OUT NOW PLEASE

Tiny apartment, on the fourth floor,
Room for a desk, a bed, and a door.
The bed is quite spacious, the lighting quite nice
And there isn't a hint of pretention, or vice,
Just a boy, in his room,
Who wants to have fun.
So to the apartment I've come.

But there's a cloud,
A trap,
A triggered snare, lying in another room,
Hiding in the gloom of the dimmed lights,
Waiting to bite,
And force a gap,
Goes on the attack,
With a rap, a short sharp rap,
At the door.

We're engaged.
Clothes off for the boys.
He perks up his ears at the noise,
Sniffs the air, is made aware,
Tries not to lose his poise.
Fails.
Slinks away and bites his nails.
The trap resets.

O Week

The O is for orientation. Though considering the events of the week, it could also stand for 'orgasmic'.

It's been a while since I've posted, and it's because I've been away from my computer for the last few days, by and large, living life. So I figure I need to take a moment to withdraw into my cave, put on some music and type it all out. It's been the kind of week that future me will want to know about.
So why can't I put the damn thing into words?
Alright, so on Sunday I...
Actually no, that isn't the right way to go about this at all.
On Monday I...oh fuck it, going to simply start typing and not stop. Prepare for gibberish.
So I met a boy. Well, we didn't just meet, I suppose things have escalated a bit past that. We met on Grindr (see post about Grindr for why that's horrifying) and against all expectations we met up the next day and didn't have sex with one another on sight. We spend the day together. We didn't kiss or hug. We just spent two and a half hours in one another's company, talking. And it was great. It was REALLY great. We got along really well, and when it was time for us to part I didn't want to. So we made arrangements to meet the next day, after I had gone to the university for my first day of O Week.
We'll leave that there for a moment while I talk about O Week. O Week is an absolute fucking farce. A whole bunch of terrified first years pretending that they're not terrified. All it takes is ONE person to have the confidence to strike up a conversation with the person next to them and BAM, you have a friend. I've made a few friends. I may even see some of them again. Fingers crossed.
So I signed up for some clubs and went to a Socialist Alternative lecture (that'll have to be a completely seperate post, still thinking about that) and made some friends and then I went home and the boy came with me and we had sex. I didn't think we would have sex, because I wanted to have self-control because I felt like a relationship could happen if I didn't let this turn into just sex. But we couldn't help ourselves and we had sex anyway. And it's a relationship anyway.
I'm not single anymore and I'm content to be monogamous. I don't know exactly how to feel. Let's just leave it there.

The 'I Quit WoW' Post

This post is titled so that I can find it later if I need to.

Well, I did it. I kicked the habit of four, five years. I quit World of Warcraft. This post is to list my reasons why - and god help me, I'm going to turn into one of those people who hate something they loved after they quit and preach at others about it. Oh well. May as well go with the flow.

Reason One: I am defending a game that no longer exists.

Every time people hate on World of Warcraft, I told them the community was amazing, the bosses were satisfying and challenging and PvP was entertaining and ultra competitive. I am always thinking of Burning Crusade when I say that. Burning Crusade was years ago. It is no longer WoW. Thus, I am wrong. WoW's community is shit. The bosses are not satisfying. PvP is not entertaining anymore and is dominated by flavour of the month classes. Even the levelling experience is hasty and dull. WoW as it is no longer appeals.

Reason Two: Five years is a long time for a single game.

Christ, I used to play all kinds of games. Even used to break out the consoles from time to time and play them. Now, I have nothing installed on my computer but L4D2 and WoW. This is a disgrace. There are so many other things I could amuse myself with, and instead I'm playing this shitty MMO.

Reason Three: Tolerance

I have too high a tolerance for WoW. When I first started playing, an hour long session was a treasure and I loved every minute of it. Nowadays I would play for twelve hour stints and be bored for most of that. But I did it anyway. Why did I do it? Because I was addicted. And now the quality of the drug is slipping so I can break my little habit. And I have done.

