Bloody steak and apples

An almost pretty little beast with a mind all it's own.  Snarking at me when I seek shelter as it rages amid the storm.  Wielding lightening bolts, as I count the distance of thunder.  We dance a dance of life long admiration and hate.  A give and take of sorts coupled with a battle of wills in equal measure.  Tongue in cheek responses met with solomn declarations.  We take turns in our expressions, rarely meeting amicably upon our chosen battle field.  It wanders along the shoreline while I dive headlong naked into the icy waters, whispers of decorum rippling out along the waves behind me.  I slow to take stock, give up my thanks to the Gods and Goddesses and it opens it's maw to howl at the moon while dancing wildly calling me outrageous in my silence!

We are a pair.  Different and the same, housed together for an eternity.  A battle of wills and desires binding us together in our inescapable bawdy dance.  Yet there are moments, few and far between as they may indeed be, when I think of you; it stretches out as though soaking in the suns rays and smiles along with me.  Listening to the music of our soul, in a rhythm only we can hear and feel.  Humming along with me, making us truly one.

Checks and Balances

She has always sworn that she will choose carefully.  Choose with purpose, and forethought.  She's always chosen to be smart and diligent in matters of her affections and heart.  I watched her for years, and yes she has stayed true to her plan.  Never a hair out of place, all of her buttons match and her suitors are suitably suited.  She's careful and safe.  She's well thought out and poised. 

She's nothing like me at all. 

I've little to no relatable anecdotes to draw upon for her.  For while I may on occasion think matters of the heart through, I often leap before I look.  Throw caution into the wind, embracing the landing as readily as the fall.  The only advice I can see to give her is of little help to one so meticulous in her plans. When I say, "Love isn't for the weak or faint of heart, it's grit, excitement, exposed nerves, and bone.  Cowboy up honey, be it an 8 second run, or the ride of your life it will just as equally take your well planned out direction and tear it to shreds." 

You can plan for many things, but a human heart cannot be won that way.   Only those lovers who didn't choose at all but were, as it were, chosen by something invisible and powerful and uncontrollable and beautiful and possibly even unsuitable-- only those know what I'm talking about in this talking about love.

Bone Deep

With each loss comes a coldness.  You won't always be this cold, in time it will diminish.  There will be a lightness that eventually seeps it's way back into you, pushing back that bone chilling cold but the cold will always remain.  Lingering around the edges, and on those nights where you allow it, it will creep back in and remind you, of memories almost forgotten with time and space that you are in the end alone with your thoughts and feelings.  How you deal with them in entirely up to you.

We're a Shakespearean play

Comedy or tragedy, well that would depend of your viewpoint.

This sick cycle carousel has been through a great deal of ups and downs.  We've been on this ride for 20 years now.  20 years of memories, experiences, laughter, anger, and transparency.  There are no hopes and dreams here.  We both know the score and our parts in this play upon the stage we ourselves built.  We've little to no remorse.  If we had, we'd not have continued this for 20 years.  To think that we have outlasted thousands upon thousands of others in their traditional lives.  One day it will end, and end rater badly to be sure of.  Today however, we smile and laugh and feel the sun upon our upturned faces.

The View From Here

Don't ask my opinion 

Don't ask me to lie 

Then beg for forgiveness 

 For making you cry 

Making you cry 

'Cause I'm only human after all 

I'm only human after all 

Don't put your blame on me 

Don't put the blame on me

--Rag'N'Bone

One of the biggest errors other make, at least with me; is asking for my opinion.  It is something that causes me to pause and always ask, "do you want my opinion as I see things, or do you actually want me to tell you what you want to hear?" 

