You're still my dream girl, baby, still make my jaw drop, and my mouth water, and my heart ache.
Dream girl, baby.
I love you.
[Eta, several hours later. Wow, I just checked the email for this name - I have not done that for quite a while. I guess I am used to the way things are at insanejournal. Anyway, yeah, I think it was you, who came by and commented, a full week ago. So you know, I just hadn't checked the email in that long.]
20 most recent
Wed, Apr. 29th, 2009, 11:54 pm
Fri, Apr. 3rd, 2009, 12:31 am
Rain might possibly be the most beautiful thing in the world.
Rain, at night, where you can see it hitting the puddles on the sidewalk, the orange vapor light of the street lamp reflecting the ripples.
And the sound, too, just loud enough to hear over Roy Orbison's "Sweet Dream Baby."
There are other pretty things, too, so so many of them, all competing in a symphony for the senses.
Rain, at night, where you can see it hitting the puddles on the sidewalk, the orange vapor light of the street lamp reflecting the ripples.
And the sound, too, just loud enough to hear over Roy Orbison's "Sweet Dream Baby."
There are other pretty things, too, so so many of them, all competing in a symphony for the senses.
Tue, Mar. 17th, 2009, 09:14 pm
Kiss
Sometimes, I am overcome, and like, no matter how long it's been, it comes welling up from my stomach, through my chest, into my throat, causing my mouth to drop open, as if in a gasp for breath, and I stare into the night, and say "I love you," out loud, like it's some sort of relief valve, or something.
Then, I can swallow it back for a minute, or another day, another week, a month, who knows.
I can easily imagine being some doddering old man in my old, old, age, out on some walk to keep from dropping over, sitting down on a park bench to take a rest, and have it assail me just the same damn way as today.
And I'll say, "I love you," out loud, then, too, and some passerby will think I'm insane or senile.
The irony will be that will likely be one of my forseeably more lucid moments.
I love you. I hope you're doing well. That things are not scary. That sometimes the spring sunshine feels as perfect to you as it sometimes does to me.
I love you, baby. I love you.
***
Have you ever read Nicole Krauss' The History of Love?
Then, I can swallow it back for a minute, or another day, another week, a month, who knows.
I can easily imagine being some doddering old man in my old, old, age, out on some walk to keep from dropping over, sitting down on a park bench to take a rest, and have it assail me just the same damn way as today.
And I'll say, "I love you," out loud, then, too, and some passerby will think I'm insane or senile.
The irony will be that will likely be one of my forseeably more lucid moments.
I love you. I hope you're doing well. That things are not scary. That sometimes the spring sunshine feels as perfect to you as it sometimes does to me.
I love you, baby. I love you.
***
Have you ever read Nicole Krauss' The History of Love?
Mon, Mar. 16th, 2009, 08:49 pm
Cigarette Savings
This is a running tally of the amount of cash I have saved by cutting back smoking from 40/day to whatever it ends up being per day; Price is calculated at .265/cigarette. Started on 3/09/09
6/16 $545.85
(Even if I had only been smoking 30 a day, which was a rare day, indeed, the savings would still total...
6/16 $309.26)
6/16 $545.85
(Even if I had only been smoking 30 a day, which was a rare day, indeed, the savings would still total...
6/16 $309.26)
Tue, Mar. 10th, 2009, 10:47 pm
There was a beautiful moon rise, tonight, on my walk to my apartment. Full and behind the moving white clouds, it reminded me of you.
Sat, Feb. 28th, 2009, 08:24 pm
And I love her
This is a song the Beatles did, I guess.
And it's true, you know, and I love her.
Though I mightn't have a right to, I do.
Things have been scary, lately, in my professional life. Things are going to remain a wreck for some time to come - at least through this year, and probably well into the next, if not even well beyond all of that.
I'd done, and I've done, so well, over the years, doing my own thing, not working for anyone but me. Yeah, sure, the income fucking sucked, always, but on that slim margin, I still called the shots. When you're "pushing 50" you don't much relish the idea of changing all sorts of things about the way you've carried on your professional life.
Nevertheless, my telephone has not rung since this past September. I've only just been brushing up details on things I had in the works at that point; wrap ups and embellishments and other giveaways and methods of make work. But nothing new, at all. Nothing.
So yeah, to sit here and contemplate, whether I have that "right," or not, being with her - making some sort of fantastic and miraculous creation that would allow for that, obviously, begins to feel a bit inane, silly, unreasonable, unrealistic, and well, stupid.
In the face of the more immediate need of the balance of last month's rent staring in me in the face, and next month's, and the ones through the summer, I just couldn't look at anything else at all. So, I turned my face, if not my back, on looking at that possibility; on looking upon a possibility that began to look more and more like an impossibility.
Still, all the same, as always, there still remains "just enough." Just enough to get by, but never enough to get there.
We haven't communicated for over a week.
Ugh. Wake me up when September ends.
I'm going to try something, next week, to see what happens.
And it's true, you know, and I love her.
Though I mightn't have a right to, I do.
Things have been scary, lately, in my professional life. Things are going to remain a wreck for some time to come - at least through this year, and probably well into the next, if not even well beyond all of that.
I'd done, and I've done, so well, over the years, doing my own thing, not working for anyone but me. Yeah, sure, the income fucking sucked, always, but on that slim margin, I still called the shots. When you're "pushing 50" you don't much relish the idea of changing all sorts of things about the way you've carried on your professional life.
Nevertheless, my telephone has not rung since this past September. I've only just been brushing up details on things I had in the works at that point; wrap ups and embellishments and other giveaways and methods of make work. But nothing new, at all. Nothing.