Reason Four: RIFT

I've been playing the RIFT beta and it's a much more appealing MMO. Very pretty, interesting lore, a community that doesn't suck. I'm going to go and play that - but WoW has killed my desire to raid, and if I'm not raiding, I don't need to sink hours and weeks and months of my life into another game.

I haven't touched WoW in four days. I'm not feeling the pinch at all. In fact, its remarkably easy. Even thinking about logging in makes me feel unhappy. Now I'm free to do whatever I want. Now I have to be a human being who isn't defined by a computer game.
Well, shit.

Flutter, gasp, die.

Pleasure's my measure.
Electronic impulses, across the sky.
We beam our emotions and we never ask why -
Until our brains stop working and we crumble and fall.

I have felt your hands upon my hands, and I have trembled.
I have felt your mind upon my mind, and I have shuddered.
I have felt your soul upon my soul, and I have lost control.
We're far too comfortable, this time.

And shall I, when you pursue your point,
And leave me transfixed and struggling upon it,
And have transcribed my emotions upon your palm,
Shall that be cause for great alarm?

I do not wish to cause a fuss.
But this is not enough.

And should I writhe and wail and cry,
And lie awake, beneath that sky,
With beams that cross and intertwine?
With dreams that flutter, gasp and die?

I do not wish to cause a scene.
But that isn't what I mean.

And should you, in your victory,
Press me to the wall,
And demand that I fall?
Those walls were fallen long before.

Pleasure's my measure.
Physical impulses, across my skin,
With all this sensation, how can I not win?
When I give in and let them take it all from me.

I have heard your words against my words, and I have laughed.
I have heard your wit against my wit, and I have cried.
I have heard your love against my love, and it was greater.
Far greater than us both.

And shall you, when I deny your love,
And claim it lust, and call you liar; fool,
When I deny you, and your need for me -
Will you keep your cool?

You do not want to make me stay.
So cast me away.

Beat - Beat - Beat.

I'm kind of obsessed with the word 'beat' at the moment.


You said that you'd be there for me,
I take the hit and pay the price coz this feelin' ain't free.
I was watching for you,
Coz I know that this is the only thing you know to be true,
But I can feel your heart, feel it beat,
Feel feel feel - beat, beat, beat.
Can you feel my heart, heart, heart?
Beat - beat - beat.

You said you'd be there for me.
I take the hit and pay the price coz this feelin' ain't free.
For the rush, for the thrill,
But now it isn't taking hold and I'm worried that I'm ill -
But I can feel your heart, feel it beat,
Heart heart heart, in the middle of the street.
Can you feel my heart, heart, heart?
Beat - beat - beat.

You said you'd be there for me.
I take the hit and pay the price coz this feelin' ain't free.
But the price is too high,
I won't be jumping off the cliffs if I don't think I can fly,
But I can feel your heart, right at my feet,
Beat beat beat, feet feet feet.
Can you feel my heart, heart, heart?
Beat - beat - beat.

You said you'd be there for me.
I took the hit, paid the price, and the feelin' wasn't free.
Now it's time to make a start -
With the beating, beating of my heart.

Some Beat

It pulls you around, it sits in your seat,
It makes you get up and it turns up the heat -
It swirls this around, this dizzying beat,
You'll hear it aloud, in the people you meet!
Yes it spins you around, it's the soul of the street -
Deep into the ground, with your thundering feet!

In my head. Now it's out. Good.

Prose for Lyko

Good lord, I'm writing on request. I haven't done that in forever. Let's see what happens.

There is this thing that's like touching,
But touching's too much.
There is this thing that's like fucking,
You're fucking it up.

And there is no time, and no hope, and no place, and no you.
And there is no soul, and no love, and no need, and we're through.

And there is this thing, and I'm shouting it over the wall,
And there is this thing that you need and you'll grasp as we fall -
And there is this thing - but you've burnt it, you've destroyed it all,
This thing.
This thing.

