Mark

It has been a while since I have written anything of any substance.

That is not to say that that is what this entry will be: of substance. However, I do think it will be a substantial update, if nothing else.

Where to begin? Every time, I have asked that question, out loud, journal-entry style, the answer is always the same: start at the start. Where then, is that start, I wonder. At the start, where the hell else? But I am not going to back all the way up to elementary school just for this little entry. No, I’ll pare it down to just the things that matter at the moment.

Holy crap, now I realize how far behind I am.

Well, I’ll refine it down to several more manageable topics, then.

Lessee, gotta pick me some names, first – the list of names serving as a list of topics.

Local girl
SF girl
Another (that name was chosen over a year ago, now)
MRH (that’s not a girl’s name, but the name of a project that will just get a brief mention at the end)

Mkay.

( Read more... )

Alrighty, a long entry.

I’ll wrap it up by just making mention, in regard to MRH, above, that I sent some of my one-sided recordings over to this person involved in a project she (I think it’s a she) calls The Melted Rubber Humans project, which you can Google, if you are further interested.

In short, I believe she is endeavoring to incorporate the sounds of sex, of feeling, of one’s soul, as it were, into musical and video productions – but I don’t know much more about it.

[ETA; the filename, 062008.64804, is all even numbers]

( I broke some more words into little sections of text. )

This is a letter, of sorts, (or maybe just a note) to my mighta been, coulda been, woulda been, shoulda been, never was, though, and never will be, one.

I have to do it this way, I have to communicate this way...for a number of reasons, the primary one of which (the fact she's already attached) should have shut my mouth (and self, for that matter) many weeks ago. Secondary reasons include her very real and valid fear of an association with me. Laughing - kinda funny to be in love with some who has to be afraid of knowing you, of being found out as knowing you. It's a real fear, and it's valid. So don't mistake me on that one. People are idiots; and operate without regard for consequences.

So yeah. She thinks her email, and who knows what else, is being watched, or monitored, or under attempts to be hacked. Could be. In this realm, there is no unfounded paranoia. We can't use the phone for other reasons, obviously, the existing attachment being a part of those reasons.

( Read more... )

[Smiling...Nick rocks. He'll never have my heart all the way like Cohen does, but he definitely rocks.]

I really don't have the time to write this, I don't think. I am trying to get some things done, so I can try to squeeze into some small short few days, events and activities with the boys that should have played themselves out over the period of this entire summer, now nearly gone.

Still, though, I think I am going to try.

It started, back on May 15th or so, with a subject line, "From a little girl who reads your journal," and finishes, I believe, for all intents and purposes, today, with "i know now that, for one, i don't want to deceive someone who's been so faithful for so many years," which was contained within a now deleted comment, bearing the subject line of "daddy..."

It's cool, and I will finish this later, too.

[10:09 AM, Saturday May, 19, 2007]

Alrighty, it's quiet enough here that I think I can manage to do this, now. I, and it, started back here, the night before last, and links back to this at at its end.

So, keeping in mind "explain, not defend," I'll continue.

She only asked one direct, two-part question for me to answer for her, although the other things she said, after that, led to at least one or two for me to answer for me, and perhaps even for some others who may read this, or love or hate me, to answer for themselves as well.

( Read more... )

Alrighty, shuttin,' now. My final apology is that I am sorry if this is not the answer you were looking for or hoping for, but it is my answer while I continue to look for others.

Best again.

[I think, considering her concern about being found out, that I oughtta first ask her if my editing of her email is cool, before I make this a public post (did and done)]

[Retro 12:22 PM, Sunday May 20, 2007;

Alrighty, ready to unscreen/make public these bits, but, given my word hangover, I'll say/ramble about a few of the things I'd left out? changed? done differently? Make admissions? I don't know?

It's too presumptuous. It's too assumptuous (doubt that's a word). It's too righteous. It's not written with enough sensitivity toward the author of its inspiring email, or the ones on the behalf of whom, perhaps, she wrote.

Those would be the admissions, I suppose.