So yeah, to sit here and contemplate, whether I have that "right," or not, being with her - making some sort of fantastic and miraculous creation that would allow for that, obviously, begins to feel a bit inane, silly, unreasonable, unrealistic, and well, stupid.
In the face of the more immediate need of the balance of last month's rent staring in me in the face, and next month's, and the ones through the summer, I just couldn't look at anything else at all. So, I turned my face, if not my back, on looking at that possibility; on looking upon a possibility that began to look more and more like an impossibility.
Still, all the same, as always, there still remains "just enough." Just enough to get by, but never enough to get there.
We haven't communicated for over a week.
Ugh. Wake me up when September ends.
I'm going to try something, next week, to see what happens.
Fri, Feb. 20th, 2009, 08:54 pm
So very incredibly sad.
She'll be 63 when she gets out.
She could've probably gotten a similar sentence if she'd just gone ahead and raped her victims.
That doesn't mean that is my suggestion, at all. It is just a comment on the severity of sentencing for the looking at, with one's eyes, of photographs of people.
Do I feel bad for the victims, yes, sure I do. They had their picture taken without any kind of valid consent. However, I don't know what was in the pictures, and I doubt the jury really did, either, though, so my compassion is less able to be quantified with any validity.
In any case, unless physical touching of the victim by the sentenced was involved, 30 years is too damn long.
And too damn sad, too.
What a waste.
She'll be 63 when she gets out.
She could've probably gotten a similar sentence if she'd just gone ahead and raped her victims.
That doesn't mean that is my suggestion, at all. It is just a comment on the severity of sentencing for the looking at, with one's eyes, of photographs of people.
Do I feel bad for the victims, yes, sure I do. They had their picture taken without any kind of valid consent. However, I don't know what was in the pictures, and I doubt the jury really did, either, though, so my compassion is less able to be quantified with any validity.
In any case, unless physical touching of the victim by the sentenced was involved, 30 years is too damn long.
And too damn sad, too.
What a waste.
Mon, Feb. 9th, 2009, 09:00 pm
Fuck me
I like little girls.
I like them an awful, awesome lot.
Like the fifth grader with the leetle teeny butt that I walk behind on the way to the boy's school each morning. Mhm, like that a lot. Not sure why, but definitely do.
But damn, none of these do I like nearly so much, much less love, like the one that says she loves me just like this.
You can't know, see? 'Cause you ain't me. But that's okay, 'cause I don't need you to know.
But yeah, that one, for sure. She's little, too (but that's icing), and she's young, too, lots younger than me, young enough to be my daughter, even, by a lot (but, again, more icing), but where the real cake is, when she says, "yes daddy."
That's everything. That's fucking everything. Someday, and hopefully not before too long, or worse, before it's too late, she's gonna lie on her tummy, and suck her thumb, and I am gonna totally, totally have her, all mine, all the way.
You don't know pretty, take my word for it.
Damn. Smiling so much. Someday: "fuck me, daddy."
I like them an awful, awesome lot.
Like the fifth grader with the leetle teeny butt that I walk behind on the way to the boy's school each morning. Mhm, like that a lot. Not sure why, but definitely do.
But damn, none of these do I like nearly so much, much less love, like the one that says she loves me just like this.
You can't know, see? 'Cause you ain't me. But that's okay, 'cause I don't need you to know.
But yeah, that one, for sure. She's little, too (but that's icing), and she's young, too, lots younger than me, young enough to be my daughter, even, by a lot (but, again, more icing), but where the real cake is, when she says, "yes daddy."
That's everything. That's fucking everything. Someday, and hopefully not before too long, or worse, before it's too late, she's gonna lie on her tummy, and suck her thumb, and I am gonna totally, totally have her, all mine, all the way.
You don't know pretty, take my word for it.
Damn. Smiling so much. Someday: "fuck me, daddy."
Sun, Feb. 1st, 2009, 12:00 pm
Cake & Icing
"I love you".
Text message received sometime after midnight, last night.
"There you are, you little weasel."
My quiet (or did I speak it out loud, I don't remember, and often talk to myself) thought on seeing its sender before the message.
Somehow, in the fractions of seconds it takes between seeing the sender's name, and flipping open the phone to see the message, I realized it didn't really matter, not so critically, what the message said. That is, the most critical one had already been received, read in the ringtone and the name on the screen: "I still exist."
The rest is icing.
The rest can wait.
Text message received sometime after midnight, last night.
"There you are, you little weasel."
My quiet (or did I speak it out loud, I don't remember, and often talk to myself) thought on seeing its sender before the message.
Somehow, in the fractions of seconds it takes between seeing the sender's name, and flipping open the phone to see the message, I realized it didn't really matter, not so critically, what the message said. That is, the most critical one had already been received, read in the ringtone and the name on the screen: "I still exist."
The rest is icing.
The rest can wait.
Sat, Jan. 31st, 2009, 10:55 pm
Sledding with the boys; Missing the girl.
This is kinda tough.
I'm not sure what's going on.
I am trying to figure out what it the right thing to do, and what is the right thing not to do.
***
Sledding was very fun, and no one was injured. I was the oldest person actually sledding, and not just escorting their children. I'm glad. Riding on the same sled as your child is something you don't get to do every single winter forever.
My first run down, though, I hit some kind of snag and the sled and me flipped up and over, and I jammed my knee into the ground. I was like, "oh boy, this might be kinda rough," but was glad it wasn't any worse. A few times later, I went down and thought sure I was not going to miss this tree - that I would be able to lean out of the way, but I wasn't, and I bailed out as I hit the tree - I guess I stayed relaxed enough that it did not jack me all up when my shin went into the trunk of the thing sideways. Lol, the older boychild at the top thought it might be kind of serious, I guess, yelling down, right away, "dad, are you alright!?"
