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My Random Writing.

I'll upload short stories or parts of unfinished stories, or something, I guess.
23 hours ago. Wed 20 Feb 2019 09:33:20 PM IST

I Smoke Because I'm A Coward = Gentle Sax And Nonsense Words


I'm Only Attracted To Women Who Don't Want Me = Parallel Thinking (I thought this one would have been most obvious)


I Have The Worst Luck With Women = Petplay Is Supposed To Be Fun For Everyone Involved. 


I still have to do one for 'Here's To You, At The End Of The Road' and 'There's A Family Guy Reference In Here'.

1 day ago. Wed 20 Feb 2019 09:22:21 AM IST

Tonight was one of those nights. The kind of night where I reflect on all the decisions I've ever made and astonish myself by my ability to cry for five hours straight. Impressive. At least it is to me. 


I should sleep but I can't. I refuse to. The only thing I hate more than falling asleep is trying to wake up. I don't know if that makes sense to you. It does to me.


I think about things I can't change anymore. There aren't a lot of those. I tried very hard to make sure that was the case. Still, all those things haunt me. Do I regret the decisions I made? So many of them were wrong. I was stupid, immature and unappreciative. I don't regret a thing. The man I became cannot bear to ever regret the things he has done. Am I a better person for it? Certainly. But that is simply a lesson in how what's best isn't what's most wise.


I smoke because I'm a coward. I wonder what that means, even as I write it. I was always a coward. Afraid. Afraid to change; afraid to die. I was afraid to live so I suppose eternal life is a fitting punishment. It's ironic, I suppose. I always enjoyed the universe's little ironies. There's a funny story there but I'm not going to go out of my way to tell it. It doesn't matter anyway. 


What can I end this by saying? I can talk about how lonely I am. I can talk about how worthless I feel most days. I could tell you that I desperately seek someone to save, just to make my own neverending life worth living. I can admit that I somehow deluded myself into thinking that I choose to suffer or that my twisted wickedness to anyone who ever dared show kindness to me was my way of 'saving' them.


I'm rambling. 


I know exactly what I want to say but I won't say it because I'm a coward. And it's because I'm such a coward that I smoke. 



2 days ago. Tue 19 Feb 2019 12:51:06 AM IST

Soft cotton, 

Smooth skin,

Lay to rest,

Thrust off your burdens,

Breathe deeply,

Feel the beating of your heart,

Prepare the journey of a lonesome traveller,

And allow yourself to fall just short of Nirvana.


Guide the traveller,

Over soft lips,

Let him feel your gasping breaths,

Trace his steps,

Down to your chest,

Let him climb your breast,

And take hold of the stiff peak,

Until you cry out,

Not in pain,

But because of the fire in your belly,

That calls him on his nightly pilgrimage. 


Let the traveller stray,

Let him indulge in the softness of your body,

The gentleness of your curves,

Let him worship,

At an altar long abandoned,

Though rigorously upkept,

Allow him to caress the petals of a flower,

That begs to blossom.

Let him revel in the glistening dewdrops,

And feast on the sweet, sticky nectar.

Abandon your modesty,

And let him desecrate your cavern in noisy worship,

Fall short of Nirvana,

You and the lonesome traveller. 


4 days ago. Sun 17 Feb 2019 03:22:31 AM IST

So yesterday I wrote a controversial blog post and it got several people up in a tizzy. Mostly because they didn't realize that it was, in fact, a character piece and they just had to show off how much they disapproved of the thoughts of a deliberately reprehensible character. I'm not particularly opposed to being being repulsed by it, as that is the appropriate response to him, though it was slightly concerning to see the amount of people who can't differentiate reality and fiction or separate a writer from his work. Still, it was probably the most exciting thing they had seen that day and I had never seen my page views so high in the hundreds, so that was neat.


To those who use that piece to try and discern the exact nature of my personality. I will refer you to this video you can get a glimpse as to who I truly am:



Truly, the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma. 


To those wondering why I block people so easily. It's a simply story, really. A couple of months ago there was a user that messaged me. I told her that I was not interested in talking to her, and she proceeded to beg me for months until I finally blocked her. That was annoying, but not really so much so as to actually bother me. 


However, towards the end of last year, another user messaged me. She, unlike the first, was actually obsessed with me. To the point where she was harming herself in order to simply talk to me. She was fun, but it would have probably been better for her mental health if I had just blocked her once I realized she was obsessed with me instead of taking advantage of her...eagerness to please. I never said I was a nice person. 


Still, these experiences led to me simply blocking people I don't want to talk to. Feel however you want about it, nothing of value is lost as far as I'm concerned. 