There is this thing, that's like loving,
Except I can't love.
There is this thing that was beating,
But now it has stopped.
And there are these things that you take
and you pray it'll mend,
But these are the things that won't run,
that won't work, that just end.

And these are the things that they bear in their arms as you wake,
And these are the things that throw out all the things you must take,
And these are the things that they sing -
That they sing, on the wing.
Of this thing.
This thing.
This thing.

Well, it could have been worse.

I quite like writing about myself. Have you noticed?

The fitz will fix the fit, if a quick fix suffices.

There is this thing like touching, except you don't touch.
That's from a Dresden Dolls song. I think I've been doing something similar for most of my life. I'm down again, so I'm blogging. This is never a fantastic idea, but it beats the alternative. I mean, theoretically, if I wasn't blogging, I'd be sitting in the dark listening to depressive music and letting the words buzz around in my head like a swarm of angry bees, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing and you know eventually that if they don't get out they're going to get really mad and when bees get mad they don't limit themselves to buzzing, they break out the stingers.
So basically, I am blogging because I do not want to be stung by the head-bees.
Boy, and I wonder why the strangers that read my blog often say I'm a bit hard to understand. I'm so clear on everything.
I've done that thing I do from time to time where I draw up walls around my life and insulate it. It isn't what I wanted to do a long time back, which was turn off my emotions and desires. It also isn't social reclusion - not exactly. It's sort of a going through the motions. It's leaving the house to talk with people for a few hours, laugh in the right places, smile in the right places, and hug at the right moment, and then going home and shrugging your shoulders as if a chore had been completed to satisfaction and nothing of consequence had been accomplished. It's accepting strangers who add you on msn or message you through Facebook and casually flirting, questioning and teasing, for no real purpose beyond the ability to do so, and no real interest beyond leading them to conclusions you've already drawn just from their opening statements. It's a life that is completely untouchable from anything on the outside of it, and completely defeatable by anything on the inside of it. I'm not sure exactly why I've been doing it - probably because my self-esteem has come back in a rush and I'm under the impression I need nothing and nobody for anything beyond the people I already have. Over the past few days I've been fighting with one of those people who is on the inside, and this is making me miserable. Also over the past few days there has been a veritable rush of people on the outside who seem to be making a godawful noise to get in. Funny, that I complain about having no friends in Melbourne, and yet there is a practical tide of boys and girls who want a piece of my time. Now, the cynic in me knows that most of the boys just want to get me out of my pants, but the realist knows some of them would just want to be my friend - and where's the harm in that?
But I'm persisting in this wall. I need no boyfriend; in fact, a boyfriend would be an unfortunate drain I would sooner avoid. I need no sex; any minor sexual gratification I could gain with my face buried in someone else's loins has lost appeal when the cost is self-respect and even at times common dignity. I need no friends; I have my housemates. At least, that was how things were before a few days ago. And now I'm sitting back and going 'Well, shit. You're fighting with one of them. Now what, bitch? Maybe you should spend some time with a friend and talk it out until both of you cool down. Oh, that's right, you refuse to make any. Well done!'
And I'm not really all that depressed or anything, don't get me wrong, this isn't a hack-my-wrists-and-pay-attention-to-me post. This is more of a oh-look-at-my-folly-how-interesting-in-hindsight post. I feel better for it already.
There is this thing like touching, except you don't touch.
Now if only there was a thing like blogging, except you don't blog.

Take that, word bees.

Cat's Breakfast

She told me that the food was on the table,
But I wasn't quite sure if I was able,
To drag myself into the kitchen and,
Salt the stew and chew the meat,
Swallow, swallow, time to eat, no!
But I would rather stay behind and stare at
The meal of the cat isn't the rat so,
I'm finding it alarming that the feline's meal is charming,
When the dish of which we wish is left to rot upon the floor,
Please take care,
I don't mean to stare,
But your meal is so appealing and I'm thinking I might dare.