Again, I was glad I was, and after that things went off pretty much without incident.
On a run with the younger boy, we managed to hit the higher ramp someone had added to one of the hills, sending us totally airborne.
This was on a golf course, so there was a small lake, frozen over. You could see that it was a lake from the cattails and flat surface. One of the boys walking with me spotted a snowboard in it, not too far from shore. I went out there, and the ice was still pretty thick, and the footstraps of the snowboard were embedded in the ice. I ran back to where I'd seen some sticks lying on the ground, retrieved these and returned to the snowboard. In the process of hacking at the ice around the snowboard straps, I knocked a hole through the ice to the water below. While looking for something harder than wooden sticks, I found the metal sign with the name of the lake, red worm lake. Both boys laid down on the ice and drank water from the hole.
We managed to free the snowboard, and I gave it to the older son. Of the three boys trying to snowboard, he made the best run, down two hills and off the third in the air.
I did not try the snowboard, figuring I was doing good at that point.
It was fun. There was the bonus that this was something I said (i.e. promised) we'd do earlier in the week. It is good, so good, to try to keep promises, whenever at all possible. Which is why it's so important to be as positive and as dedicated as you can possibly be to something before you promise anything.
Both the boys are so handsome. So perfect.
***
I miss her. I miss her already, so much - and I don't even know if she's even gone or not.
I definitely do.
Ah, baby.
***
It's amazing, how fucking full you can be with everything else in your life, and yet, no matter how well you recognize that, how much weight you give to those things, like sledding with your children, that it's absolutely impossible to discount maybe the only other person and thing really important to you.
You can swallow it back, and push it back. And sometimes, you can even do a pretty decent job of that. But the fact you have to do that, swallow it back, push it back, no matter how temporarily or permanently successful you are at it, only proves its importance.
I'm not sure what's going on.
I am trying to figure out what it the right thing to do, and what is the right thing not to do.
***
Sledding was very fun, and no one was injured. I was the oldest person actually sledding, and not just escorting their children. I'm glad. Riding on the same sled as your child is something you don't get to do every single winter forever.
My first run down, though, I hit some kind of snag and the sled and me flipped up and over, and I jammed my knee into the ground. I was like, "oh boy, this might be kinda rough," but was glad it wasn't any worse. A few times later, I went down and thought sure I was not going to miss this tree - that I would be able to lean out of the way, but I wasn't, and I bailed out as I hit the tree - I guess I stayed relaxed enough that it did not jack me all up when my shin went into the trunk of the thing sideways. Lol, the older boychild at the top thought it might be kind of serious, I guess, yelling down, right away, "dad, are you alright!?"
Again, I was glad I was, and after that things went off pretty much without incident.
On a run with the younger boy, we managed to hit the higher ramp someone had added to one of the hills, sending us totally airborne.
This was on a golf course, so there was a small lake, frozen over. You could see that it was a lake from the cattails and flat surface. One of the boys walking with me spotted a snowboard in it, not too far from shore. I went out there, and the ice was still pretty thick, and the footstraps of the snowboard were embedded in the ice. I ran back to where I'd seen some sticks lying on the ground, retrieved these and returned to the snowboard. In the process of hacking at the ice around the snowboard straps, I knocked a hole through the ice to the water below. While looking for something harder than wooden sticks, I found the metal sign with the name of the lake, red worm lake. Both boys laid down on the ice and drank water from the hole.
We managed to free the snowboard, and I gave it to the older son. Of the three boys trying to snowboard, he made the best run, down two hills and off the third in the air.
I did not try the snowboard, figuring I was doing good at that point.
It was fun. There was the bonus that this was something I said (i.e. promised) we'd do earlier in the week. It is good, so good, to try to keep promises, whenever at all possible. Which is why it's so important to be as positive and as dedicated as you can possibly be to something before you promise anything.
Both the boys are so handsome. So perfect.
***
I miss her. I miss her already, so much - and I don't even know if she's even gone or not.
I definitely do.
Ah, baby.
***
It's amazing, how fucking full you can be with everything else in your life, and yet, no matter how well you recognize that, how much weight you give to those things, like sledding with your children, that it's absolutely impossible to discount maybe the only other person and thing really important to you.
You can swallow it back, and push it back. And sometimes, you can even do a pretty decent job of that. But the fact you have to do that, swallow it back, push it back, no matter how temporarily or permanently successful you are at it, only proves its importance.
Sat, Jan. 31st, 2009, 11:11 am
Last go, before sledding
Humped my silky slip covered pillows to orgasm, a second layer of nylon silkiness over my cock. I like this because this is more like fucking than using my hand for jacking off. Pictures. This'd been the first time in quite a while. I'd just left things go, and get by me, and skipped things, and ignored other things.
It was nice. Nice enough. No pictures at hammer time, though - it's rarely that way and this was no exception. Just me and her, being okay, and me saying, out loud, "baby, baby, baby" over and over, again. That was the nicest part, really, 'till I caught my breath and she faded away.
Napped 20 minutes, fighting off sleep, so I didn't miss the date.
It's 11:11, or was when I started this.
Mkay, though, snow time.
I'm updating more regularly, here, it appears.
It was nice. Nice enough. No pictures at hammer time, though - it's rarely that way and this was no exception. Just me and her, being okay, and me saying, out loud, "baby, baby, baby" over and over, again. That was the nicest part, really, 'till I caught my breath and she faded away.
