Silence is Ticking

Sometimes I feel like my candle has blown out and I’m searching around in the dark for a match just to get it going again. The flame is temporary and yet somehow it has this magnetic appeal that I’m swept into like a moth burning my precious wings. Then, usually without warning, the flame extinguishes and I’m alone in the dark again. Lost.

I refuse to tout gender generalizations or place blame on anyone here. That is not my purpose. What I’ve discovered is a simple, negative self-realization that I’m determined to defeat. I have no idea what love is anymore. My vision is clouded by physical eroticism blocking that ever-so important emotional and mental bond to form. I’m a serial “sexcapader” or so it seems.

Call it a vow, pledge, oath or promise; it is what it is. The clock started silently ticking the moment I undertook this task. Voluntary celibacy.

It’s too easy these days to be what I used to call myself, a “free-loving-spirit”. There is no such thing in modern society as courting, dating or romance. Nothing is done with any formalized tradition. I’ve not become a prude by any means. I just simply refuse to associate myself or waste my precious time with another male who does not respect me enough to build a solid foundation of friendship, trust, respect and love before sharing with me the intimacies of the flesh.

My lack in posting an explanation earlier can be attributed to my detailed preparation in how to mentally deal with the skeptics. I’ve accepted that there are going to be the people who think I’m doing this simply because I’ve hit a “dry spell” so-to-speak, those who think I’ve lost my bloody mind, others who have taken up a pool to see when I’ll finally crack and then those who find it a complete waste of talent. While I salute everyone in forming a preemptive judgment against me, this pledge is between me and my ever broken heart.

So here I am again, alone in the dark without a flame. I’m no longer looking for matches. I’m search for something brighter. Love.

Princess of Preeminence

Apparently...

I have some amazing microchip installed in my brain that randomly pulls vocabulary from the "dictionary or thesaurus" into my every day speech and blog.

That's fucking fresh. Imo.

Please don't forget my other fine qualities; inhuman strength, the ability to leap tall buildings and my ever-amazing machine gun jubblies.

Let me stop for a moment and bask in my preeminence. /bow

Oh poo…I used a big word again. Just so you don’t have to look it up yourself, preeminence means superior. :)

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This post dedicated with love to:

Captain Emo and his faithful comrades; the guy that looks like a meth addict in the last stages of life, and to the math major who despite an undergraduate degree still falls short in the ability to compose a complete sentence with grammar and punctuation.

Addiction

Guitar Hero III!!! If you have played Guitar Hero I, II or the Encores then you'll know what I'm talking about...what is with this game?!

My brother locks me into playing Guitar Hero III with him and I think, "no...I'm not that into it". I hadn't picked that damn guitar up in 3 weeks, but guess what?! The minute I picked it up I couldn't put it down!

So yes...

My name is Ti, I play in the band called Sausagewallet, and I'm a Guitar Hero-aholic!

There I said it! That's the first step towards recovery in any addiction.

I guess my simple point is that if you have ever wanted to be/feel like a rockstar, then you should find someone who owns this game and invite yourself over.

Note: Good luck trying to get a chance to play here...between my brother, Rafa, Jim and myself...you are NOT getting validated.

Sunday, Sulking, Sloth

There is something deeply sacrilegious about sulking around in yoga pants and a baby-t on Sunday. At first glance I would appear to be the epitome of a deadly sin; sloth. Eventually I'll drag my self out of these sheets to a soft ginger and vanilla bubble bath in an attempt to raise my spirits, but until I muster enough energy to do that I'm just going to cuddle back in next to this laptop and feel sorry for myself.

I listen intently to the weaving sound waves coming from the little speaker on my laptop. Harmonious chords sang by the Beatles echo in the song “Because”. Normally these lyrics are nonsense and good for a trip to senselessness. Today I think understand them. They seem to operate as the perfect soundtrack to my dour state. I think that my only reason for leaving this shelter of cotton sheets and country quilt would be to tip toe my cold feet down the stairs and sit at my precious out-of-tune piano.

The only experience of true love I've ever had is buried deep within the dusty crevices of those cracked ebony and yellowed ivory keys. I don't have to tell the music my feelings. The keys respond to my very touch reflecting each pent up and hidden emotion within me. If I cry the chords quiver, if I'm mad they echo and if I'm in love they flow like invisible doves spiraling in each other's harmony to into the sky.

I suppose it's time I crawl out of this slumber, take a bath and do something semi-productive today. If you look for me later, I'll be found next to my piano playing something dissonant and cold.

Grumpypants

I admit it. I've been dragging my lifeless limbs around in what some would call "grumpypants". While this accusation might be true I don't think that a willing soul would choose such unfashionable attire. I choose to describe this syndrome as more my mixture of emotions steaming in a dark cauldron of impossibilities stirred with the harsh wooden spoon of reality.

