we return to the land of nod wide awake and dreaming of sleeping in the arms of the one who believes there is no better place to be... and when you find such a place you flinch, as Alanis Morissette said, at her name... or his name, as the case may be... and I wonder if those I felt so deeply with and those who felt so deeply for me flinch at the sound of my name as I do at the thought of theirs... I wonder if they seek out my name when they browse the web as I seek out theirs... I wonder if, when meeting someone new who happens to share my name, they want to like them as I want to like someone I meet who happens to share their name...

or perhaps I hang on to the most precious feelings a bit more than they or anyone does... and if I am the only one, so be it, because it feels so much better to feel and remember my love than it does to grow careless with my love and forget...

maybe I should be afraid that I believe I understand many of the experiences the medical field call and label as mental illnesses because I experience them actively and voluntarily and even more, firmly believe I have almost complete control over my journeys through them (or is it just a series of delusions and flashbacks from all the drugs I did in the sixties?... or was that the seventies?... seems like only yesterday that all my troubles seemed to far away, actually... but I don't go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper anymore... not even in the perverted sense, if you follow my judge naked under his robe line of MP insinuation)...

and when does he jest and when is he serious...

shhh, that would be telling

there are people in this world who knew me almost as well as I know myself, but only one or two who were trusted with every secret I knew, trusted with the key to every door and the most complete map I could draw... there is no one in my life who shares that level of intimacy and trust today... no one that interested... no one that sensitive... no one that compatible... no one that intense or irreverent... no one who cares quite the way I do... no one with the energy to maintain as I do... no one with the will (or stubbornness) or critical eye or attention to detail or conscious awareness or enlightenment or ability to experience the senses as I do...

no one who can reach me wherever I go... no one who wants to even try...

I miss the songs I used to sing almost daily... I miss the time to focus on honing the best parts of myself... I miss the people who knew me at my best... I miss someone who believes in that best not through blind face, but through experiencing me there... I miss being me, sharing me, her and me...

do you know her?... she's a little girl... so soft and innocent... with teeth that shine like pearls... though small in stature, she's got the biggest heart... and in her mind infinity and magic starts... a gentle touch, still firm and strong... and not afraid to sing her song... above all else, she means no harm... and unafraid of false alarms... or sharing all of her sensual charms...

she doesn't buy into the social graces and cultural taboos are other people's fears... she doesn't fit in normal places and she sees rainbows through her tears... her laughter ranges from giggles to guffaws... her zest for life makes other people come to pause... her charisma attracts every eye every where she goes... and she shares my truth and secrets from my head down to my toes and more, she shares the me that only she knows...

and I feel an even deeper longing rising back out of the depths of my deepest being, a longing to connect, to share, to be comfortable with someone as only the truest friends can be... more comfortable even that lovers, for the most passionate lovers don't always make the most comfortable friends, but the most comfortable friends can be the most passionate lovers or not, because the comfort is there first...

ever the romantic, and I love it so, even when the longing becomes an aching and the aching becomes an agony... it is the most precious pain, as Melissa Etheridge once said, and for me, it proves I am still not only alive, but worth living and loving and ready...

and that makes so much sense to me....

in fact, to lighten and expand on the mood, it proves I am ready, willing, and able (maybe a bit light on the willing part, but then, maybe just as extremely picky as I've always been so it appears as though I am light on the willing part cuz there's not doubt about it that all of my parts are willing and eager to {pick your metaphor} stand up and be counted, jump right in, or enter a new relationship... several times a day or night, even... in fact, to be blunt {literally and metaphorically and figuratively too}, it can be downright {or upright, to be more precise} awkward to fall asleep in the living room in my boxers sometimes)...

probably a lot more information than you needed, but sheesh, where else am I going to be able to express the unique frustration of still having a teenage libido and hormonal surge when I am supposed to (by all societal and cultural standards and norms) be losing interest and even looking for a way out of daily (more, please) coitus?... but not just slam bam thank you ma'am, please, for that would never be enough (ah, never enough, as Patti Smyth says... or don't you need, as Melissa Etheridge says, like the way I do)...

and we have yet to begin...

for me, every moment of sharing with a lover is foreplay... any wonder why I fit in and party with people a whole lot younger now?... and you thought it was merely my child-like innocence and youthful energy and cartoon-like personality, huh?... well, there's a fourth factor that plays into social compatibility just as much as those other three, but I'm not supposed to mention it or talk about it (and woah to even think about actually acting on it ya know...

my current alone state making any more sense to you now?...

not that I expect much of an answer, no less discussion of this most crucially dissatisfying daily life dilemma I face all the time every single day and night because, after all, we are a culture afraid of sex and so repressed that the most natural human reactions to stimulus it often, if not usually, considered perversion or even illegal in most circumstances... and that doesn't even factor in the single most profoundly pervasive prejudice of all that even those who agree it is foolish buy into completely, namely ageism...

I've considered castration, but then, why should I cut my nose off to spite my face, so to speak, just because society would be more comfortable if I did?... what I have done is learned how to live and act and react like a eunuch in public (I'd have said priest or parent, but then, the incidence of sexual reaction and abuse is much higher in priests and parents than it is in eunuchs, and unfortunately, that's no joke) and simply love myself when I get home...

and sexuality is just the surface of sensuality and so rarely does anyone truly reach past the surface without acting as if there's no

so as I've said often (and now maybe it makes even more sense than it has before), the odds of my finding a socially acceptable unilaterally compatible and mutually satisfying mate grows slimmer and slimmer with each passing year...

all the while nature hustling me in the opposite direction...

and there's the rub that makes finding the rub more and more challenging (or at least the surface rub, part of the equation... not wanting to separate the physical from the emotional aspects of sensual sharing is a deeper reason, but it's more fun to play with words on the surface sometimes... flip it, flip it good, ya know?)...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)