Napped 20 minutes, fighting off sleep, so I didn't miss the date.
It's 11:11, or was when I started this.
Mkay, though, snow time.
I'm updating more regularly, here, it appears.
Sat, Jan. 31st, 2009, 09:22 am
And from Arthur Silber, too
A quote:
"That is a great truth we must always remember, and the hope we must never lose.
And I think the other great truth is the personal one, as I have described it. It lies within every one of us -- and it lies within you.
Each of us must struggle to find it and, as may be required, we should tell others about what we discover. That intimately personal truth, that inviolable part of ourselves where we can choose what we are and what we will be, is where our humanity lives, and where the possibility for glory may be found.
Each of us must find it -- and then we must make it real." - Arthur SilburFrom an essay on the origins of the torturers.
And so, yeah, missteps, miscalculations, outright blunders aside, my little endeavor shall continue.
First quoting Alice Miller:Then adding:"For the human soul is virtually indestructible, and its ability to rise from the ashes remains as long as the body draws breath."
"That is a great truth we must always remember, and the hope we must never lose.
And I think the other great truth is the personal one, as I have described it. It lies within every one of us -- and it lies within you.
Each of us must struggle to find it and, as may be required, we should tell others about what we discover. That intimately personal truth, that inviolable part of ourselves where we can choose what we are and what we will be, is where our humanity lives, and where the possibility for glory may be found.
Each of us must find it -- and then we must make it real." - Arthur SilburFrom an essay on the origins of the torturers.
And so, yeah, missteps, miscalculations, outright blunders aside, my little endeavor shall continue.
Sat, Jan. 31st, 2009, 08:06 am
Today's Entry
Ah damn, I just looked into the sun, and now I have that spot in front of my eyes. As it is on the front side of the summer solstice, the sunrise is moving northward with each successive day. This morning it is almost out of my sight, but still just southward enough I can see it from my south window. I have no east-facing windows, and it will be a while before it moves northward enough I can see it from the rear, north window. So, I took advantage, to look at it, because by the beginning of the week, I'll be done seeing it from my apartment.
Wtf, what am doing talking about the sunrise. My vision's cleared, now, at least.
***
I wish I knew layouts and css and bs like this, better, so I could make this journal more what I want, which is actually quite very simple. I am really amazed no one, apparently, has written some kind of program, or opened a website thing, where they could make it very simple to "customize" existing layout styles. Nope, instead, you got like, gah, all this override stuff, and a million lines of html and crap.
Then I could be like, yes, I just want a box at the top, which is not a post-dated journal entry to have my warning, and my copyright notice, and my disclaimer, and my counter. Voila. Then the rest could all look like it does, since this is not something I really give a fuck about.
***
I'm taking the boys sledding in a few hours. I hope it warms up a bit between now and then.
***
A conversation with someone, a girl I will call Kim, about the "I'm-just-like-the-one-in-your-nightmare
As, or more, or most important, I also realized, at the time of this conversation, that my aim was not an altogether altruistic one, for one can see that I was also trying to address both guilt (in the event I am/was just using her) and to try to protect myself (a futile endeavor) against her departure.
Wtf, what am doing talking about the sunrise. My vision's cleared, now, at least.
***
I wish I knew layouts and css and bs like this, better, so I could make this journal more what I want, which is actually quite very simple. I am really amazed no one, apparently, has written some kind of program, or opened a website thing, where they could make it very simple to "customize" existing layout styles. Nope, instead, you got like, gah, all this override stuff, and a million lines of html and crap.
Then I could be like, yes, I just want a box at the top, which is not a post-dated journal entry to have my warning, and my copyright notice, and my disclaimer, and my counter. Voila. Then the rest could all look like it does, since this is not something I really give a fuck about.
***
I'm taking the boys sledding in a few hours. I hope it warms up a bit between now and then.
***
A conversation with someone, a girl I will call Kim, about the "I'm-just-like-the-one-in-your-nightmare
Mark: I mentioned to [Another] that I may be "just plain bad" for herIt took me a while, I guess, but this morning I realized that me saying what I said was just like molesting or raping her. Certainly scary, in any case. An underestimation of instability; an overestimation of honesty. I guess I will keep this in mind.
Kim: why?
Mark: she said why, and I said, "well, in a sure sense, I’m just like the guy in your nightmares"
Mark: she has nightmares about molestation
Mark: and she did say in her very first letter to me that I hurt people, just by being
Kim: why tell her now, you knew this, no?
Mark: yes, but if she was blocking it, or not confronting it, what would be the point of me going on hurting her indefinitely?
Mark: I said, I wonder what your therapist would say if she knew exactly about me
Mark: she may have taken it to heart, since I have not heard from her since
Mark: facts are facts, possibly, and if those are facts, goddamn, may as well face 'em sooner, rather than later
Kim: I don't understand what you are doing
Kim: you know that anyone that has been abused will love and hate lots of parts of you. You can't bring them in and push them away when you decide. She probably thinks she knows what is best for her. Mark stop sabotaging yourself.
Mark: she is not a problem to me, period - I do not want to be part of hers
Mark: I don't hurt from loving her
Kim: but you know that you run that risk from the beginning
Mark: of hurting her?
Kim: of course
Mark: I suppose so
Mark: I dunno. Guess I'll just have to see
Kim: I don't want to seem harsh
Kim: but I don't think you know what you are doing.. lol
Mark: king of too much information, me
Mark: always
Kim: why are you the king of too much info
Mark: I don't know
Mark: I strive for this purity based on trust and understanding and honesty, and hiding nothing
Mark: but I guess that is faulty thinking
Kim: well yes because girls that you may be interested in may be unstable from the start
Mark: :(
Mark: lol, what else can one say to that one!
