

*Says the guy that writes it all down for you to read.

I think beyond the frightening, raw intimacy, lies a greater reward, but that is one man's opinion, and I've been wrong so many times.

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In the bar I smile and flirt with customers, keep my head down and work hard.

No-one knows me, this me, and I am relaxed and confident.