I rarely if ever think along the same lines as others and while my experiences may indeed colour my views on things in general; my ability to think critically is one of the greatest gifts I have.  I have always been able to see the end picture.  When I was much younger it made me very difficult to deal with, yes even more so than now.  I hadn't yet come to the understand or realization that the process is just as valid and important to many aspects in life as that end result.  Back then it caused me to dismiss many entirely.  Failing to embrace that even in those many cases where I simply knew it would end badly, that the process in and of itself was also filled with lessons and knowledge that could not be earned simply through success.  I do try to embrace the entire process now, as difficult as that may be for one such as myself whom constantly critically analyzes everything and everyone and has the answers within minutes.  Sometimes we have to simply prepare ourselves for the the worst and yet still try for the best, even when we can see that oncoming train of stark reality.  I am told that people do deserve at least that chance to show they are capable of changing their direction.

Many a great thanks to those whom along the way shifted gears and showed me a different outcome.  And yes, just as many great thanks to those whom maintained their course, and in doing so proved me right.  Each was and experience and lesson that only you could have taught me.  

Perfume

Traces of perfume upon a pillow are some of the sweetest ways to awake.  That familiar scent, a lingering trace a home.  A not so distant memory of comfort and completeness, even if only for a few short hours.  The scent of his skin, brings my world to a halt.  We've never enough time, our worlds run in different circles keeping us waiting and waiting for more.  20 years have past and still it remains the same.  We in those hours remain unchanged, we endure, we smile, we laugh, we hold tight for those brief moments; making them last until we connect again. 

Hiking With My Demons

She may walk with the angels, but by the Gods I've also seen her run with her demons.
                                                                                  --my children talking to their father about me.


Admittedly there's something particularly twisted about the fact that my mind immediately goes to dark and creepy places with the most mundane things people say and do.  I was recently hiking, although some would call it a serious power walk trying to keep up with me; (I am however not a runner! Screw that business.) in a local heavily wooded park and sometimes recreational area.   A seldom seen worker came traipsing through in a section that allows for work vehicles to check on things and do mild maintenance and then stopped at a wooden storage unit.  He had a large tarp and a shovel in hand, this of course had me arching an eyebrow and thinking the worst of him.  Was he actually a park worker?  Did his boss know he was out here in the middle of nowhere possibly up to no good!  I observed him for a moment.  Much like one does with Rorschach cards.  I however didn't see ink blots, or bat and birds.  My immediate and twisted thought was, "well that's a truly crappy place to store a dead body." Yes, I am keenly aware that I should probably not be left alone too often or to my own devices.  As has been noted by many, near an far that should I be the voice of reason; shit has gone horribly wrong. 

Now I know the running joke after the testing, which I did for shits and giggles that yes I do carry the warrior gene.  Let everyone be rest assured that I am not a serial killer, at least not yet thanks to my self imposed hiatus from facebook.  My girlfriend whom is well accustomed to my dark and humorous (to me) thoughts, decided to play devils advocate, humouring my tisted train of thought and argued that it would be a good place to hide a body but that it was unfair of us to think that the seldom seen worker was hiding bodies there.  After all he was probably a very nice man wom had a family and went to church every sunday.  As I quirked an eyebrow in her direction and simply muttered BTK, she had to shake her head at me and just laugh at my complete mistrust of human goodness.  So there we sat over coffee discussing, she the merits and I the problematic theory of hiding a body in those woods and in that shed.  Of course upon further inspection of details she realized that I was correct, and that the concept of storing a dead body in the wooden storage unit is flawed and would surely place whomever the killer was in jail in a reasonably short time. 

The larger issue for her was of course was what was worse-the initial thought or the fact that I had taken the time to analyze it.  I maintained that my thought process was sound and would make me a fantastic crime scene investigator,  She for possibly the hundredth time chuckled and added that I would probably make a better hitwoman.  Something about my general dislike of anyone feeling as though they had great authority over my person and that I rarely played well with others.  Which she denotes is due to my being raised by wolves and keeping the company of wolves for far too long.  She might have a point, but my reasoning is still sound.  Thank the gods she gets me.  Anyone else would have run screaming by now.