I need to stay awake all night. Exhaustion would get me there. To get tanked on multiple ferments. Drunkness and the pain that follows would get me there. I need to kiss you, long, slowly, sucking, with a twisted fetish coming through such a simple act. I need to feel the delicate delicious power it gives me. I need the nakedness and familiar curvature. I need the beer when it is midnight, because it is so ridiculously un-alcoholic, yet such a sign of throwing a foot over the edge.
He needs to leave messages making us fear for him. And if we reach out, we stifle our animal selves. We pulled him back. We did good. Although we feel abused. Used. Not saviours. Simple lack of eye contact starts her craving. I can’t decide if it is her reaching out or reaching in to the abyss. Rare grazes can have them both momentarily consider.
A smile to a guard has my car insured for the night. Because it is a lacking act of humanity. Because most of you who click past this page lack humanity on a larger scale. And even those who do not have a mouse to click lack that humanity. Simple acts are lost in our own tortured unchallenged lives. In our own sell-out cars. CVs with your name bolded at the top of the A4 generic. Your pleasantries to turn-over colleagues. To friends who you “accept” “reject” “Limit the profile for…” Our own worry that we are not hot shot enough. That we never made a five year plan. That our medical aid does pay us out. That it doesn’t, and maybe you should rather increase your pension fund.
Living for the end. When disease takes you over. And you crank about with the spouse you fucked over. That one who ignored you after every dinner. And you remember phoning into a radio station to the morning show to explain your morning glory philosophy on love and marriage. Back in the day. When you were bored and confused in your twenties.
Get drunk. Get laid. Get amnesia. Get irritated. But never angry. Get to like. Not lust like you are being bruised. And certainly not to fall in love at the drop of a…well, maybe at a pill. At least that would make sense. But pills are not accepted this decade. Neither is wheat. Or green vegetables. IBS is ruling your life. Talking and needs out there ruling mine. Money is forgotten in bank accounts while the world rotates away its wonders. And we miss it all for eight till 5.15. Maybe a glass of white at a lunch. Probably two pints at the Friday midday booze. Hoping to laugh at least once in the twenty four seven. Have you put in your leave?
Tanked on fuck all. To forget we are giving it all away to people who judge but who could not care. Who will never be there when I am so desperately in need. I demand too much. I do not open and offer myself easily enough.
Some of you read this often. In a twisted manic way. Even though you hate me. Some of you have danced about my life in such an integral way. And now claim I am pain in yours. You refuse to see you have hurt me so deeply. Would always refuse your own offer of sorry. And yet, you return time and again. To know who I still am? Or to hope for mention of yourself? And who has the freedom then? The reader or the writer.
Your complexity is disgusted by the rest of us. Hoped to be smashed.
But my complexity is what makes me press hard up against you. Grind slowly, gently into you. The brick wall pressing on the other side of you. Until your breath begins to heave into my ear. Craving.
I blog because I love to write out. I am certain that there is a narcissistic element to it. But I love the motivation. The daily thought. The comments have stopped. Have lessened. And I am forced to consider. My heads turns and fucking tears at skull walls in frustration of boredom. Fuck the Microsoft Office. It is making my personality obsolete. My day, so precious, is now numbers and jagged red lines. I hated that boss, but at least he gave me something to hate. Now I cannot hate an apology.
I blog because I want to create awareness around the AIDS pandemic in Southern Africa. I want my reader to understand it. To not contract it. To slightly twist your world to fight against it. I read something that made me think…. This fad has passed. Be sure to turn off your lights. And your dishwashers. Globalisation is the next.
I will still be here though. Blogging mundanely about a virus that makes me feel and live.
Or at least, I will start to again. I crave living.