A Collection of Spectacles

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Been pretty sick the last few days. I’m making way less money than usual. I believe things will be fine, though. The world’s oldest profession has had a way of regrouping and paving new ways forward. Maybe augmented reality porn stars? Who knows? People love to get off but hate talking about it.

I feel more forgiving lately yet my attention is short at the same time, if that even makes sense. Second chances are fine, but a third strike is something I can’t handle or tolerate right now. K says I’ve been selfish, points to stuff I can’t even remember from years ago. Maybe I’ve been selfish before but it’s not a one way street and currently I’m trying to be more, I don’t know, based (for lack of a better word). Maybe it’s all too late, but we should figure it out soon.

How many ways can I say I want to be filled up, loaded, drenched, stuffed with cum? Fuck, when I’m not angry or depressed, I’m longing. Every minute seems steps farther away from what I desire. I just wanna pant and sigh and make little noises all day from under, then over you, stuck in a carved out universe of bliss.

Picking a “main partner” makes sense, but the jealousy that accompanies monogamy is absurd. I can make life long friends but love is always contentious. I hate this. It seems like I’m desired from afar but I can’t keep anything or anyone interested for long. Everyone I love turns into a series of ignored messages or unwanted outbursts. Like a little pig in filth, I’m constantly rolling around between violence, sex, and numbness.

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