Crusty times
Lonely Ghost
The Stolen Heart
Those were my two short story ideas for titles, the short stories themselves, I shall have to concoct at a later date. I feel like dirt because I've been worshiping dirt. I feel old because of many different factors, but that is one of them. I no longer want to feel so stupid and so old. I no longer want my failures to dictate every passing second of my life. I no longer want the pain to be more real than the gratefulness for life. This modality is not working anymore. I need reality to intervene. If I pray and do my best to be a God-fearing Christian, maybe all of this will go away. I'm still alive, right? A certain look of death has entered my eyes. My hair no longer looks good long. My farts are growing worse. I don't want to be focused on me and my and all of that but that's.... Nevermind. I want to grow old with some dignity. God must know my struggle. I no longer want to masturbate. I no longer want to feel alone as I milk this keyboard for answers. I no longer want the world to look at me like an over-aged mango that's gone fizzy. I just in fact want to live. Maybe to heck with church. Maybe I just want to finish this course and get the hell out of here. Yes, nothing wrong with being a hellion. Nothing wrong with fighting your whole life for a little piece of meat. Nothing wrong at all. My 32 year old bones are starting to get to me, and so is my complaining mother. I am scared, but I must move. I must move with all my heart. And stop living in fantasies, they've done me no good up until this point. And start living in reality. This is life. I need to earn a living and I need to forget about all the people in the past who have hurt me, and I need to focus on the alchemy of living. I need to know what to do about this situation. There is no harm in calling it a tragedy, but a tragedy can become a comedy in no time. I'm sorry I never knew that death lay this way. This heart of mine has seen enough and it still goes back for more. Maybe I need a break, or maybe I need to keep moving. Or maybe there really is no way out of here. I'm not afraid of doing what I have to. 20 hours of yoga means nothing to me a month. I'll do it if that's what it takes. I'm going to face my devils down today. They are all 32 year old devils. Fractured. Splintered. Hard to make sense of anymore. This stick I keep jabbing myself with and this lack of humour, and this lack of fresh new energy. They are all my fault in a way. This body is not growing thick and unwholesome, that's all in my mind. This body will be here for me no matter what. This body is my ally and it's what I have. Don't lose it. Fast. Do yoga, do what the heck you need to . Stop blaming others. Life gets challenging. It doesn't mean a thing. You have to keep moving. You have to or you'll fall down and then your problems will jjust begin. You cannot fall down . It doesn't matter what happens, just don't fall down. I don't want to be in this place any longer. It has a bad atmosphere for me. And I will nnever go back to that strip club again if that's what it means. It was a toxic work environment. I am not good at those things. I don't want to be burnt out. I want to live and be free. I want the life in me to carry through. Or am I already dead in some way I don't understand? My greasy hair needs a wash. My eyes could let in more light too. My guilt needs to go. I am still here and still alive, and remember how many girls still like me. Remember them, and move on. Move forward. Cheryl, I have released and that means I become the fool. that means all the stupid stuff she put me through is now my fault. That's can't be true. I helped her and I did a wonderful job of it and she can't thank me for it. Whose fault is that? Certainly not mine. I'm tired of her stupididty. I just need to move, to live and to love, and to forget about the shame and the hurt, even as I look at myself and condemn myself to everlasting misery, and torture and evil things. My wrist feel s like it's falling apart, is this going to be another bad day? I certainly hope not. My lips lack colour, my face too. It's almost green on some days. Perhaps it's simple. I need some sun. I want this all to end, all this pain, but then is hell awaiting me? Am I an expected guest? It never ends. I want to disappear but I cannot. Will I ever be that great writer that I imagined I'd be? Or wiill this torture jus continue until the end of time? Alexia not replying, people not giving me their phone numbers, and al the rest? I feel as if I've been conned out of an otherwise happy existence. I just want to live and to feel accepted and loved. I don't want bug eyes. I want eyes that are focused on the present and want to live right now. What did I dream about? That I was with an ugly pale woman who nobody loved? Or did I dream that I was in fact that woman? Who knows? I am too open minded sometimes. Imagine me dreaming such an unhelpful thing. What would it mean? This face of mine is looking a bit like Richard's hare lip. Negativity creeps in. Am I in fact getting too old for anything? That article I read this morning really got to me. It isn't the truth though. It can't be. Maybe other peoples' truth, but not mine. I've got work to do. Got to keep working to remain sane. Here comes poly.