Kim: im sorry i said i didnt want to be harsh, but you yourself have told me this
Kim: and to choose to say this to her now i think you are just stopping yourself from being happy
Mark: you're not being harsh - honesty is not harsh
Kim: are you feeling guilty
Mark: yes
Kim: tsk tsk
Mark: you think I want to use someone?
Kim: well.. what choice do you have
Kim: it may seem that way for now but you have to help her
Mark: I don't know - I thought there was a chance at understanding
Kim: well there is but I think it would take a lot of time and security
Mark: because remember, I also do not want to be just used, either
Kim: well yes
Mark: been there, done that pretty well the first go round
Kim: but you are going to have to put everything out there and risk it all each time to figure it out
Kim: with each new person
Mark: lol, yah, I guess
Mark: not like there's some long line, darling
Kim: yea yea you know what i mean
Mark: lol, yeah
Mark: alright, though, I am going to go to sleep - I did send a text over that it was not my intention to hurt her with those statements
Mark: for what that was worth
Kim: are you testing her
Mark: no, I didn't think so, but maybe so? I wanted to make sure she faced those questions, and didn't just hide from them - and then, when I got myself all 150% invested, every fucking bit of me, boop, oops, dude, you're bad for me, sayonanna
Mark: narra
Mark: or something like that
Kim: interesting
Mark: because the irony is - once I love someone like this, this little girl shit is not so, um, I dunno, fucking important
Mark: its not like its some kind of "cure" but it is like the kind of trust that lets me be outside of that
Mark: or all the way inside, either way
Mark: or anywhere in between
Mark: lol, you know, something approaching fucking normal
Mark: is all
Kim: ok I understand but you could have still approached the subject better than telling her you may not be great for her
Kim: cause that wont help you
Mark: yeah, probably not
Kim: maybe you are too negative about yourself
Mark: it was her bringing up the nightmares that brought it to the fore
Mark: and the timing of that, really
Mark: following two episodes of text sex with her as a little girl
Kim: you can tell her reassuring things like shes not that little girl anymore
Kim: and when shes a little girl with you she is safe
Mark: makes any thinking person second guess stuff
Mark: I'll keep those in ming
Mark: mind
Mark: not in a vase from China
Kim: ok
Kim: ok well im gonna go to bed too bc i have to leave for work at 6:20 bleh!
Mark: mkay, sleep tight
Mark: thanks for the words, etc
Kim: mmm hmm
Kim: dont know if it made sense or helped
Kim: but i personally hate hate hate when [her b/f] decides for me if we should be together or not for my own good
Mark: ehh, anything beats silence, really
Mark: always
Mark: I see - well, I can't imagine me ever doing that kind of "deciding" because I really like her
Mark: I really do, and in lots of ways - some on top and some way deeper
Mark: but okee, goodnight
Kim: no but you saying that sounds like it
Kim: ok night night
Mark: mk
As, or more, or most important, I also realized, at the time of this conversation, that my aim was not an altogether altruistic one, for one can see that I was also trying to address both guilt (in the event I am/was just using her) and to try to protect myself (a futile endeavor) against her departure.
Fri, Jan. 30th, 2009, 12:51 am
Missteps
Someone pointed out that this (the idea behind yesterdays' entry) was probably not very wise.
Probably not. Maybe I will write more about that, tomorrow, though.
Probably not. Maybe I will write more about that, tomorrow, though.
Wed, Jan. 28th, 2009, 06:13 pm
But nevertheless, to be clear
Nevertheless, to be clear. None of those statements in the last entry, or the fact I asked them of myself and of her, and hypothetically of any number of psychological professionals, should in no way be construed as an indication that I "don't want" her, and us - or that I discount either myself, or her, or us.
I don't.
I guess those questions are, to the extent possible, an attempt at "informed consent," if nothing else.
If I thought any so-called psychological professional, anywhere, and at anytime, had any real and viable alternative for either or both of us, then I would surely acquiesce, lie down, walk away and give up. The fact of the matter is that they don't. It drives them fucking nuts (lol), I am sure, to not have the enlightened answers to the questions which are desperately screamed from so many darker corners.
I suppose the strongest argument (after the obvious ones, of the age gap) that might be made against us, could, as would a similar argument if she were 10, be based upon that idea of informed consent. That is, can her consent, indeed, given her past, be informed?
Can someone who was as a powerless child touched in so many ways by more than one person, ever make any kind of informed consent, regardless their future age, with regard to someone like me, who can look, regardless the one stark difference, in so many ways like those monsters and rapists of her youth, and even of her present nightmares.
I may respect both the law, and the knowledge that a child can't make an informed consent to such things, but the only real difference, once the law is satisfied, is that I can and will and do, stop on that brink, and ask, "is this what you want, baby?"
So yes, that was all my text, last night, and the journal entry, this morning, were about.
I don't.
I guess those questions are, to the extent possible, an attempt at "informed consent," if nothing else.
If I thought any so-called psychological professional, anywhere, and at anytime, had any real and viable alternative for either or both of us, then I would surely acquiesce, lie down, walk away and give up. The fact of the matter is that they don't. It drives them fucking nuts (lol), I am sure, to not have the enlightened answers to the questions which are desperately screamed from so many darker corners.
