A Collection of Spectacles

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Please, by way of everything, make me more honest and direct in all cases. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with being confessionary about personal flaws and admitting them. It’s more realistic and humbling than skirting around such issues. I want to be more straightforward in all instances, because I am only when it’s convenient and it doesn’t cost me anything. I wonder and hope that every person on Earth is as concerned with achieving goodness.

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I administer torture with care and receive pain with the greatest sense of humility.

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Self made movie marathon (what’s been accomplished thus far). Will be Editing/Re editing.

Day One

Midnight Cowboy

Persona

Me You and Everyone We Know

Un Chien Andalou

A Clockwork Orange

Day Two

The Acid House

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All this energy, stress and confusion would be better spent otherwise. With eyes down and zoomed in on miniscule details, I have ignored the larger whole, again. Let’s use this moment to piece back together a sense of self. To possess a hatred of everything that exists requires a biased view towards external stimuli that is inherently neutral. If I see a sunset and think it looks like shit, then what awful tools I have at my disposal. Lately, the people in my life seem wondrous. What lovely thoughts and ideas. We share, reifying and situating the existence of the other reciprocally. Happiness feels like peace, a place where thoughts are not simply held in place, but their arrivals noticed, forms recognized.

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“The limits of physical play are usually easy to identify as they are approached: the body tightens; breath becomes shallow, fast, or ragged; the throat constricts; and the voice goes up.”

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Stay posi, keep calm. Actually, please freak out right now because it’s well overdue. I realized I didn’t become anxious about my situation until today because I refused to vocalize it, as if doing so would make everything known to myself.

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Girls that look bright like cherubs, prototypical, catch my eyes from the other side of the room. Overdrawn throughout antiquity, frail outlines like these change places constantly. Its owner differs from one moment to the next, yet someone is always waiting to exploit one when it presents itself. She has lovely wide eyes, a doll frozen, blood rushing beneath the surface. Pale skin masks the flowing liquid, so my vision only sees what’s been left behind. What a lovely shade of pink.

He touches me with too much care, as if I will burst underneath his weight. I’d make a glorious mess, breaking into many pieces, a water balloon filled with passion, flooding his room. Thank God for tiny New York apartments. The four walls would fill quickly with my fluids, a mix of bile and blood, vaginal secretions and snot, everything all at once forming a homogenous mess. To die underneath him. To asphyxiate him, filling his lungs with my own phlegm, reaching into the tissues and membranes, lovely.

Attempts at polyamory have made me insatiable and self-conscious.

“What do you mean you ‘like’ someone?”

What do I have to offer? Why can’t all of the affection be for me, always? Only one way. I’m such a dick. And a tease. I’m so awfully in love that I can’t have him treat me like shit. Be delicate, you know?

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In between many men and interesting relationships. Play partners, “real” partners, friendships. My head is spinning with the complex mess I’ve worked myself in, although it’s not quite a problem yet, maybe one day soon. Then I’ll have to figure out who gets which sections of my partitioned feelings and thoughts.  I wish more than anything ever that I could melt away the stubborn and give learned tricks a sequestering gaze.

Because I’m open and honest, because you enjoy yourself, because we’re better when the restrictions on our movements are lifted, because I can’t see five inches beyond this interaction, because you know what you think and it’s conflicting but you know where there are spots of truth.

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