Anyway. I have a couple of pieces I'm thinking of putting out. One is a short story about a couple who is on vacation together. It's a fairly vanilla story insofar it doesn't contain my usual themes of cynicism, guilt and self-loathing. I'm considering making it more gratuitously sexual as well, though I generally find that takes away from the story more than anything else. 


I was going to write a poem which used the theme of cannibalism as a euphemism for sex and conflated hunger and lust. However, it's become abundantly clear that I have some smooth-brains among my readers and I wouldn't want people to think I'm actually a cannibal or something. I'd also like to thank certain commenters for finally giving me a reason to use the term 'smooth-brain'. I've been holding on to that one for a while and I had never found quite the right timing to pull it out. You all know who you are. Give yourselves a round of applause, if you can figure out how to clap. 


I'm just playing. But as J. Cole says: '...all good jokes contain true shit'. 

5 days ago. Sat 16 Feb 2019 01:03:24 AM IST

It's an odd feeling, to say the least. As a teenager or a younger man, I was never really popular with women. I could go into why that was, but it's mostly irrelevant. As I approach thirty, however, I find myself practically surrounded by women who want me. Now, I am no romantic. At least, I'm not anymore. I have no delusions as to why the women who talk to me during my day-to-day life are interested in me. It's part of what makes it so easy to dismiss their advances. 


Online it's different. No one knows who I am online, not to imply that I'm anyone particularly remarkable, but none of the women who I am in contact with know me. In the past recent years, I've had women offer themselves to me or at least offer to indulge in practices with me that are difficult to refuse. I'm no saint, quite the opposite, really, so I'd never sit here and try to tell you that I've refused all advances that come my way. A man must be willing to take advantage, after all. Still, despite whether their solicitations are appropriate or not, I've always found a common trend that they all fall victim to:


I simply am not attracted to women who like me. 


Now, I can't begin to tell you exactly why that is. I'm sure if you were a psychologist you could figure it out. The truth is that I don't really care why. I could tell you that I feel like there must be something wrong with any woman who could bear to be with me. She's delusional, at the very least. But still, what's interesting is that the very same women are irresistible if they express a desire to not be with me anymore. 


You see, there's a simple progression to things. I start a relationship and I tolerate my partner. I care for her, certainly. I am a very loving person, if you can bring yourself to believe that. But there's no passion. No fire that draws me to that person. And, so, I don't respect them. I certainly don't respect their feelings and as a result, I just fuck with them constantly. I'd like to say that I'm irreverent at best and a bit emotionally manipulative at worst. I'd like to say, even, that I do it purposefully. That's not true, though. The truth is that I am abusive to any women who genuinely, unconditionally can bring herself to love me. And I cannot control it. In fact, I don't want to.


The thing is that the abusive side of me brings something out of women. I nudge them. And poke them. And push them. And eventually she will snap out of her reverie. She will be free from whatever trance and over whatever childish infatuation she has with me. She will see me for the broken, unlovable person I am and she will regret...everything. She will hate me. She might even be angry. She will, finally, stand up for herself and express her desire to never be with me again. In that moment, she will be the most beautiful woman on the planet to me. 


And, of course, I'll get her back. I always do because I do know the right things to say, though I don't always choose to use the appropriate words. I will seduce her. I will comfort her. I will make her happy. Hell, I'll even make her love me again. And then, inevitably, I will grow to resent her once more. I wish I could say that I do this on purpose but I have no control over it. It is, in essence, who I am. And I have no desire to change that. 


Sometimes I wonder whether the kind of woman I'm looking for exists. If she does, I wonder exactly what she'd be like. Perhaps someone who loves deeply but cannot express it. A victim of some tragedy that has left her a broken, barely-functioning person. Whoever she is, though, she would certainly be a thing of beauty. At least to me. 


1 week ago. Thu 14 Feb 2019 10:48:33 AM IST

Sometimes I sit here and start to write a story that ends up being a poem. Sometimes I try to write a poem and it turns into a story. 'Gentle Sax and Nonsense Words', for example, was originally a poem. I'm wondering what the people who enjoy my writing - not the random thoughts and opinions but actual "works" - prefer to see. 


Yes, I am aware that I can write whatever I want. I'm just curious as to which is more enjoyable to read for most people. I've also been thinking of writing stories are a less depressing or cynical. As well as some more stories from the female PoV since erotica from the male perspective is kind of hard to relate to if written in the personal, introspective style I tend to use. 


Let me know what you think. If you also have any fantasies or ideas you've ever wanted to see written, and you enjoy my writing, feel free to share them and I might choose to use it as the basis for one of my stories. If you're shy about it and don't want to post in the comments, you're more than welcome to message me privately. I don't bite, though I am a bit...mean. Sometimes. 

