one word: runaway

if only i could escape. if i could run far enough, fast enough. maybe i could escape this life. i have found that you reach a point at which you become incredibly aware that you cannot go on, and cannot survive where you are. you have no choice. backed into a corner...you are left with a choice...fight or flight. i don't have enough left in me for this fight. i don't have much left in me at all these days. broken down and tired,i am afraid that all i am capable of these days is running. feeling my feet hit the pavement as i make my escape from this life, from this unfortunate situations. well, these unfortunate situations that have become my life. i was unaware that a human could feel this unfufilled, unhappy and alone. i find myself in this dark place. it is like living in a cave,except none of the benefits of truly being by oneself are present. and so i run.

oneword: roll

Rocking and rolling, ebbing and flowing. I am movement. I am active, not passive. I am doing, not planning. I am making things happen rather than promising that I someday will.

oneword: keychain

The quintessential symbol of my childhood. We used to clip them all onto our belt-loops and walk around with gaudy miniature beanbag animals and humorous quips like "Good girl gone bad." It wasn't so much about emotional attachment as showing off.

The fad replaced with the necessity of closing and locking up, whether that be ourselves or where we live. And suddenly, we realize, we've become that much more closed off. That much farther away from what used to be fun and creative. That much less...free.

oneword: myself

I could keep saying it to myself, waiting until you are sound asleep to murmur it into my pillow, and then rolling over in frustration because I know that you aren't ready for it. And that maybe we aren't ready for it to have gotten that heavy. And that maybe if I say it, you will run.

But maybe putting it out there in a place where you won't find it would help me release some of this pent up romantic energy.

I love you.

Did I tell you about her eyes?

Did I tell you about her eyes?
Dipped deeply in cobalt blue
and left free of obvious lies.
Simply unique and simply true.

Did I tell you about her eyes?
Coyly shown when we first met,
more inspiring then all the skies.
Her place in my world was set.

Did I tell you about her eyes?
Empty of all cruel intent
Filled with thoughtful cries.
Her honest reflection is sent.

Did I tell you about her eyes?
And a sadness found deep in there?
The break in her soft disguise,
Part of that she hides with care.

Did I tell you about her eyes?
How I fell there and was lost?
How she took away my lies?
And my tears fell at last?

Tell me about her eyes,
Least I forget.

John Thomas rule(d) my (early) life.

(Originally written in 2004, tweaked today)

For some reason this morning I am preoccupied by my John Thomas, third leg, or to be clinical about it, penis.

I am preoccupied by the fact at over 30 I still have very little control over it. In many ways I am (or should that be he is) like an adolesent. Unless you have your own you may find this hard to understand. It is indeed an appendage flying it's own flag of independance, and no matter what steps are taken will 'salute' that flag as and when (and wherever) it feels is appropriate.

You are never really given any solid advice on how to deal with this, and the triggers are inconsistant to say the least. At school during sex Ed we were forced to watch videos on this subject. And the girls where all invited.

The advice was in fact terrible, and only served to increase our already well developed insecurity in to a life long affliction. I remember clearly being told that we should during our teenage years "wear tight jeans or trousers to reduce the visibility of an involuntary errection" and "to distract ourselves by doing something else such as whistling". This did of course lead to playgrounds full of 14 yr olds in tight trousers whistling the latest chart hits. (And lots of giggling girls who had seen the same advice)

What they producers of this astute video obviously had not thought about is the actual appearance of a straining salute through tight jeans. It's just as obvious as the whistling. In fact loose trousers at least had the benefit of allowing you to put your hands in your pocket to grab the offending organ and try to control it. Slightly more practical and pleasurable then your tight jeans.

It is really no wonder that the Victorians used to cover up table legs least they arouse the passion within young men. Anything can, and occassionally still does, trigger this wonderful act. In fact it is amazing what can set of the skyward glance - any glimpse of previous cover flesh, your best friends mum, that slightly naughty novel owned by your parents, the slap you received from the fiesty girl of the class, dinner ladies, odd shaped salt pots...and on it goes.

... or it doesn't. Unfortunately, while for 99% of the time you can't stop it, this is always balanced by the 1 time it refuses to co-operate. Normally when it should be raring to stand upright and proud, it can be counted on to be having a bad day. Remember that first fumble? I am not sure what the ladies will have been thinking but I guarentee all the lads where willing their penis to become the largest, grandest and firmest it had ever been. Probably to the point they become paranoid it wouldn't work and that caused the sweat - not the heat of the moment.

There would have been that tense moment as she (gently / timidly / forcefully / aggressively)laid her hands upon it - the make or break moment. Stand or sink. Salute or stone. Her cool hands make contact and... you can bet the resultant cheer (Success) would be heard a mile away. As would the aggonising scream as your penis decides not to play.

And will probably stay this way for the rest of our lives. Just wait until the penis becomes Viagra immune. It will happpen - trust me.

oneword: idiot

how incredibly stupid do i feel? this end all be all thing that i believed in, my whole outlook...how could i have been so wrong? everything i believed in was a complete waste.

and now the situation i have found myself in...i never thought that i would end up back here again.

i can seem to move. i am trapped here in this. i am trapped by me. i am the only one that can get me out of this, and i cannot seem to move.

i feel so stupid, and helpless. i know i am neither, and yet i feel powerless to remove myself from this situation. i cannot for the life of me figure out what is keeping me here...other than an extreme fear of upsetting her. that's all. it seems so dumb.

i can say this...my outlook has changed. i have changed. i will never be this foolish again.