I finally bit the bullet and wrote my confession of sins under the title of "fuck it" So I can take it to my therapist, my sponsor, Blam... some far off new hidden blog....the pages of some never-to-be-seen book, a graveyard, a furneral pyre. Who knows. There are 13 "insert noun here" over 8 years, or over 25 years really and only 2 of them flat out horrible. It's a 1 page abstract of all my acts of commission. For this men hold me in contempt and the Christians would stone me. It could make a twisted rap song, but neither I, nor the genre, are worthy of such a union.
I am in love with Leonhard Cohen. I swear he was sent by God to deliver me from evil. I saw "I'm your man" again, and remembered the quote I love so much, which I need to write down next time and commit to permanent memory, so I can recite it, as necessary, at will.
Meanwhile, I think a good ol fashioned masseure, could restore balance to my universe. I don't need a happy ending, I just need to be the center of the universe for a short contrived, bought and paid for, while. It is easier to buy an illusion than to either seduce or succumb to one, and a lot less misleading and complicated. I had a conversation with some polyamorists and remembered that I am not one. I, it turns out, am an anarchist. You will never find a parrot in my window.