Sins roundup

Well, the 7 Deadly Sins pieces certainly brought out a whole bunch of reactions over at 6S, mostly complimentary and all commented upon. 

I admitted to envy, wrath, pride, gluttony, sloth and lust, and to having an understanding of avarice even though it's not a sin that is particularly dear to me.  I was going to do a summing up of the comments, and try to create some sort of league table as to what people (albeit from an admittedly limited sample size) thought the worst sin was in general.

However, I got an over-reaction to dear Belphegor, the demon representing my most excessive sin, which completely skewed the results.  Even 6 days I'm still not entirely sure what prompted it, although I suspect my worst sin in this case was a half flippant/half exasperated 3 word comment ("Count to 6") on a previous post by the 'author', prompting him to a vicious personal attack. 

This 'author', apparantly stinging from some "carefully crafted cutting comments" which must have been made by others, called the moral majority to round upon me for having such wicked thoughts in the first place.  I was called a troll, and accused of being the sort of person that only finds validity through hurting others to feed my own super-ego; and told I must learn from the knee-jerk comments of people who had no understanding what my point was in the first place.

I'm not 100% sure why I am still dwelling on this, the 'author' has made a fractional retraction, in removing the original offensive post, although reposting it without the words he'd copied from me.  I think it's because, even though (I felt!) my words were explanatory, logical and not particularly inflammable, they failed to persuade.  In the words of a writer I respect deeply the 'author' is "an arrogant little fuckwad (sic) afflicted with an utter lack of sense regarding not only his, uh, moral righteousness" but I still feel a sense of failure in my inability to get him to see my point of view. 

I should be better.   





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I said it again...

...what I always end up saying and what always gets them running for the fucking hills.  Men, I mean.  Married men even more so.



"Make your mind up"



They seem to want to believe that they have no fucking choice in things, that they drift through life and things just happen to them, without their volition.  Innocent victims of their own magnetism.  The merest suggestion that they are complicit in their own lives, and not awash in a sea of circumstances is ignored if at all possible, shrugged aside or compartmentalized somewhere else that doesn't interfere in the here and now so they can carry on saying the things they say to me, doing the things they do to me.



And really, they ask, what is wrong with me that I can't turn a blind eye forever?  That I can't just keep on compromising?  Why do I have to hold up a mirror to their actions and make out as if they have done something wrong?  It's not like they've been caught, so it's not a real problem, is it?  Why can't I just go back to before and be an adoring foil for their ego? 



I do it so well.

Hypocrisy

I wonder if he imagines me still... 

17 days since I said goodbye (again).

Once I managed 4 weeks without contacting him, but I'm not sure there is anything to go back to this time.  Or, well, at least anything I would want to go back to.

But I want him to still want me, I wish he would be burned up thinking about me.  Pumping one out in the shower where she will never know.  Thinking of the things I did and things I said.  He will be checking online every day to see if today will be the day I would break down and send an oh-so-innocent message enquiring how he is.  He did that last time, well he said he did.

But he doesn't actually want to be with me.  I am not sanctioned.  I am only what he chose in a weak moment and not what he thinks society would choose.  How come that they really do tinge the "fun" girls like me with suspicion, tar-splotched good time girls?

And, for fucks sake, how do the girls who are not seen as "fun" ever manage to catch a man to marry them?  Do they go out and think, "Well fuck me, she's dull, I wanna spend the rest of my life feeding sperm down the shower plug hole, and occasionally, every couple of months, she might let me feed shit into her?" 

And I?  More hypocritcal, knowing all that shit, even questioning it like he doesn't, I still want the attention, I want to have the beam of interest focussed on me even as I decry the good time girl tag, the one I live up to so well.  I want, oh I want.  I want to be put first.  But I don't want to put someone else first unless they do first.

I do hope his life is fucking dull right now.  I hope he wants to tear his hair out with boredom; that will hurt as he shaves his hair so short, pulling it out would require individual hairs to be wrenched out with tweezers.  I would volunteer to do it, except I don't trust me to do only that.  He is only tempted with me if we are in the same geographical space.  He can say no when I am hundreds of miles away.  Well, he says "Yeah, but no" when we are hundreds of miles away.  He says if I was there he couldn't resist.  Great, yeah, I can resist anything but temptation too.  Especially convenient, playing away from home temptation... 

I fell for him because I thought we thought the same way, and I thought that he cared.  It has taken me 16 months to realise I was little more than a fantasy that had the added advantage of coming true every once in a while.  And really it was the fantasy and not the reality that sustained anything, for him.  And I guess I have to think that might be true for me too...



yeah, but, he imagines me still.  jacking off he imagines me.  kneeling in the shower in front of him, water drops pearling on my skin and anticipating the pearls he wants to release over me.

coping...

You have knocked the life out of me,

I shovel dead things into my mouth

but I only taste the fermented stuff.

Honesty looks good on me, but on you?

I didn't need to know how easily

you put me out of your mind.

You made me feel alive and I hate

to think how long ago that was now,

I want to quicken myself but it does not come,

I can not come, it is an exercise in friction and

though the flesh is willing the mind is freaked.

Reject, side dish, bit of fun, reject,

slut, tease, reject; words bicycle in my head.

Dead mould, mushrooms for tea.

Yes, on the side, by the pallid fish flesh.  I will

shrivel up in the non-weight of your disregard.

This time, can I make the silence stick?

Can I pour in enough alcohol to make

me tongue tied and not voluble? 

Bitter exudations, oozing failure, and

in the morning, sweet rancid sweat. 

Success and failure both are counted

by apathy, not talking to you. 

Your life goes on, maybe to her you will

seem a little distracted, maybe? 

Maybe not even that, after all, she didn't

even notice when you went to her,

rubbed raw from our exertions. 

I try another tentative rub, but no,

rejected by my own flesh.  To drink

to sleep; to sleep perchance to weep.

You have knocked the life out of me,

and now half digested dead things

come back out of my mouth.





Also published at The Camel Saloon

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wtf?

yeah thanks for chatting with me today for a whole nineteen minutes really appreciate the effort; thanks for telling me that you were pissed off with the choices you'd made because now you had to live with your in-laws or in a poky small flat with her and your baby and not even thinking for one fucking microsecond that i might want to hear that some small tiny part of your pissed-offness might be because you missed me in your life in your dreams in your thoughts; thank you for talking about football as if it fucking mattered and thank you for continuing to talk about football as if it fucking mattered even after i told you i couldn't care less; thanks for being so interested when i told you i was pissed off that you didn't even ask why not of course that there was much opportunity to in the nineteen minutes really, not when i was there to provide a witty and pointed and stimulating counterpoint to your fucking everyday life and thanks for appreciating so much that your life would suck without me so much you still want to dump on me even though you would hate to admit that your life would suck without me i have fucking songs in my brain again but it's probably better than my thoughts; thank you Sinead for giving me the lines; thank you for breaking my heart thank you for tearing me apart now I've a strong, strong heart thank you for breaking my heart... thank you for showing me again what a fucking idiot i am to think of better times, to think of you, to think...