should have been another

if you look at me... you might find the devil. it is not within me, but you could build it. i am not evil, but nothing is. some of my notions are those of a chauvinist, a misogynist, a pig. i think in terms of the brutal, in terms of the sexual. i view the world in black and white. that should not be shocking. people think in ways that they do not communicate casually. But... i know it will be a shock... maybe not a shock... maybe just off-putting... but without the testimonials i feel as though i live a charade. maybe i should just accept that it is a charade. i enjoying drinking... i like the perspective shift, but i refrain because i hope that i am better then the inebriation escape. i want my achievements to be mine, not the work of a boozed-up ape. the beautiful carelessness, i want to feel it all the time. the warmth of comfort... when things are good. don't we all want that. or maybe it is a matter of abandoning the investigation. i shouldn't be thinking about what it is that i want or don't want, what is and what is not in my control. such deep shit man... so real bro... ask the tough questions. eat my ass. guess and second guess the guessing. talk real loud when the lights are out. blast the music. it isn't really about anything. it is a matter of being swept away as the momentum carries everything. events and choices... there is no stagnation, we continue to reach the crossroads... there is no rest, unless you hide. hiding has become a cornerstone. a key part of the foundation. it isn't even something to be sad about. probably shouldn't be thought about. but it is impossible to stop the compulsory thought. how can i avoid seeing the female form through a lens of wanting to fuck. i can't... and speaking about it is crass. there is no way to approach that realm in an honest fashion without stepping on toes. a person could tell me that i am simply wack and that i need to step my game up... learn the ways of the subtle maneuvers. i say that shit is for those that are caught in the deepest levels of personal crisis. the schematic looks something like this;

i am really this way

but

i will not be able to attract the person that i want if i act the way that i usually do

so

i will change my conduct to fit the mold that i have to fit to get the person

i will be formal when i need to

and

always cool

this game of appearances is tough. that is probably why everyone is shitfaced all the time. it has to be hard work whoring yourself out like that. awkward moments go away when the booze runs in the veins. things get so much more lively. the party is the party when you really work the party through your nose, or down your throat, sometimes both, from the same thing. the coke. just saying enough words and acting enough ways to get some naked time. just enough for another person to allow you into the personal space. it sounds creepy when it gets laid out in any manner that deviates from the really casual and cool way that it goes down with the help of insecure posturing and booze facing.

you might think that i am bad mouthing this entire process. and i am. but the hypocrisy is thick. i love every second of the process despite the horrid nature of it all. the moments of tribulation and success cannot be matched. the depth of rejection-hurt and the high of immersion skin contact. when words pass and hands slide over breasts in a happy ass frenzy of shirts off tunnel hope.

i just broke a barrier, all has come and gone, i am tired in the morning, rolling over... finding you, the kind words pass, emotional gay, left in the position, you may be gone tomorrow but i think i like today, i am thinking now is special, so involved i fail to judge, taking note of moments, memorizing visions of the shoulder blades, pulling down the sheets as you sleep, you made the choice to come here, body heat keeping me awake, so i guess i'll take a peek, nothing compromising, just the small of your back, the shape of all your cheeks. games games, decisions, it usually goes bad...