I suppose the strongest argument (after the obvious ones, of the age gap) that might be made against us, could, as would a similar argument if she were 10, be based upon that idea of informed consent. That is, can her consent, indeed, given her past, be informed?
Can someone who was as a powerless child touched in so many ways by more than one person, ever make any kind of informed consent, regardless their future age, with regard to someone like me, who can look, regardless the one stark difference, in so many ways like those monsters and rapists of her youth, and even of her present nightmares.
I may respect both the law, and the knowledge that a child can't make an informed consent to such things, but the only real difference, once the law is satisfied, is that I can and will and do, stop on that brink, and ask, "is this what you want, baby?"
So yes, that was all my text, last night, and the journal entry, this morning, were about.
Wed, Jan. 28th, 2009, 10:40 am
Bad for you, maybe.
Last night, I wondered aloud, in a text over to her, whether, perhaps, I was "just plain bad" for her.
If you don't ask the hard questions, after all - or wait, what was that quote, "honesty, when applied at one's convenience, is still dishonest" - even with ones self.
Anyway, yes, I asked that. Although I couldn't imagine she wouldn't already know why I would or might think that way, nevertheless, she asked me back, why I would think that.
She has nightmares about being molested as a child.
I responded, "because in a certain and sure sense, I am at least a component of your nightmares...I'm that guy." Then, I wondered aloud, further, what her therapist, if she knew all about me, as she already, I assume, knows all about her, would think about us "together."
"After all," I said, "when you first wrote me, very first time, part of what you said was that I hurt ones like you. Just being."
Maybe because of my fragmentary last sentence, she thought I was going to say more beyond that, and maybe she fell asleep waiting for more, which I never sent, for there was nothing more to add.
I mean, yeah, for fucks sake, I've spent my life and time avoiding, or at least trying to avoid hurting anyone, by just being. So, like, yeah, well over 18, or not, what's the point, if at the end of the day, I'm still hurting someone, you know? It's not like pain, that kind of pain, is some kind of qualitative or quantitative thing, regardless of how old or young its recipient is or is not.
***
The question, and my impetus for asking it of her, arose out of a short bit of conversation I had, last week, with someone else online. This someone said that although she didn't know, she thought that I want my girls broken, otherwise, I couldn't be (broken). She admitted it was fucked everyway, regardless. She said maybe I don't want it that way, but they are, they have to be.
I never like to hear this, of course. Like all truths, some of them hurt, I guess.
I snapped back, impetuously, "but if they are never going to be fixed, and me, either, what does it really matter?"
Then, I just laughed and said, nvm. But I didn't stop thinking about it.
But she went on to explain that the reason it mattered is because (for them) "things will always hurt."
"So," I said, "even if I try and do thing legal, I'm still fucking with people?"
She said, no, that she didn't think I was fucking with people, but that they were fucking with me, because they just aren't stable enough to stick to something.
Yeah, I get that.
***
Although I can all but predict the exact answer, it would be interesting to know what the psychotherapy ones would say. Lol, yeah, actually, I know, already, really, so why bother asking: "both of you need to get (the fuck) over this."
Maybe one of us will, someday.
***
ETA; Lol, when I'd finished, posted it and re-read it, for some reason it occurred to me to add...rather gleefully, as if I'd just had a great idea:
"Oh wait, maybe we can both get the fuck over it together!?"
Then I remembered, that oh, but oh, that's right, all the science (and sentences and registries) says ones like me never get over it.
All the same, it's funny, in some weird sense, seriously, I have gotten over it, or at least past it - but maybe I lie to myself, too.
If you don't ask the hard questions, after all - or wait, what was that quote, "honesty, when applied at one's convenience, is still dishonest" - even with ones self.
Anyway, yes, I asked that. Although I couldn't imagine she wouldn't already know why I would or might think that way, nevertheless, she asked me back, why I would think that.
She has nightmares about being molested as a child.
I responded, "because in a certain and sure sense, I am at least a component of your nightmares...I'm that guy." Then, I wondered aloud, further, what her therapist, if she knew all about me, as she already, I assume, knows all about her, would think about us "together."
"After all," I said, "when you first wrote me, very first time, part of what you said was that I hurt ones like you. Just being."
Maybe because of my fragmentary last sentence, she thought I was going to say more beyond that, and maybe she fell asleep waiting for more, which I never sent, for there was nothing more to add.
I mean, yeah, for fucks sake, I've spent my life and time avoiding, or at least trying to avoid hurting anyone, by just being. So, like, yeah, well over 18, or not, what's the point, if at the end of the day, I'm still hurting someone, you know? It's not like pain, that kind of pain, is some kind of qualitative or quantitative thing, regardless of how old or young its recipient is or is not.
***
The question, and my impetus for asking it of her, arose out of a short bit of conversation I had, last week, with someone else online. This someone said that although she didn't know, she thought that I want my girls broken, otherwise, I couldn't be (broken). She admitted it was fucked everyway, regardless. She said maybe I don't want it that way, but they are, they have to be.
I never like to hear this, of course. Like all truths, some of them hurt, I guess.
I snapped back, impetuously, "but if they are never going to be fixed, and me, either, what does it really matter?"
Then, I just laughed and said, nvm. But I didn't stop thinking about it.
But she went on to explain that the reason it mattered is because (for them) "things will always hurt."
"So," I said, "even if I try and do thing legal, I'm still fucking with people?"
She said, no, that she didn't think I was fucking with people, but that they were fucking with me, because they just aren't stable enough to stick to something.
Yeah, I get that.
***
Although I can all but predict the exact answer, it would be interesting to know what the psychotherapy ones would say. Lol, yeah, actually, I know, already, really, so why bother asking: "both of you need to get (the fuck) over this."
