The Bride of Loneliness beckons me
To be embraced in her cover
To be silent and curl up
And lie down forever
It is an insiduous feeling that creeps into your life, like a canker. It is difficult to fight it and it is even more diffcult to win against it. It is like a filthy little perverted secret that you coddle and hold till it grows into a huge secret of your life and in the end you are consumed by it, like a self sustaining symbiotic parasitic relation that has gone awry. There is no cure, no internal cure for it and I hope for someone to come from outside, from away and rescue me.
There is a pleasure in stasis that is self destructive. This stasis is beyond vacillation, vacillation involves an alternating thought stream - debating options or at least avoidance of a certain thought process by indulging in others. Stasis is all pervading emptiness, an emptiness when the body becomes a shell and your mind becomes a fluid and shapeless reactive ensemble. The body ceases to be anything more than a shell, a reservoir for this mind and I float in a nothingness, numb.
The pleasure is there and the pleasure eats me, alive. My mind is slowly consumed in the vaccuum of nothingness as streams of thought break away in obedience to some cold law of nature. In the end I am left with nothing but a shadow of a forethought buried in nothingness. I am truly empty then. Perhaps that is dying.
But I cannot deny responsibility, I cannot deny that the perverse pleasure of loneliness makes me curl and think nothing for hours in my bed. Yet somewhere in my mind at the same time there a stream of thought, weak and weakening every day. This is where I cry for myself, this is where I reek of self pity and this is where I search for salvation.
My salvation takes the form of a woman. She is there smiling at a distance, enticing and forbidding at the same time. Smiling and speaking and calling out to me - 'Come to me and I shall save you, come come come ...' till the sound morphs into a sexual experience. I am lying naked with her on flat ground stretching to infinity everywhere. I want to touch her, feel her, fondle her and cuddle up with her and go thorugh the seven heavens of sexual pleasures with her. But I don't. I just look at her and she looks back and smiles at me. Her mouth moves but I hear no sound and yet I know what she is speaking. She is asking that why don't I touch her, why don't I fondle her, why don't I do anything to her? But I just lie there looking at her with nothing in my mind. She stops talking and looks away. But I know that she is smiling, she always smiles.
I am back in my drab room staring at its yellow walls and crying witihin, as always.
Again self-explanatory.
To be embraced in her cover
To be silent and curl up
And lie down forever
It is an insiduous feeling that creeps into your life, like a canker. It is difficult to fight it and it is even more diffcult to win against it. It is like a filthy little perverted secret that you coddle and hold till it grows into a huge secret of your life and in the end you are consumed by it, like a self sustaining symbiotic parasitic relation that has gone awry. There is no cure, no internal cure for it and I hope for someone to come from outside, from away and rescue me.
There is a pleasure in stasis that is self destructive. This stasis is beyond vacillation, vacillation involves an alternating thought stream - debating options or at least avoidance of a certain thought process by indulging in others. Stasis is all pervading emptiness, an emptiness when the body becomes a shell and your mind becomes a fluid and shapeless reactive ensemble. The body ceases to be anything more than a shell, a reservoir for this mind and I float in a nothingness, numb.
The pleasure is there and the pleasure eats me, alive. My mind is slowly consumed in the vaccuum of nothingness as streams of thought break away in obedience to some cold law of nature. In the end I am left with nothing but a shadow of a forethought buried in nothingness. I am truly empty then. Perhaps that is dying.
But I cannot deny responsibility, I cannot deny that the perverse pleasure of loneliness makes me curl and think nothing for hours in my bed. Yet somewhere in my mind at the same time there a stream of thought, weak and weakening every day. This is where I cry for myself, this is where I reek of self pity and this is where I search for salvation.
My salvation takes the form of a woman. She is there smiling at a distance, enticing and forbidding at the same time. Smiling and speaking and calling out to me - 'Come to me and I shall save you, come come come ...' till the sound morphs into a sexual experience. I am lying naked with her on flat ground stretching to infinity everywhere. I want to touch her, feel her, fondle her and cuddle up with her and go thorugh the seven heavens of sexual pleasures with her. But I don't. I just look at her and she looks back and smiles at me. Her mouth moves but I hear no sound and yet I know what she is speaking. She is asking that why don't I touch her, why don't I fondle her, why don't I do anything to her? But I just lie there looking at her with nothing in my mind. She stops talking and looks away. But I know that she is smiling, she always smiles.
I am back in my drab room staring at its yellow walls and crying witihin, as always.
Again self-explanatory.
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