The Stolen Heart
Those were my two short story ideas for titles, the short stories themselves, I shall have to concoct at a later date. I feel like dirt because I've been worshiping dirt. I feel old because of many different factors, but that is one of them. I no longer want to feel so stupid and so old. I no longer want my failures to dictate every passing second of my life. I no longer want the pain to be more real than the gratefulness for life. This modality is not working anymore. I need reality to intervene. If I pray and do my best to be a God-fearing Christian, maybe all of this will go away. I'm still alive, right? A certain look of death has entered my eyes. My hair no longer looks good long. My farts are growing worse. I don't want to be focused on me and my and all of that but that's.... Nevermind. I want to grow old with some dignity. God must know my struggle. I no longer want to masturbate. I no longer want to feel alone as I milk this keyboard for answers. I no longer want the world to look at me like an over-aged mango that's gone fizzy. I just in fact want to live. Maybe to heck with church. Maybe I just want to finish this course and get the hell out of here. Yes, nothing wrong with being a hellion. Nothing wrong with fighting your whole life for a little piece of meat. Nothing wrong at all. My 32 year old bones are starting to get to me, and so is my complaining mother. I am scared, but I must move. I must move with all my heart. And stop living in fantasies, they've done me no good up until this point. And start living in reality. This is life. I need to earn a living and I need to forget about all the people in the past who have hurt me, and I need to focus on the alchemy of living. I need to know what to do about this situation. There is no harm in calling it a tragedy, but a tragedy can become a comedy in no time. I'm sorry I never knew that death lay this way. This heart of mine has seen enough and it still goes back for more. Maybe I need a break, or maybe I need to keep moving. Or maybe there really is no way out of here. I'm not afraid of doing what I have to. 20 hours of yoga means nothing to me a month. I'll do it if that's what it takes. I'm going to face my devils down today. They are all 32 year old devils. Fractured. Splintered. Hard to make sense of anymore. This stick I keep jabbing myself with and this lack of humour, and this lack of fresh new energy. They are all my fault in a way. This body is not growing thick and unwholesome, that's all in my mind. This body will be here for me no matter what. This body is my ally and it's what I have. Don't lose it. Fast. Do yoga, do what the heck you need to . Stop blaming others. Life gets challenging. It doesn't mean a thing. You have to keep moving. You have to or you'll fall down and then your problems will jjust begin. You cannot fall down . It doesn't matter what happens, just don't fall down. I don't want to be in this place any longer. It has a bad atmosphere for me. And I will nnever go back to that strip club again if that's what it means. It was a toxic work environment. I am not good at those things. I don't want to be burnt out. I want to live and be free. I want the life in me to carry through. Or am I already dead in some way I don't understand? My greasy hair needs a wash. My eyes could let in more light too. My guilt needs to go. I am still here and still alive, and remember how many girls still like me. Remember them, and move on. Move forward. Cheryl, I have released and that means I become the fool. that means all the stupid stuff she put me through is now my fault. That's can't be true. I helped her and I did a wonderful job of it and she can't thank me for it. Whose fault is that? Certainly not mine. I'm tired of her stupididty. I just need to move, to live and to love, and to forget about the shame and the hurt, even as I look at myself and condemn myself to everlasting misery, and torture and evil things. My wrist feel s like it's falling apart, is this going to be another bad day? I certainly hope not. My lips lack colour, my face too. It's almost green on some days. Perhaps it's simple. I need some sun. I want this all to end, all this pain, but then is hell awaiting me? Am I an expected guest? It never ends. I want to disappear but I cannot. Will I ever be that great writer that I imagined I'd be? Or wiill this torture jus continue until the end of time? Alexia not replying, people not giving me their phone numbers, and al the rest? I feel as if I've been conned out of an otherwise happy existence. I just want to live and to feel accepted and loved. I don't want bug eyes. I want eyes that are focused on the present and want to live right now. What did I dream about? That I was with an ugly pale woman who nobody loved? Or did I dream that I was in fact that woman? Who knows? I am too open minded sometimes. Imagine me dreaming such an unhelpful thing. What would it mean? This face of mine is looking a bit like Richard's hare lip. Negativity creeps in. Am I in fact getting too old for anything? That article I read this morning really got to me. It isn't the truth though. It can't be. Maybe other peoples' truth, but not mine. I've got work to do. Got to keep working to remain sane. Here comes poly.
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