March 7th, 2003

run the fuck away

The Story

The story of my life needs to be written and read. Not for some egoistic boost, or a hare-brained scheme to sell books, or shamelessly self promote. But because it's a good tale.

I look over my life, and I read stories, and realize that my life is as deeply affecting as many of these stories, more so often. I think that the story of my life could alter people's understandings of themselves.

But I can't write it. I can barely keep up with it. The scratching of a pen, the clacking of the keyboard can't keep up with it. The story outstrips me; it is told faster than it can be recorded. Those long internal dialogues, hours of conversation in seconds; evanescent.

This morning, on my ride in, I was overcome with this sensation; the sensation that I matter; perhaps not in the scheme of things, I will never ride out on my firey steed are realign the world by the force of my will (probably not anyway- can't really say never). But I live. I'm good at living. I enjoy it, and intend to do it for as long as I can.

The two, trite, and easily encapsulated secrets of living are these:
1) when you fuck up, brush yourself off, admit it, and try again.
2) don't fucking do it again you dolt!
run the fuck away

(no subject)

That last post was inspired by Sir Apropos of Nothing by Peter David. It's touted as a comedy. It certainly has its funny moments, and its absurd moments.

But there's a moment in the middle of the book, where it appears destiny has a plan, the lives of the characters are a story (ironic?), and it's about some, and the others are only supporting roles.

So the question becomes one of destiny- is it set, do you make it? I always consider it a moot question. I act as if it is something I create. If I'm right, more power to me (literally). If I'm wrong, then that's my destiny.
run the fuck away


Round and round it goes, and it ends up.

Moment- you suddenly discover an infatuation. It starts with a comment, a sudden observation, mention in conversation, about the person. A comment you made even.

Moment- you start paying more attention to them, what they say. You run to check for a new post by them.

Moment- you approach the threshold of your house, and realize that all the things that cause this infatuation- all the things that drew you, are the same things you're going home to.

And the cycle goes around, and the events that you've seen before turn, and turn differently.

At first infatuation scared, embarassed me. Now... now I realize that its a different spice. Someone similar enough to your love and different enough to be wonderful.

Tonight, it's a fey night outside.

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run the fuck away

(no subject)

Oh, and why oh why is it so hard to find good bisexual porn? Not crappy one guy/two girl stuff either. I'm talking honest to goodness metasexuality here.

I guess metasexual and porn kinda don't go together. Something about oxymorons.

Damn oxymorons, I'll suffocate the lot of them!