Maybe one of us will, someday.
***
ETA; Lol, when I'd finished, posted it and re-read it, for some reason it occurred to me to add...rather gleefully, as if I'd just had a great idea:
"Oh wait, maybe we can both get the fuck over it together!?"
Then I remembered, that oh, but oh, that's right, all the science (and sentences and registries) says ones like me never get over it.
All the same, it's funny, in some weird sense, seriously, I have gotten over it, or at least past it - but maybe I lie to myself, too.
Sun, Jan. 25th, 2009, 03:25 pm
What's it look like, beauty? And, love, then?
I must have her, Another, pick a name that I may safely use when I write about her, because unlike the Pete Yorn song from which that name sprung, she's really not just another girl, but for now, it will have to do.
We have managed to advance to chat, via meebo.com. It's amazing when you don't have much, how much a little thing like that can mean. Since I have a cam and voice and mic, etc., she was also able to hear and see me, as well. I hope that helps her in her waiting.
It only just sounds and looks like she's 16; she's not. Mid-20's. But, except to say that she had to move back in with her parents, there are background issues that I will not cover for the purposes of this post. Well, I guess I will also add that her parents don't particularly care for me, and I don't suppose I can blame them, considering the 23-year age gap.
Nevertheless, things are what they are, and the point of this post is not our limitations, but rather, our possibilities.
So, yesterday, before meebo, she texted me that she has found some pictures of her as a little girl, "5, 7, 9" etc., and asked if I would like them.
Lol, hello?
I told her not to send the stark naked one of herself at 6, since that could cause problems, but that sometime she could show it to me in person, perhaps.
Then we managed the meebo thing, and finally, after over a year of text-only communications, were able to talk a little bit easier.
Anyway, I came over her to make a post about something in that conversation, that I found beautiful - one like me would, of course. I thought I would title this post, "What is beauty," and lol, when I opened up IJ, the little quote from squeaky at the top of the page was:
"OHHH! What a beauty!"
I laughed. She would probably say it's a sign!
Anyway, here is the cut-paste of one of the parts of our conversation that I found very pretty. The lead-up to it is that before she signed onto meebo, she went me the email with ten pictures of her as a little girl. I had decided I would wait until later to open the mail, so that I would have something to look foreward to later in the day. But as we talked, I couldn't resist opening it. When I did, I could see the thumbnails of the pictures she'd sent over.
They are very pretty, and the one is of her at about 5, lying on her tummy in her bed - really, really pretty. White nightie, and her white-pantied bottom showing. Pillows. Pink-bottle baby lotion on the nightstand, even.
There were others, too - really nice to see her in this state - to know her in the form in which we sometimes play, cum together. Owing to this, our conversation looked like this for the next several lines
I did. Fucked her that way, over the phone, text-style, till she said, "oh god, daddy...yeah daddy...squirt your cum in me, daddy...cum inside me."
Fucking came a mile. Feel asleep till after 3am. Fucked her again, this morning in my head and in my bed.
What beauty looks and feels like to her and I, part of what love is between her and I.
You might not like us, but you can't stop us.
We have managed to advance to chat, via meebo.com. It's amazing when you don't have much, how much a little thing like that can mean. Since I have a cam and voice and mic, etc., she was also able to hear and see me, as well. I hope that helps her in her waiting.
It only just sounds and looks like she's 16; she's not. Mid-20's. But, except to say that she had to move back in with her parents, there are background issues that I will not cover for the purposes of this post. Well, I guess I will also add that her parents don't particularly care for me, and I don't suppose I can blame them, considering the 23-year age gap.
Nevertheless, things are what they are, and the point of this post is not our limitations, but rather, our possibilities.
So, yesterday, before meebo, she texted me that she has found some pictures of her as a little girl, "5, 7, 9" etc., and asked if I would like them.
Lol, hello?
I told her not to send the stark naked one of herself at 6, since that could cause problems, but that sometime she could show it to me in person, perhaps.
Then we managed the meebo thing, and finally, after over a year of text-only communications, were able to talk a little bit easier.
Anyway, I came over her to make a post about something in that conversation, that I found beautiful - one like me would, of course. I thought I would title this post, "What is beauty," and lol, when I opened up IJ, the little quote from squeaky at the top of the page was:
"OHHH! What a beauty!"
I laughed. She would probably say it's a sign!
Anyway, here is the cut-paste of one of the parts of our conversation that I found very pretty. The lead-up to it is that before she signed onto meebo, she went me the email with ten pictures of her as a little girl. I had decided I would wait until later to open the mail, so that I would have something to look foreward to later in the day. But as we talked, I couldn't resist opening it. When I did, I could see the thumbnails of the pictures she'd sent over.
They are very pretty, and the one is of her at about 5, lying on her tummy in her bed - really, really pretty. White nightie, and her white-pantied bottom showing. Pillows. Pink-bottle baby lotion on the nightstand, even.
There were others, too - really nice to see her in this state - to know her in the form in which we sometimes play, cum together. Owing to this, our conversation looked like this for the next several lines
Me: oooooooo, oh mySo yeah. Later then, in the evening, I texted her up. I wasn't looking at the pictures, nah, but I was definitely being with her. Behind her, both of us naked in the bed. Me big, she little. My hard cock in the space between her bare little cheeks, hand on her flat little chest; she large enough to whisper, sleepy-like, "inside me, daddy, put it inside me."
Me: these pics are lovely - I'm gonna wait!!
Me: lol, oh god, uh, heh
Me: um, yeah
Her: ...?
