No Thank You, I'd Rather Prefer Not to Cum On Your Face

New beginnings, same shoes

Here we go again. Another revision. I think we’re on number four canonically. Started officially with Xanga. Moved on to Squarespace. And now finally here, Substack. At the time of this writing, the domain hasn’t been linked yet—read as, this is a scheduled post.

It’s harder than I remember. Maybe it’s the distractions. There are definitely more than I remember. But then again, it’s been a really long time since I’ve committed myself to the page. At least in the public sense. I’m writing again. Officially. Or at least I’m trying to. Ever since the break. it’s been… a really, really, really long time. So long that I can feel it churning in me. Not the greatest feeling. Not sure. Maybe I’m nervous? Scared? Anxious? Other word? What am I even doing here? Ha, just like old times.

Over the past several years I’ve found myself drawn back into things. Just never enough to get passed the wall. All these beautiful titles would come to mind. Thoughts that would circle my brain until I’d go dizzy. Stories worth telling. No. Stories worth developing. And, then just thoughts in general. I gave myself to the work. She broke me. I let her. And that was the second death.

I’m a bit all over the place. Heh, just like old times. It’s all swirling about. Past, present, maybe even future. Things are just flooding in and for once, for the first time in a long time, I’m letting it all out. Letting out the stuff that I’ve held in for what feels too long. I don’t know that it’ll, no. I need to stop. This doesn’t need to be anything. Just whatever it is. As it always was. Letting it take me. I’m smiling. At some point in time I think perhaps I truly believed I had any control over this. Triggering the release of the muse. It’s really laughable. As my fingers leave the keys. It’s absurd to think that I never needed one or no, that I had the audacity to obscure the truth with ones that could never even compare. The ephemeral muse. That I could be so misguided. What a revelation.

The words make me laugh. Is this old age? That my vision has narrowed so. Then perhaps this refocus, this rebirth is more than even that. More than even I realize. Is this accountability? Am I finally in a place where I can see myself again? The mirror is back. Or maybe it never left. Maybe I’m just finally allowing myself to open my eyes again. This doesn’t feel the best. It’s so bright. And here I thought I was in darkness. Being alone will do that for you. Ten years will do that for you.

I miss them. But that’s a lie. I think of them fondly. But I don’t truly miss them. I don’t know them. Not anymore. I have the snapshot of that time and in it, the best of them. But things change. I’ve changed. Or maybe it’s that I haven’t. I don’t want to go backward. I am where I am because of that drive. I am this thing because I couldn’t stand the idea of the backslide. I am afraid of the retread. I am afraid I have no future. Again.

And there we are. At the truth. Even after all this time I still can’t see a future for myself. It feels like if I go back, it’d be a fall. It feels like a sacrifice I’m not willing to make. I can feel tears welling up. Is this really it? Is this really as far as I’ve ever been able to go? I fear the retread but realistically, that’s all I’ve ever known. Why am I alone again? Why am I always alone? Seriously. Why? Is this what everyone else feels as well? Is this just the normal state of existence? To handle everything from the outside? To always feel so detached from reality? Why can’t I connect to, anyone? Anything? What is wrong with me? What even am I?

I continue on doing plenty of stupid things. Saying stupid things. Getting into unnecessary arguments online. Finding disdain, finding distance in every attempt at connection. Chasing dreams instead of ideals. I want so badly to believe that I was wrong all those years ago but I just can’t have that, can I? I really only ever will be alone for life. Just a hair out of step with reality. No family. No friends. No partner. What am I that I have had to be alone all this time? Why am I forever stuck in this cycle of trying and ultimately failing to foster a connection of substance with a sentient being capable of human speech? Why doesn’t dark mode permeate to the browser loading screen in between page refreshes? Why has spam/bot-calling become an acceptable occurrence? Why are so many buildings made of things that can possibly give cancer? Why is the world in a place where feelings supplant logic? Why is it that the only way I can get help is to figure out all my problems first so that I can pay a trained professional to regurgitate it back but include the proper technical jargon? Why do Nike’s sneakers run smaller now than they have in the last two decades? Why did I buy Atlanta S3 when it came out if I didn’t intend to watch it till months after it had ended? Why do some many women want men to cum on their faces?