I had a taste of sweetness once. It spilled out, over my tongue, filled my throat, flooded my mouth, and left me gasping. I've tasted a thousand poisons since that night, trying to remember what it was I imbibed. I've curled toes, and endured shrieks, seen bodies writhing in ecstasy, and yet none of it compared. They were all ashen, vile, caustic to my senses. They weren't you, they were hardly even imposters.
I'd like to think that everyone is made for something. Or someone. Or both. That, for all our noble intent, we'll all just settle down and propogate wherever the gods see fit.Even those of us called off to war to die and go, gloriously, to those Golden Halls, have a purpose. If I thought that, my purpose would be to find you, and devour you.
I suppose it can't hurt to linger this way. Spectrally, haunting the periphery. I'm just there, barely held together, at the edge of your mind. I'm probably retched to the eyes, all half-congealed shapes and nauseating lines, but I assure you there's something wonderful about me. I'm a hopeless narcissist.
Keep that in mind, my self-serving nature, the next time I try to romance you (as I invariably will). I'll make you feel good about yourself only as an excuse to make myself feel good. A pick-up line is only as good as the orgasm it earns you.
There won't be much sense in any of this. Apologies ahead of time. Sometimes I'll rant and rave and tear out my hair about something, but most of the time you'll have this...meandering train of thought to deal with. I'll go from talking to you, like this, like we're two equals conversing on the train ride from Penn Station to Raleigh, and then I'll go off into something different and leave you on the platform in the rain, where all my jilted lovers go to die.
If you're reading this, I bid you welcome. I'm already fond of you, and by the time I finish this, sign my name, and sit back to page through my own thoughts like an archeologist wandering Tut's tomb, with wonder and trepidation, I'll be in love with you. Such is the nature of things like me. Don't look too deep. I'm not sure you'll find anything as savvy as metaphoric social commentary, and I doubt there's anything philosophical about this, it's just a mind spilling rubbish into the vast reaches of the internet.
Then again, go for it.
Some people, in the pursuit of their dreams, reach for the stars. They shoot for the sky. They do a number of things that invoke the idea that the world is vast, limitless with potential, and, despite the grandeur of their statements, relatively easy to surpass in favor of the glittering eternity of space and stars. I'm of the opinion that you get to a destination, not by stretching for something unimaginably huge, but through sheer power of will and the ability to be beaten to within an inch of your life. More simply put, you reach for a star and I reach for a scar. It's an interesting idea, that you can simply believe that gravity no longer has a hold on your and soar off into the stratosphere, in search of Peter Pan. Realistically, it's much mor difficult to find that second star to the right, being without real direction once you've flown that high, and morning is relative to the passage of time on a planet.
That's all just bullshit. My point is, I believe in experience, rather than wishful thinking. I enjoy a drink (or twelve hours of drinks, if the situation allows) and more than my fair share of debaucherous adventures. Those, I think, along with a hearty work ethic and an incredible ability to fool people into thinking I'm something other than a bastard, will take me where I need to go. If the gods so allow, I'd like that to be somewhere near the sea where I can write and drink and cause a scene without abundant property damage and incarceration. Preferably, I'd like to share that little piece of the world with those who mean the most to me. Likely, the kith and kin with the most resilient livers and wallets, and the longest arrest records.
Love everything that does not incite you to wrath. Annihilate everything that does. There is more pleasure to be had in the company of good friends, in the passionate throes of unanticipated sex, and the unabashed laughter of drunkeness than can be found anywhere else.
Before I get too lackadaisical, though, remember to go fuck yourself.
I go from waxing philosophic to asshole in less than half an inch. Welcome aboard.
Yours,
-S.R.
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