Me: yeah, very very nice
Her: oh.. hehe
Me: guess I'm saying it is not out of the question I cum sometime, looking at these, darling ;)
Me: habit, you understand
Her: i hope you do!
Her: that was... kinda the idea..
Me: awwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Me: k, k, baby thank you, then, for that
I did. Fucked her that way, over the phone, text-style, till she said, "oh god, daddy...yeah daddy...squirt your cum in me, daddy...cum inside me."
Fucking came a mile. Feel asleep till after 3am. Fucked her again, this morning in my head and in my bed.
What beauty looks and feels like to her and I, part of what love is between her and I.
You might not like us, but you can't stop us.
Sat, Jan. 24th, 2009, 01:45 am
Oh yokel!
Oh, Internet, oh lollerskates, some yokel at ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif)
moviequotes deleted my comment to their quote entry.
Lol, seriously, that's some faggotry.
I don't know which movie the quote was from, but I thought it was pretty good, and my comment was probably laughter and some form of compliment upon it: "Plenty of people are on to the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness."
I don't agree with it, though.
The strength of a username in some places never fails to amaze me.
moviequotes deleted my comment to their quote entry.Lol, seriously, that's some faggotry.
I don't know which movie the quote was from, but I thought it was pretty good, and my comment was probably laughter and some form of compliment upon it: "Plenty of people are on to the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness."
I don't agree with it, though.
The strength of a username in some places never fails to amaze me.
Thu, Jan. 22nd, 2009, 09:25 pm
And I could listen to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" endlessly.
I make entries like this to remind myself, later, how I felt at a certain given moment.
In case I forget.
That's all.
I make entries like this to remind myself, later, how I felt at a certain given moment.
In case I forget.
That's all.
Thu, Jan. 22nd, 2009, 11:02 am
I can't wait...
Last night, I was talking to Vanessa, and she was telling me about one of her classes, in which they were discussing critical reasoning. She sent over an example of how critical it is that words be properly construed, lest disastrous effect result from their misinterpretation.
(Like, man calls 911, "there's a guy in the woods, I think he's dead!"..."Well," the opertor replies, "first make sure he's dead..." "Hold on..." the guy says.. "Okay, did that, made sure he was definitely dead, now what?")
So, the day before last, she and I (she being "Another," of whom I have often spoke) were talking via text, teasing ourselves and making ourselves hot for one another. She was at some dive bar at the time, having a beer, I think, and thinking over her parents' invasion of her privacy (reading her diary, reviewing her internet files) and her mother's later accusation that her outrage at the invasion was unjustified, she being merely ungrateful.
I've gotten sidetracked, here, so I will end that bit by only observing, that in regard to "ungrateful," parents should never expect a return on investment: that is not how the game works.
To return to the point of this post, now. After we had gotten so far along, withme confirming that she made me hard so easy, and her affirming I made her wet, she texted me, "I can't wait..."
After fighting off the urge to hear that exactly as it was stated, "I can't wait," I texted back, "neither can I, but I am gonna..just no longer than is necessary, at all."
"I can't wait." "I can't wait?" "I can't wait!"
Yeah, sure, since this is my journal and all, sure, to me, coming from her, it sounds an awful lot like, "I can't wait," that is to say, "I won't."
Luckily, I am smart enough and experienced enough, and I guess, old enough, to know that I couldn't blame someone if they couldn't or wouldn't wait.
Laughing, yeah, sure, it'd be nice if they could, mhm, you bet. Everyone has different needs and wants, though, and in different intensities, too. It's not as if I learned patience overnight, or that the lesson was not hard to learn, either.
These are not complaints, and only observations.
***
Maybe later, after I get some more work done, I will write about a prettier (to me, fuck you, kthxbye), less arduous topic that occupied my mind quite nicely for parts of the day, yesterday.
(Like, man calls 911, "there's a guy in the woods, I think he's dead!"..."Well," the opertor replies, "first make sure he's dead..." "Hold on..." the guy says.. "Okay, did that, made sure he was definitely dead, now what?")
So, the day before last, she and I (she being "Another," of whom I have often spoke) were talking via text, teasing ourselves and making ourselves hot for one another. She was at some dive bar at the time, having a beer, I think, and thinking over her parents' invasion of her privacy (reading her diary, reviewing her internet files) and her mother's later accusation that her outrage at the invasion was unjustified, she being merely ungrateful.
I've gotten sidetracked, here, so I will end that bit by only observing, that in regard to "ungrateful," parents should never expect a return on investment: that is not how the game works.
To return to the point of this post, now. After we had gotten so far along, withme confirming that she made me hard so easy, and her affirming I made her wet, she texted me, "I can't wait..."
After fighting off the urge to hear that exactly as it was stated, "I can't wait," I texted back, "neither can I, but I am gonna..just no longer than is necessary, at all."
"I can't wait." "I can't wait?" "I can't wait!"
Yeah, sure, since this is my journal and all, sure, to me, coming from her, it sounds an awful lot like, "I can't wait," that is to say, "I won't."
Luckily, I am smart enough and experienced enough, and I guess, old enough, to know that I couldn't blame someone if they couldn't or wouldn't wait.
Laughing, yeah, sure, it'd be nice if they could, mhm, you bet. Everyone has different needs and wants, though, and in different intensities, too. It's not as if I learned patience overnight, or that the lesson was not hard to learn, either.
These are not complaints, and only observations.
***
Maybe later, after I get some more work done, I will write about a prettier (to me, fuck you, kthxbye), less arduous topic that occupied my mind quite nicely for parts of the day, yesterday.