One Part Poet, Two Parts Viking

I've got the jitters again, like some kind of junkie. I shake in the wee hours of the night, as the sun slowly rises, seeking to murder vampires and chase away the nightmares. I can feel my fingers trembling, as if with an influx of adrenaline, like they would if I could lay them across your naked skin. My stomach flutters, full of too much coffee and not enough real nourishment. There is electricity in my nerves, racing here and there, without any clear goal, no concise pattern, no sign of start or end. My lips twitch themselves into a smile I've tried to repress, to hide, for fear that you'd find me out.

Sometimes, I can be such a child.

There is a youthful vigor in this, a relaxing reminder that the many winters I've survived have not aged me beyond my prime, beyond this place in life that is open to mistakes and adventures. Not many things grant me that these days. We're all getting older and, I suspect, we grow wearier in heart than in body. Our flesh and bones are young, powerful, and full of prospects. Our minds have been convinced that we're too old for this kind of tom-foolery, that the days of silly crushes and hapless flirting are too far behind us to reclaim. Our minds have been misled.

I should have figured this out some time ago, the connection between body and mind. The way that, when one finds the truth the other can be shown, made to follow. Life is equal parts mental and physical, and all things encompassed are divided as such. I find myself drawn to you, part physical, part otherwise, and I can convince the rest to follow.

You're arrival here has been timely, and an epiphany accompanied you that if I am to stand with bared chest to the storm, to the roiling, wrathful sea, and set out across these waves to find distant shores to plunder, to conquer, to unite, I must be whole. Perhaps, then, your coming is a gift from these gods I hold so dear.

There was something about the way the snow fell on you that entranced me. There is nothing inherently permanent about it, nothing to tie us together indefinately. And yet, the season seems to linger forever, the snow and the winter hold to the earth, unrelenting, undaunted by the inevitability of the warmth returning. It holds sway over all the world, an icy throne drawing its power from the threat of never departing. I find comfort in that kind of duality.

Only the heartiest and, perhaps, the most foolhardy, brave these days of little light and merciless cold. We hunt for prey, for glory, for the thrill and the chance that, should we meet a wanderer stronger than ourselves, more blessed by the gods, we will have the privilege to die honorably and be received.

Some nights, I pray that you will be my killing ground and that, when you continue on your path through this place, I will continue my journey far away from this world.

Yours,
-S.R.

Dating Blows

Have you ever played one of those dating simulators? Or Harvest Moon where you have to court one of the five girls in town (really, there are only five?) and get her to go out with you and, eventually, you get married? I think those are a great deal like real life relationships, in that I continuously fail at them. I mean, real life girls don't have a meter that fills up a little more or a specific type of gift you have to buy them to coerce them into going out to a specific date, but you get the idea pretty quickly that this whole interpersonal relationship thing takes quite a bit of work, a little finesse, and a lot of attention. These are things I find lacking in my set of skills.

There are other things that stop me from being good at it, like having an attractive personality. I am, and will always be, offensive. I'm offensive in my humor, in the things I say and think. That, to a lot of people, is hilarious. But you wouldn't take a guy like me to meet your parents. I'd make a joke at your dad about nailing his wife and, boom, he hates my guts. Which is great when you're a fifteen year old rebel. It sucks when you enter that part of your life (this part, actually) where you start looking to be serious and settle down. Maybe I'm not ready for that. Or maybe you're a bitch. Whatever.

The problem isn't that I'm too lacksadaisical about life. I'll tell you I'm fundamentally unable to be serious, but the truth is I can't act serious. It isn't fun, it's depressing. If you go about life being serious all the time, you'll end up with an ulcer, and colon cancer from squeezing your ass so tight all the time. I prefer the opposite method of taking nothing seriously. I understand that my attitude bothers some people, I just don't understand why. I don't empathize with it.

I take my work seriously, but I joke about it. I take my writing seriously, but I joke about it. I take my obsession with the physical seriously, but it is much easier to joke about being addicted to boning than it is to explain to someone that "physical" doesn't necessarily mean "I'm going to have sex with every girl ever." I guess that's off-putting.

