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Friday, May 22, 2009

Hooked and Strung-Out

Perspective: (XenitH)

Nine-O-Clock on the third night since we last spoke. I find it interesting that despite the moderate emotional exposure, regardless of lacking physicality and nonexistant promises beneath stars or sheets, we can miss you so. A magnetic lure brought us in, even through the digital dimensions of which we first "met". Your electric energy with a delectable ecstatic sting.

Perhaps it is more than that.

Subtle metaphysical and karmic addictions?

Once the three connect to make One, the bond cannot be safely severed.

Nothing short of depravity shall follow in the wake.

Though to question myself, as I frequently do; I stumble across plausibilities of a different sort. Might I be just lonely enough, and might it be just damp enough outside, and might I be so infatuated with the concept that I ignorantly blind myself?

Is this simply a false sense of absence?

Once again my active "What If's" leave me lonlier than before.

Cards Lay Face Up.

Perspective: (XenitH)



She has brought more options to my life than she can ever comprehend. M the Muse, 'tis what I shall refer to her as hence forth. M with her grace, tact, lucidity. I speak not of love, lust, or passion for that matter. I must confess, she does have a way of stimulating my diverse and rarely penetrated pallet of acquired tastes. What I speak of is longer lasting than a night of passion, more finite than a romp in the sack, more effective than a long-term relationship. What she presents to me in such a subliminal manner is a variant path to my existence, in such a delectable way.



Perhaps I am not the most grounded individual on this plane, but I do pride myself for having more than average direction. Until recently, only activism of the socio-political assortment was my acquired taste. My self-indulgent, flamboyant side spoke loudly, and I listened to its many facets luring me into paths of the more exciting and entertaining variety. Table-top gaming has been a shimmering stone in this labryinthine cavern as of late. To use my mental gusto and create dimensions of debauchery and unthinkable acts, to create with my dark desires worlds of political intrigue and intracy never to be unraveled, to connect with players lured into my web of intricacy. The smoke, the allure, the tension, the blood-lust of imaginative adventures within the Masquerade. The Vampiric Kiss has been a lust of late, but then it all changed.



This brings me to her flight. The dance with silky seductions. A ballet of sorts, a kiss of subtle softness. Her dreadlocks flailing in the air, as her calm facade becomes engulfed by the changing of G's and its gravitational pull of danger. Can I see myself performing such a blatant yet subtle dance? Surely. Should I partake in such a thirst for mischief? Oh what a gift of mortality. To dedicate time and mortal vitality to the thrill of heights and agility! Why must you taunt me with an addiction of thrill and tumultuous gut-wrenching intrigue? Testing the fabric of my being behind the usual capacity. To boldly use the body part of my being, instead of the intellectual in such a disposable yet gracefully confident manner. Flying high above the ground, a fabric of solidity as if it were a beckoning cloud.



There is but one sensation of danger mixed with sensuality I can see residing in the flying grace's place. Include the absence of gravity Silk Dancing brings about, but misplace the subtle softness. Instead superimpose raw yet precise punctures. Gleaming metal divulging just above the surface of muscle, truly inside the fabric of my mortal being. To be suspended by shimmery hooks, gliding through the air much similar to that of a silk ballet. I can see the pricking metal entering my skin, sending waves of adrenaline throughout my entire body. The steady lifting of my mortal frame into the night air. A Euphoric state as I first partake in my largest organ holding my entire being delicately yet with such malice. Afterwards my bod-mod care-taker massages the air bubbles out of my muscles making my blood bubble, and allowing onlookers to gawk at such a spectacle. A spectacle of which I have witnessed myself, yet to be the direct cause of awe.



Does such a subculture exist here in Tucson, AZ? Truly I know not. Do I find myself resourceful enough to dig depths and find such a cult of sensory extremes, I believe so. Might I find myself imaginative and passionate enough to create such a following? Absolutely. There is no denying M will find a world as dangerous and seductive as flesh-suspension a new poison of choice. The true question resides in my own motivational muse. Furthermore, will My Love find such a path as delectable and inviting as I? Shall she embrace The Hook with the best of them, or consider me an outcast of steel and body manipulation. Should I take such a path alone, or might I find Another whom embraces my erratic and extreme nature as Love and M have thus far?

One thing is for certain, many options weigh heavy on my aspirations. To embrace the die, the silk tie, or the crimson sky? Truly the answer resides somewhere. Deep into my lucid dreams I shall dive, without direction or oxygen. Plunge without guiding gages or swim-fin. Inward I seek the motivation I pray for, to make such invigorating yet rash decisions.



Ultimately one question remains.



Will you be there for me when once the bets are set and the cards lay face-up?