9/05/2013

A word about me

I go through a series of misunderstandings with creative women whom I love.

Many of them turn out to be bi or lesbian. I wish I was better at understanding LGBT people. It's true that much of understanding is relative and subjective though. I like who I am but I am by no means an extreme, masculine, testosterone monster though, and I am comfortable in my shoes as a funny, short (5.7) guy. If I could transcend to accommodate the people that I feel that I love; inject myself with some serum to make me what they want and need... I believe I would. But that would not be me... and that would make me feel vastly uncomfortable. Just as uncomfortable for them in a case of visa versa I believe. It would be a nature and relationship of extreme dependency.

If anything, I think I'm guilty of philogyny in the end. Even women ripe with misandry. And this also makes me somewhat of an emotional masochist. I am not happy with this but I'm learning to reverse that via paradoxical intention.

The funny thing about me is that I like aggressive women with a talisman of femininity carefully embedded. Talkative, cussing, egotistical, tomboys with wild hairstyles, piecemeal clothes and multi-textured, manic personalities. Dog-lovers. Something southern or something blue. There might be something fetishized immediately... unique only to them. Hair. Eyes. Nose. Skin. Hands. Feet. Definitely legs. Rarely breasts though. Maybe they wear certain clothes or have an accent. Like characters from a book. We all are, though. Characters in some elaborate story that changes with the tides.

I find myself attracted to this aggression and I act somewhat passive to attract them. Inside is both a burning desire to bind and quench contrasted with a humbling desire to serve their whim. To cyclically fuel and cool their fires... hah. I like to play with fire. Get it? ...but this lacks stability obviously. And I am usually burned to cinders due to my fragility. And then I get back up and try again. I get puss-whipped easily.

But then maybe, just maybe... sometimes I find someone passive and I act aggressive. Not mean or anything... I just want to see if they have some hidden fire. Something sweet, sleek and jet black. Maybe they're holding back and I can reach them in this hidden portal. Bring them to somewhere they never thought possible. And I want to go there too and become something new and powerful with them. I don't have much experience with this though. I wouldn't want to force anybody to do something they didn't want...

Sometimes I feel like stupid, sensitive Yeats courting an indifferent, sociopathic Maud. Other times I feel like sex-crazed, nebbish R. Crumb who wants to devour a woman whole, even though she's statuesque, beautiful and seemingly unattainable by comparison. And yet, another time I felt like Van Gogh, filled with a mad loneliness and desperation for anyone and anything... so thirsty I could lap at the draughts of a stagnant pool or the torrents of a rushing river. None sound very attractive... I know I just have to be me. Just have some confidence obviously. I have to continue forth with my work... or try to kill myself again.

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