Timing really fucks me up. See, there's that time at the beginning of a relationshipw when everything is care-free and everybody looses sleep over being happy, and they miss work because they want to go see their "boo" and it's all sunshine and rainbows flying out of your ass. I'm too intense for that. I jump right in up to my elbows and breeze past the boring novelty of it all. Let's get right into the routine. Then, when you've gotten to know each other, you become more serious and you start having plans. That's when I get all wacky and full of fun. My sense of humor rears its ugly head again and, as well as I've gotten to know someone, they've only gotten to know the bullshit I spew out to keep them hooked. They get to know me and they're like "You were right, you're kind of an asshole."

Told you so, honey bunny. You didn't want to listen.

What I mean to say is, I'm bad at dating. I'm pretty bad at choosing who to date as well. For a while I just figured I'd get over it. You know, stop putting on a show and be able to open up earlier on. Then we wouldn't have so much invested in each other by the time she decided to bounce. Or I decided she was fucking crazy and had to leave the state. Then I realized I'm not really putting on a show at all. I've just got some really bizarre personality quirks. And you thought this was going to be about women. Hah. I'm way too self-centered to talk about women.

How many of you reading this (seriously, does anyone read this? I didn't think so.) display different behavior around different people? Everyone does. I just go to extremes (because I'm "EXTREME!!!!") with that concept. I'm funny and charming and quick-witted a good portion of the time. Especially around groups of people. I'm like cocaine, all full of energy, talking fast and making your nose bleed. I'm quick with a joke, quick to tell you whatever you want to hear. I like to make you happy. If you don't mind making fun of everyone, including the white folk but primarily blacks, jews, women, the handicapped, people that are less "alpha-male" and more follower, and myself, then we'll get along fine. I like to turn my own self-depreciation into humor. It's a typical comedian behavor. Except I'm not doing stand-up. We're just having a conversation.

The problem is I have this need for gratification. If you're not laughing, eating it up, visibly in love with my performance, then the act goes sour and I'll do one of two things. I'll either come down from the high and hit this devastating low, wherein I'll suddenly fall silent and my mind will wander off to loathe me somewhere else. Or, I'll try harder, desperately in fact, to capture your attention as I had it before. Usually by saying more and more disgusting shit that will, most of the time, just make everyone around me feel awkward. Then I'll get snarky and laugh at their feeble sensibilities and think privately about how weak they are, all the while berating myself for being such a class-A piece of shit.

It really rocks being me, most of the time. The rest of the time, it can be kind of a drag.

With friends this formula is almost always successful. I'm engaging enough that I keep their attention and my opinions are usually withing the boundaries of what they find acceptable. The problem is, dating requires something deeper that I, frankly, don't have. I can't tell you about my feelings because I don't really have any. If I love you, I'll tell you I love you. If I'm sad, I'll tell you I'm sad. I don't know why any of these things occur, they just do. I greet most incoming emotions as a challenge. We sword fight, I win, they typically go away. Some of them hang around. Love is, as of right now, the reigning champ. Kicks my ass everytime. But that's alright, I like that feeling.

But like I said, there isn't much else to me. Sometimes I get into moods where I'm angry for no reason, or just down for no reason. I appreciate having you around, but you won't cheer me up. The battle has to rage and I have to put that fucker down like the dog it is, then I'll be alright again. Girls, for some reason, don't like that much. They assume there has to be a reason, and I have to know that reason. Why, is beyond me. If she's feeling down, I accept that she's feeling down. If she wants to talk about it, no problem. If she doesn't, hey, I can play X-box.

Someone told me I'm a sociopath. So, I guess that solves the problem.

Cool.

Yours,
-S.R.

The Love of Death

Drag me down, despite my superior air. Drag me down to your level, where even the maggots would not deign to go. Pull me from this high horse with hands that reek of earth and rot, fleshless hands that embody the cold nature of death. Your mouth is open, toothless, in some kind of silent scream, plea, or challenge. Perhaps your nose, if you had one, would be curled in a snarl and your eyes, were they not long withered, would be aglow with some fierce need.

Pull me away from the pettiness of my conceit, the prettiness of my words, and into the welcoming womb of the earth. Into the dark. Into the silence, that cavernous lack of anything familiar, anything alive. Embrace me there, in your own realm, where your power is at its greatest, where you are whole (if a thing like yourself can be whole). Devour me, if you will, because it has been much too long since I've felt anything like pain. Too long since I encountered something strong enough to hurt me. Lure me in with sweetness, and eat me.

Love, you've been far too long in coming.

Yours,
-S.R.