Tag Archives: relationship

Hooking up unhooks

If a partner in a hook-up begins to care for the other, the desire for commitment may drive the other away. Reasons for embracing a hookup could be to (1) fulfill a sexual desire without responsibility, (2)
compromise emotional security to satisfy desire for intimacy, or (3) submitting to incompatible partners instead of seeking an enduring relationship.

The common ground found is that people are afraid of engaging on a deeper level. Why? They know it can be dangerous. They don’t want to break hearts. They don’t want to have a heart that breaks. They avoid the heart instead. Heartless acts are cold. So the intentions are more detrimental on a hidden level. I hope I am never selfish enough.

when can I feel

I’d like to
have the capacity
to drive
to you.

am just waiting
for the
to arrive.

Do we both
before reply?

When can I feel? When never comes, when becomes never, and never comes whenever. Arrows are thrown in a short upward thrusts, as to land where it was. I need to be informed. I am not information. I am looking to be looked upon. Honestly, honesty must spill itself in front of me. I have not dropped all of my belongings yet. Am I holding on to my honesty without showing it beyond my eyes. Candid spontaneity is when. I will start to tell untold information that could have been secrets.

rusted armor

I was out with some friends the other night to meet some people at a cafe (that is people of the opposite sex). Though I myself was disinterested in the prospect before we even arrived, the experience was rather amusing. We met these 3 vacant sex fiends; and the philosophical differences made for a rather awkward situation.. I couldn’t help but think with our idealism versus their pedestrian visceral logic that we were like 4 Don Quixotes…

smoke inhaled by naked lungs
cigarette ashtray hourglass
measured in incoherent intervals

four Don Quixotes fighting
windmills, those
fatalistic flowers
flowing helplessly in the wind

after tacking into which
they’ll come to a flat doldrum
and rest peacefully in the mirage

as sunlight reflects into the mind
things lose their distinction
and must be maintained,
by the absurdity of habit

willingly subjecting myself to genital herpes

The title of the post is the exact statement of a friend of mine. Once a virgin, twice a herpes magnet. I’m pretty (and very) conservative. I am a late bloomer, never doing anything dirty in high school.

Paraphrasing what my anonymous friend says:

Being sexually active involves willingly subjecting myself to genital herpes. I had no idea whether they were disease-free unless I had hard evidence. I had to trust that they were tested or inactive. I didn’t have anything to worry about myself. I’d say it ain’t worth it though. Sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, even with a whip. It’s fun for the 10 minutes it lasts. All my girlfriends faking almost all their orgasms proves my point.

Some people just enjoy diseases. Look at all the people ready and raring to plop man flesh in their mouth, or to slip into a hole full of s*#t. It’s very possible that these adventurous souls want to experience first-hand what it’s like. They are like scientists donating their bodies to science before their demise. I gotta give them credit. That’s a sacrifice to breakout in rash or any other atrocity for the good of all mankind… so determined.

The Flaming Lips never would have thought that I could link that song with venereal disease. Boo YAH!111!!! (ONES added for internet emphasis)

I met a guy (long ago)

Days come and go from all directions and this one hit the jackpot of all plane dives ending in an explosive debris. All I can remember is being quiet. We were both quiet and we stayed that way for a while. Everything was going so well and only got better. We walked on the path at the park and I was swept away. We did nothing, but it was the best feeling ever. Like sleep. I knew how nonsexual the atmosphere was and it was thrilling. We would last for a long time. I can still picture him walking as I saw him through my window on our first date. He had on a sweater and his hair was a little messy. This guy had it all: the looks, the brains, and the personality that hit the spot; until I found out he wasn’t the guy.

That was ages ago. His car has been breaking down, and we’ve been talking on the phone. I haven’t seen him for a while. He spent the day with me yesterday and neglected to ask me what was going on and was acting like a train wreck and I felt like cutting his tongue with scissors [only for a moment]. He was speeding and sliding out of the lanes when he took me home. And then he asked me to do heroin. That’s when I wanted to shoot pesticide into his arm. He wouldn’t let up and I wanted to go home. I wouldn’t mind not seeing him again.

Stuck Inside

I stayed curled up in a ball today. Internally I feel like nothing is resolving. Externally I have nothing to do. I’ve lost my appetite and I can’t think straight. I always try to think of what’s wrong with me. I’m not a hypochondriac but I know there is something short circuiting. (Normality doesn’t exist and that’s not what I’m striving for) I just want to be content. I can handle the unexpected. First I think I’m bipolar or something, then I think I am schizophrenic or psychotic to a mild degree. I want to have Alzheimer’s disease; maybe not. I’m already screwed up it seems to me. I’ve never done any drugs, but I don’t need drugs to make myself feel out of touch. My ex-boyfriend called today and tried to blame me for his cheating on me. This was a few months ago and I can’t stand that he brings it up because I wouldn’t “put out”. I’ve let go of it, but the fact that I persevere in thinking it only compounds the stress. Everything is unstable and I feel like letting the turmoil spill to the ground.


I wrote a poem today,

my secret friend
You have no idea
Where I’ve been
Hiding Agamemnon.

I’m not sure what it is supposed to be about, I wrote it spontaneously. I’m frustrated by my coworkers hitting on me. They always tend to assume I’m a lesbian since I don’t return their feelings. Never seems to occur to them that I might simply be dead inside. Or that I may have a schizoid personality disorder. [A word comes to mind- scrotum. How hideous, it sounds like a velociraptor or a bird. Mute. That’s what they want isn’t it? Passing inanimate gestures as they cough up words to express what? Sexual interest? If you can’t enjoy the gore of my vagina bleeding you’re probably too young to be having sex with me billy.] I don’t know why other girls like the mean guys I want someone cool and brain dead, like Andy Warhol. Hmmm perhaps a catatonic boy would be nice. Not contaminated by the cancerous prions of society.

Note: prions are proteins that cause diseases such as Creutzfeldt Jacob’s disease, that is what they call a person with mad cows disease.

I heard my science teacher joke once that male ejaculate had a high protein content and so it was good for you to eat. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with these other girls, contamination by prions. “This stuff is amazing bob I lost 70% of my fat using this diet pill admittedly most of the fat lost came from my brain but hey…”