He moved, effortlessly, under the radar, such that I swear he could shape shift. He was dressed in black: gloves and the rest. He looked like a panther come to life. I should never have loved him, but I could not help it. I am a strange bird, myself. I am not as I seem, either, so we were the perfect pair, in theory. In actuality, it was the worst pain I ever had.
How I came to this point takes some explaining. One does not pop out of the cake doing self destructive things. One builds up to it. In my case, I was fighting so many inner demons I did not notice an outer one, especially when he was so darn delicious.
I fall for words. The people around me call me names like pumpkin and sweet pea. Words make my heart swell. Words break it. Most men can’t talk. It is the rare one who can. That is my Achilles heel. So, of course I would fall for the Panther. It was the chemical reaction of H and O2. It explodes. Voila.
Do you ever wonder the mechanism for human addiction? The yang grabs the yin and they become the yin/yang. That is the short version. My version will take time, like the whispers of the panther that made me do things I shouldn’t.
I was so stupid. Do you know what I mean? I was so stupid that only the Great One could save me from myself . He did, but only after I did enough damage that it was one of those rescues at sea, where the victim arrives on the shore, half dead.
I don’t know how I got so lost from the internal compass we all have. My dial spun until it exhausted itself and broke. It must be that, among other things.
I could never share a man. Can any women? I mean, for real? Women talk dumb.I didn’t know that talk was about as cheap as the rest of the things they did.
I went into a deep slumber from my early teens on. It made me like a dunce in emotional affairs. That is how one steps in it and good.
So, you want me to move on. I hear you. You think I’m a tease. Yes, I have been called that but this is not what this is about. This is how I became noire. My mother molested me. She put me down on the floor at her ankles and masturbated in front of me. She looked into my eyes with an expression that could only be utter hatred.
I was too young to utter physical words but in my head I knew the words. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. The words brought me comfort. They were noire words. They seemed to make time stop but not the blackness that lifted it’s hand to my neck and squeezed.
I don’t look noire. God must have graced me with enough light that I do not bring down the room with sadness but noire has a life of it’s own. It escapes and makes me do crazy things, which brings me back to my original subject, forgotten in the digression, maybe.
The Panther knew these things. He had his own version, wrapped in it’s own dark paper like they have in Over the Hill parties. All the balloons and napkins are black.The cupcakes even have black frosting. The panther knew my dirty little secret, even though I never breathed a word.
That was what made me love him and I love him still. Once you have to say words, you have lost something. It is a crazy thing, but who can stop noire when it runs out of it’s cage, free as a bird. It has it’s own rhythm and one must dance to the beat, unimpeded.
I thought the Panther understood it all but now, I am not sure. Was it a chimera? I like that word. It sounds big and smart like I am big and smart. Maybe, he never understood a thing and I was fooled this whole time. I get flashes that this is so. I may have wanted it so badly that I made it all up. I made him a man who understood the music when he only knew the words.
:'(
<3 Ferry
you made up most things, so things will be how you imagine, if you continue making them up.
Black frosting is made from blackberries and not liquorice.
Hamster cupcakes are made of cream cheese, butter and icing sugar, and they also have rainbow spirnkles.
No one fools us. We fool ourselves. The carnalistc capasity resides with in us.
We don’t need an artifical stimulation. We need the REAL THING. JESUS!
Lon
You are a star. I was talking to my English Professor client. She is not saved and is starting to go to church to try to find God.
I was telling her about the Born Again man on my website who is always telling me to he does not like my pictures. She said, ‘Do you mean Lon Spector?”
Yea, but I got an E-mail from a website called “faith.” They said their “security team”
thinks someone may have gotten my E-mail adress and is hacking my computer.
They say thier getting a lot of spam from my E-mail adress.
I know I’m in over my head with regard to computers.
The 12th house is the house of self “undoing.” I’ve got Uranus (Computers?) there.
I feel I’ve opened a Pandora’s box with the computer. I may have provided my “hidden”
enemies with the means to destroy me.
That happened to me. I was sending out spam to other people cuz they had gotten my e mail address. It is not just a curse on you, Lon. Every day, I have about 4 people try to hack this website.
What you do is this. NEVER open up weird e mail. Just delete it.
that tattoo looks disgusting, though. I hope it isn’t anyone’s.
I am sure it is someone’s tattoo, B.
I’m sure it is yours, A.
I don’t have a tattoo, B, but if I did, it would be a little heart, not that :/
I don’t know it has your vibe, A. I believe you can have this tattoo but it is miniscule and need a 10x microscope to see. It can be on your ankle, A. Nobody will suspect it is anything other than a birthmark.
Thank you that it has my vibe, B :/ I do have a birthmark on my leg. Maybe, it got into it.
I’m just kidding you vibes it that’s why u dredged it from the trenches of outer space to be here splat on your blog, A. You liked this tattoo enough to post it. So everything you post does hold a piece of your vibe.
That is true, B. That tattoo holds a part of my vibe, most assuredly.
Then it’s probably you, A.
There can be no doubt that I’ve set the stage for my own eventual destruction
in learning to post on the computer. I have been long under survalence in other areas
of my life, telephone, been followed around because I knew too much etc… But this
computer will completly expose all my ideas and place me in a vulnarable position.
Had I never learned the computer, there was no way that anyone would even given me the
time of day. Not based on my appearence or “acheviements.” But now I’ve given them
a knife they can twist in my back!
Yep, Mr. “Borrowed Time.” That should be my name. For MANY reasons.