Or, maybe these are, even, too. I guess the part I left out the end, the part I'd parenthetically alluded to along the way as being the "hardest," was some sort of concession. They tell yo to do this in your first course on expository writing in regard to argument papers. Ah, but then again, was it an argument? Yes, yes it was. Though I tried to keep it at explanation, perhaps all such explanations of the would-be sordid end up at defence papers. No matter, I do not think it hurts to add in concessions in which I believe - at least to the extent of the definition of "could."

I could be wrong. It could very well be that my writing and my existence inspires others to commit crimes, creating new victims. It could be that my existence and my writing makes the recovery of past victims that much more difficult, or delayed, re-victimizing them all over again. It could be that my relationships with grown women are only and always will be only, destructive and fatally flawed, based upon something which is best left alone, or ignored, or somehow pushed out, or endeavored to be moved beyond.

Last (is there ever a last with me?), in regard to the final sentence of that last paragraph, I think I should mention, that, at least for me, the events of the last seven years have changed me in some fundamental ways - depending upon what one means by "fundamental."

This way (with one more "dependent" in place): In regard to those who are adults, depending upon how one defines love (lmao, that's gotta be the biggest "dependent" in the whole wide world), I have learned to love those who are not children. I have learned, or come to, lust for those who are not children. In regard to those who are children (girl variety), I have learned temperance, restraint, and of more beauty that I ever thought possible.

Though, damn, that last sentence is so tidy, but, to disclaim the word "restraint," lest someone misunderstand, or worse, misconstrue that word, let me clarify. I do not mean, that in the past, prior to this journey, that I was an offender that way. Nah. I kept things too far out and away from me for that.

But it was like this, if I may be ugly for a moment or two...when I would see a little girl, either in real life, or a sought out photographic form, who was to my liking as to age, form and spirit, I'd commit all of those to memory, and "relieve myself" at, generally, my earliest opportunity.

It's not like that, now.

At all.

The things that were there for me, then, no longer have the validity they did, then. Then, that was the only validity, the only possibility.

Now, now I save something up. And no, not just my ejaculate, though yes, that's a part, mhm. I save that up, all of that physical and metaphysical stuff inside, to share with an adult, when I can. And though some little girl almost always remains present in some form or other, it is so, so different.

Soooo, yes, it is better for me, for it no longer remains an endless, hopeless cycle. However, given the things you have said in regard to those adults with whom I interact...this way...the jury remains out on whether it is better overall. That is, in the past, there was no real victim, for the subjects or objects of my desire never had a clue what went on out of their presence. But now, perhaps I create new victims, or revictimize old victims. Which, would make it all an entirely selfish endeavor, indeed.

This question, however, is not a new one, as I brought it up myself, nearly two years ago, just a renewed one.

So, I guess, like, don't cross the river if you can't swim the tide?

All done.

Errr, I'd thought I was, then, an hour and a half ago, but I wanted to add the line and link, "Missy was one of these," and it took me that long to locate the entry. That is the only editing I have made to the original, I promise.]

[Retro 11/06/2007, 1:59; For the record, she wrote back, thanked me (1000 times) for this, my answer to her email, and ultimately gave me permission to post her reply to this answer, which, eventually, I shall, somewhere or another. Also, several months later we became real life lovers. It couldn't work, though, because of distance and her need to stay in her state, and for someone with her, all the time. It was over about two weeks, ago.]

I think I will just write and see what happens.

The architect, Frank Lloyd Wright was said to have said words to the effect of: never draw a thing, never even put your pencil to the paper unless you already know exactly what it is you intend to draw.

Architecture and art, however, though they may imitate life at times, are not it.

Sometimes I know exactly what it is I come over here to say or record. Usually, when I do not, I just don't come over. But here I am. There's something, there's definitely something, and I just can't get my anything wrapped around it.

So, perhaps if I re-read, and just begin to write, whatever it is I am needing to write will go ahead and present itself. I don't know. I'll always have the option of just quitting, too, of course. Or, starting over another day, even.

( I got an email the other day )