1 week ago. Thu 14 Feb 2019 01:58:37 AM IST

Sometimes people message me after reading my blog. They comment on certain things, never tell me which posts are their favorite or what they thought my words meant, or what message they got, or even what they thought I was trying to get across.


Boring conversations is what I'm trying to say. I'm a self-important cunt like that.


Anyway, something that people do often note is how I am blunt, or callous. They never tell me I'm wrong. They just tell me I said something in a manner they'd have preferred I didn't. Ironically, they also express some kind of attraction to or interest in me. Disgusting behavior, to be honest. 


So that brings me to the point of this post which is to describe things as they are. Which is simple in concept but incredibly difficult in execution. You see, if you were to describe the world exactly as it is instead of how you want to see it or how you wished it was, you might find the world to be a very different place. You might find your beliefs to be at odds with reality. You might find that the person you thought you loved is only someone you've been conditioned to tolerate. You might even realize that you've gone your entire life without ever once having made an actual, informed, intelligent decision. 


I'm joking. Not really. 


Decribe things as they are. And by that I can only mean me, because I have no right to tell you how you should want to see anything else. You are free to be as enlightened or deluded as you want but don't look at me through your...charitable lens. I'm not wise. I'm not kind. I'm not mature. I'm not intelligent. Hell, I'm not even that good at writing. Who I am requires absolutely no flattery, either genuine or nonsensical, so know that I genuinely look forward to you telling me who you are. I've already told you who I am. I'm not interested in talking about that. I am a boring person, after all.

1 week ago. Tue 12 Feb 2019 03:17:36 AM IST

There are thoughts that come to me only when it's late at night and I should be asleep. The kind of things I think about when I'm laid next to someone else. 


Tonight isn't much different from any other tryst. My fingertips brush gently at the slender form pressed against my torso. She's sleeping. To be expected, really. She was always the type to fall asleep unceremoniously. Inhale deeply; exhale slowly. Make sure not to wake her because she has a tendency to be grumpy. I smile. She is my princess. At least, she is for tonight. 


I should be asleep. But the pattering of drizzle against the window keeps me up. I don't know why. I don't know why I'm looking for a reason. The truth is, I almost never sleep. Inhale deeply; exhale slowly. It's safe to move now. I think. She won't miss me or, at least, she'll never admit to missing me. Come morning, she'll pretend tonight never happened. That's fine. There's little difference between something kept private and something kept secret. We'll each make of tonight what we will. I can't change that. 


I smile. 


Perhaps I should feel bad about leaving her in bed. Nights can be lonely, though. In fact, they almost always are. Being in bed with someone else doesn't change that. She's found her comfort so I can only try to find mine. It isn't next to her, that much is apparent. It's not in cleaning myself in the shower and standing under a spray of scalding hot water until I feel something. Inhale deeply; exhale slowly. I should move now. I think. I should be doing something, even if I don't know what that something is. 


She's still asleep and the rain is getting heavier. The sound of it blankets the world and drowns out the sound of her gentle breathing. I suppose I am annoyed by that. Still, I can't change the rain. I can walk over to the window and look out at the world, distorted by the droplets against the cold glass. It means...absolutely nothing. But these are the kinds of thoughts that come to me late at night. 


Absolutely nothing. 


Inhale deeply; exhale slowly. I don't know why I picked up smoking. Maybe it was an act of defiance. Not against society, but against my better nature. No. Not against my nature. Smoking was always in my nature, I needed to accept that. I remember a line: 'A man smokes when he's figured out the world'. I smile. Smoking does kill, after all. 


I can see her out of the corner of my eye. She's stood in the doorway, leaning against it. I can tell she's debating whether or not she should approach me. I did, of course, leave her in bed. I did come to the other side of the house to sit alone and smoke. Maybe she's telling herself that I did it out of consideration for her. She wasn't the type to smoke, after all. It wasn't in her favor. 


I glance at her. The means nothing. But it does wash away her insecurities. It makes her feel desired and how could she not feel desired? She is a stunning display in her nakedness. She is beautiful, certainly. Certainly. Certainly more beautiful a woman than I deserve. The lighting is perfect as she approaches me. It's dim. It shows me only what I want to see. It allows me to truly appreciate how perfectly imperfect she is. It allows me to forget that in all the years I've known her, she still refuses to tell me her name. 


The lighting is perfect. 


