Month: February 2013

Cold weather causes every breath to materialize in the air and, if you’ve a moustache and beard, to collect between strands of hair like plankton in baleen. It necessitates a pause every few minutes to clear the condensation. Sometimes ice. I accept the responsibility when I step outside to watch my breath and listen to the music playing inside. It shakes the walls and windows, numbs the ears. That may be the cold.

I don’t do waiting well. It feels like time better spent on the road to somewhere, from which there is another road that leads somewhere else. An interconnectedness to the nature of fleeing.

Worth noting: I want is singular. The group doesn’t know what it wants. Someone must want and the group will want. What I want is what I want. What we want is an intersection of my statement of intent over another’s capitulation. When that fails, return to I want.

“What about compromise?” is a deflective question. It is a negotiation tactic.

When I ask, “What do you want?”, I’m willing to accept no progress. When I ask, “How do you intend to get that?”, I expect a path of stones to the front door.

Worth noting: I want is singular. The group doesn’t know what it wants. Someone must want and the group will want. What I want is what I want. What we want is an intersection of my statement of intent over another’s capitulation. When that fails, return to I want.

“What about compromise?” is a deflective question. It is a negotiation tactic.

When I ask, “What do you want?”, I’m willing to accept no progress. When I ask, “How do you intend to get that?”, I expect a path of stones to the front door.

It’s difficult to explain what it feels like to get it. Not an approximation or a landing in the general vicinity, but 100% of what I hoped I would get, decided I would get, and finally just went out and got. It’s a blessed moment of peaceful happiness not unlike a massive release of endorphins. One of those fist-pumpingly grand times that prompts me to pace the room right before and then sit in a big, comfortable chair to ponder what it means afterward.

That’s what that list is about. The List.

You know the multitude of tattooed bodies that whiz by in your dashboard? (Actually, pretty rare these days. Too many pictures and all. Sensory overload). They’re even more hot to the touch. They write about following the trails of the inked flesh to their origins, but try getting an eyeful of a sleeve or a real mean chest piece. Press your nose to her and really go in beyond the macro shot. It gets sort of blotchy. Think of blotting watercolor drops with a napkin. If you let yourself go further, the lines move. They form shapes that aren’t there to anyone but you. If you’re the sort to get lost in moments like those and disconnect a bit from reality, it makes you feel something. Nothing I can name. What I’m getting at is the achievement was not about any of that. It was simply to be with a tattooed sex goddess in the raunchiest and most base sense of satisfaction. Really nail one, you know? The sex was good enough for a few hours. That sense of disconnected pleasure in her lines is what stuck.

The achievement, then, is just a marker. Here Lies The Girl With The Koi And Flower Tattoos And Jet-Black Hair. R.I.P. Live On A Boat.

When the getting is done, there’s the scratching an item off a list. There’s that pondering. And, well, a continuation of living everything in between the getting exactly 100% of what I want. Back to insecurities, bitterness, joyous moments and wins that are inexplicably more difficult to divulge. (It’s a real head-scratcher.)

What I was thinking too sarcastically even for my taste was that life would be great if I got exactly what I wanted all the time. Nothing would ever suck and an endless procession of satisfaction would reign until the end of time.

It’s difficult to explain what it feels like to get it. Not an approximation or a landing in the general vicinity, but 100% of what I hoped I would get, decided I would get, and finally just went out and got. It’s a blessed moment of peaceful happiness not unlike a massive release of endorphins. One of those fist-pumpingly grand times that prompts me to pace the room right before and then sit in a big, comfortable chair to ponder what it means afterward.

That’s what that list is about. The List.

You know the multitude of tattooed bodies that whiz by in your dashboard? (Actually, pretty rare these days. Too many pictures and all. Sensory overload). They’re even more hot to the touch. They write about following the trails of the inked flesh to their origins, but try getting an eyeful of a sleeve or a real mean chest piece. Press your nose to her and really go in beyond the macro shot. It gets sort of blotchy. Think of blotting watercolor drops with a napkin. If you let yourself go further, the lines move. They form shapes that aren’t there to anyone but you. If you’re the sort to get lost in moments like those and disconnect a bit from reality, it makes you feel something. Nothing I can name. What I’m getting at is the achievement was not about any of that. It was simply to be with a tattooed sex goddess in the raunchiest and most base sense of satisfaction. Really nail one, you know? The sex was good enough for a few hours. That sense of disconnected pleasure in her lines is what stuck.

The achievement, then, is just a marker. Here Lies The Girl With The Koi And Flower Tattoos And Jet-Black Hair. R.I.P. Live On A Boat.

When the getting is done, there’s the scratching an item off a list. There’s that pondering. And, well, a continuation of living everything in between the getting exactly 100% of what I want. Back to insecurities, bitterness, joyous moments and wins that are inexplicably more difficult to divulge. (It’s a real head-scratcher.)

What I was thinking too sarcastically even for my taste was that life would be great if I got exactly what I wanted all the time. Nothing would ever suck and an endless procession of satisfaction would reign until the end of time.