What has become of me? I am now a stranger. To my soul. To my heart. To my spirit...but not to my mind. because it has always known of these fault lines which run deep and proud, through the inner linings of my being. Ignored. Avoided. For 30 years...but recently. when The Dream was finally killed. I have burned too many bridges to the parts of myself which are of value. Not just to me, but to others of value. I can see the man I was. I can feel him in my words scribed many moons ago. But I am not him now. I am something different. Something that can't be trusted. Something which seeks purely sensation...A human????
After 30 years spent avoiding fucking without feeling I have embraced what I despise, and found myself, too many times, walking away from strange flats, strange faces, strange situations in which I have given nothing but Dick. Accompanied by a pantomime of well meaning intentions...Using my gift of the gab for ill endeavour, for treachery and lechery. Of course I can justify everything. Even my lies...hohoho!...for I have turned briskly from Poet to Sophist. Or was I merely an amoral rector of rhetoric all along? Taking you all for a ride??? And now,I have shed the mask, revealing the antipathy of everything I have long sworn to the world that I represent and seek in others.
The Cause of this unraveling? A year of my life spent fucking a corpse..I am now a necrophiliac. Heat up a pretty corpse, and present to me naked. Then you will see what kind of MAN I have become. My deviance knows no boundaries. My shame has vanished into a puff of smoke which was exhaled long ago. There is nobody to blame. No cure available. No hope for redemption. Because...The Dream is as DEAD. The DREAM that has kept me going all these years, through all this trauma, through all this dogged ugliness of feeling. ITS GONE...
Am I simply damaged? Now too scared to give, to love, to believe in true romance? I wish it were so, but again, for me even to suggest such hopeful bullshit is simply an extension of my descent into duplicity. For I have nothing to give. Not even fear. I should get a tatoo on my forehead, which says 'I just came...so... nice to meet you, but now i am going, and NO i wont be calling you again'....
This is not self loathing. In fact I am likely only berating myself for the sake of creative writing...though, I do have a slim hope, that my story, will serve as a warning, to others who have a tendency to give their all, to believe in the beautiful things in life...to be careful, to take your time, to make as sure as possible that whoever you give yourself to, is NOT A CORPSE. Because once you start fucking the dead, whether consciously or otherwise, you can never go back to the living. You will thereafter, no matter how adorable they are, see them, and treat them, as if they were dead...BEWARE.
After 30 years spent avoiding fucking without feeling I have embraced what I despise, and found myself, too many times, walking away from strange flats, strange faces, strange situations in which I have given nothing but Dick. Accompanied by a pantomime of well meaning intentions...Using my gift of the gab for ill endeavour, for treachery and lechery. Of course I can justify everything. Even my lies...hohoho!...for I have turned briskly from Poet to Sophist. Or was I merely an amoral rector of rhetoric all along? Taking you all for a ride??? And now,I have shed the mask, revealing the antipathy of everything I have long sworn to the world that I represent and seek in others.
The Cause of this unraveling? A year of my life spent fucking a corpse..I am now a necrophiliac. Heat up a pretty corpse, and present to me naked. Then you will see what kind of MAN I have become. My deviance knows no boundaries. My shame has vanished into a puff of smoke which was exhaled long ago. There is nobody to blame. No cure available. No hope for redemption. Because...The Dream is as DEAD. The DREAM that has kept me going all these years, through all this trauma, through all this dogged ugliness of feeling. ITS GONE...
Am I simply damaged? Now too scared to give, to love, to believe in true romance? I wish it were so, but again, for me even to suggest such hopeful bullshit is simply an extension of my descent into duplicity. For I have nothing to give. Not even fear. I should get a tatoo on my forehead, which says 'I just came...so... nice to meet you, but now i am going, and NO i wont be calling you again'....
This is not self loathing. In fact I am likely only berating myself for the sake of creative writing...though, I do have a slim hope, that my story, will serve as a warning, to others who have a tendency to give their all, to believe in the beautiful things in life...to be careful, to take your time, to make as sure as possible that whoever you give yourself to, is NOT A CORPSE. Because once you start fucking the dead, whether consciously or otherwise, you can never go back to the living. You will thereafter, no matter how adorable they are, see them, and treat them, as if they were dead...BEWARE.
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