There are so many things I've...figured out about her. She's lonely. She is insecure. She's scared because she's never managed to hold on to anything. She's lost a lot in life. She is a loser. Like me. But she plays her position well. She takes her place and I know what she wants. Even if her touch is soft, she can't help but rake her fingernails against my skin. She knows I like that, though. She does a lot of things because she knows I like it. Her lips at the base of my cock; the feeling of her hot breath as she gasps and moans between my thighs; the sound of her taking me in her mouth and nursing my manhood into a steely menace. I let the cigarette burn itself out in the ashtray next to me. Even I have enough common sense to exchange one vice for another. 


Fingers on my forearms, she pulls herself up. She mounts me. She claims ownership of me. My mouth on her breast, she wraps her arms around my head and holds me to her bosom. She wants to save me. We both know she can't. Still, she moans when I suck on that sensitive bit of skin at the side of her neck. My hands move to her backside and my fingers reach towards her centre. I spread her apart and I know it makes her sex ache. She impales herself on me. Slowly. Savouring every inch until she's at her limit. Her lips meet mine and I can taste my salt on her tongue, just as she can taste the smoke on mine.


Life and death. That's the imagery here. I shouldn't have to point that out, but I feel like I need to.


She moans. The tone of her voice has long been ruined for me. She thinks it's boring. She thinks my accent is exotic. She could never understand why I thought the sound of her voice was so beautiful. It's the same way that she could have spent all these years trying to tell my things about her and I still refuse to listen. Even in this moment, I won't hear what she's trying to say. I know this but it won't change, no matter how hard I try. I want to listen to her moaning but all I can hear is the rain. 


Afterwards she lays on me. Her body is slick with sweat and she smells...divine. She's saying something. "I hate the rain," she says. My hand moves down her body. It's graced with the most subtle curves. Two thousand years ago, men would have killed for her. Today she is nothing.


My thumb strokes her thigh and brushes against the tight knot of skin at the back of her knee. It was something that happened years ago. Something I wasn't around for. Something that took place between the time where she left me a girl, and returned to me a woman. It was something I couldn't change. It was what woke her tonight, and I suppose, in a way, I was grateful for it. "I like the rain," I say. 




"If it kept raining like this," I say, "then we could be together forever."


She sits up, putting her weight on me properly. "Really?" She gives me the most incredulous look. "I've told you to stop being so dramatic. It's weird. Nobody talks like that."


"I talk like that," I laugh. I know she's right. I reach for her and pull her against my chest where she rests her head on my shoulder. "I don't mind the rain, then. Is that better?"


I can tell she's smiling as she kisses me at the side of the neck. She's saying something that can only barely be heard above the rain. She says, "I don't mind you either."



1 week ago. Fri 08 Feb 2019 02:34:30 AM IST

So one again I get messaged by someone. 


After one message, I dismiss them, though sort of tongue-in-cheek. Probably went over their heads. Anyway, they respond to it by sending me pictures of their asshole. Had 'whore' written on it. Used the anus for the 'o'. Very tasteful, as you'd imagine.


Now I suppose, for this person, sending pictures like this to people represents an adequate substitute for a personality. I'm sure many other men would enjoy recieving the pictures and would be eager to engage in whatever kind of behavior the individual is seeking with them. 


I just find that shit depressing, to be honest. I can't help but wonder how emotionally or psychologically damaged a woman must be to act this way. You can, of course, argue that she could be perfectly normal and this is how she wants to behave and you're free to believe that. I don't. In this so-called community I see many people who are celebrated and encouraged for flaunting their damaged psyches and perverted sense of sexuality. I mean 'perverted' in the traditional meaning of the word. I shouldn't feel the need to clarify that but here I am doing it anyway. 


Honestly, I don't care. I let people do what they want because I've accepted long ago that it's not my place to save or help anyone. Like all the other women who message me, I encouraged that individual to find someone else. I'm sure the very next person they do this to will enjoy it very much. Kinda funny, if you think about it in the right context. 


That being said, if you're one of those people who read my blog and feel the need to contact me because the burning in your loins simply cannot be quenched, at least try to act like you're making an effort. This low energy seduction is so boring. 

2 weeks ago. Wed 06 Feb 2019 10:40:08 AM IST

You are alone,

And you always will be.

Your attempts to connect,

They do not simply go unnoticed.

You are seen.

You are understood.

You are simply not cared for.

You can fight against this,

Make if you will,

Another earnest attempt.


Then again,

How dare you?

Who are you?

You are alone,

A perpetual stranger.

Forever a nobody,

And destined to be forgotten,

Hoping only ever to be used,

And discarded.

Hate this,

Rage against it if you must.

It means nothing.

Because that is all you'll ever amount to.

You are nothing.