Every night I lie in my clouded state of sleeplessness and think about things that simply cannot be. My tears tell me these thoughts are detrimental to my well being and yet my heart keeps on forcing them into my imagination. Fantasy takes hold and I try to convince myself that the impossible is full of possibility. It's all nonsense.

My being grumpy towards you is just my way of showing the white flag of defeat. You may not take it as such or even have the experience to decipher my emotional riddles. I don't expect you to understand. After all, you are only my friend.

In-depth conversations held underneath the stars are full of uncertainty. Words ring so true on occasion. "Sometimes a girl will look so hard at one individual that she will miss entirely the nice guy in the shadow." We may speak in truth perhaps, but in what context. Do we reverse the roles? It seems as soon as I start glancing in the angles of what I refer to as "impossibilities" I'm struck down by that internal spark of realism. I want what I can't ever have. I strive for something unattainable. My head sends warnings to watch my heart for it's going to break and for once I'll be the only one to blame.

I cry. For the first time in my life I never lowered the bar, forgot about treading on my line of distrust and walked into something without ever expecting to feel the way I do right now. Unfortunately I'm on the dark side of a two way mirror, impossible to reach, feel or see. You have my attention but another has yours.

It's cold and lonely over here. Just like the heart you are about to leave unknowingly in ruins.

Nightmares

My ears are numb. Numb to the words but not to the harsh volume. I don't need to know what they say as each syllable is painstakingly stuck in my head forever. I can handle the yelling but painful tears well as I know what comes next. My bruises are still fresh from last time. Please don't do this again. Please.

My wrists look tiny in your hands. That's all I can think as the pressure from your fingertips absorbs into my skin. I can't even feel the tears streaming down my face. The pain I should feel is withholding itself for when the floor meets my body. Each bone shattering time I'm prepared for it and yet it still takes the breath from my lungs. I muster all that is left and scream.

Let me go. I want to leave. Please.

Pinned merciless to the floor by the weight of your body I'll never forget how cold the steel felt against my temple. That's all I can remember. Just the cold. My emotions died at that very moment. I wouldn’t even notice if you pulled the trigger.

I lay there chaotic until you grew tired of this game you play. You leave me laying there frozen on the floor like a forgotten toy. Too scared to move, breathe or cry.

I’ve blocked from my memory these experiences only until they are released in a harsh nightmare. I wake up feeling like I've drown.

Horrible memories please leave me.

Romantic Failure

Me: This may seem silly but just trust me. Go outside.
Boy: Right now?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Okay. I'm outside.
Me: Do you see the moon?
Boy: No. It's cloudy here.
Me: ...
Boy: What?
Me: I finally thought of one thing that we can do together and it's cloudy.
Boy: ...
Boy: It's the thought that counts.

I can't even be romantic. Foiled. Always.

I give up.

Fa~La~La~La...Die

Torture begins.

My eardrums tingle in anticipation of the pure pain I will experience with each off-key rendition of "O Christmas Tree". The agony of ravaging adults and children tearing apart aisles after some pathetic "toy-of-the-season" manufactured with toxic materials and exported from China. Meaningless Christmas greetings sent by people I only talk to once a year via these recycled cardboard wastes of postage. The bell ringers, please make them stop. I’m surrounded by sweets and more fattening savory bits of goodness putting mass on my thighs just by looking their very direction. Television plagued with specials and previews for yet again another Tim Allen travesty. Then the worst, a smelly balding man with a pure lack of fashion sense and a obvious problem with obesity gets to take credit for gifts that I, not him, so painstakingly braved shopping malls and traffic to purchase.

Call me the Grinch, Scrooge or sacrilegious but I loathe Christmas.

Note to Self: Find country that does not celebrate it and vacation there conveniently for the entire month of December.

Breaking Free

Adorned in invisible shackles and chains I'm bound by control. I race wildly in unknown directions trying to reach the end and am yanked back when I reach limitation. I'm tired of wearing them. They are beginning to pierce my sensitive skin and have grown into an uncomfortable obstacle on my soul. I want to be free.

Once I escaped beyond the bounds of their touch and built a wall around myself so immense that even the power of my own fear couldn't bolster the brick. I don't want this to happen again but I know that if I don't escape soon the barricade that has been growing in my sub consciousness will soon overwhelm me. I feel locked out and away from the world. Faded like the window I gaze out of into the pouring down rain. Something is happening.

I'm not comfortable anymore. I need to stretch my wings.

Truth & Lies

"Hate" is a strong word.

Then again...so is "Love".

Which word holds more power when misused?