Realization

No, I haven’t arrived at the pure aesthetic level of a “boss blackmailing busty beauties” like Porntube.  I’m not on such a high level of sexual consciousness.   My boss can blackmail me on several misdemeanors and indiscretions, but I am neither beautiful nor busty.  My realization is based on simplicity and purity.   For a brief moment tonight, I pondered the purest truth: An almond-eyed lover.

Almond-eyed?  Did I not crave the almond-skinned?  Is it true that a woman of my dreams can have almond eyes?  Almond shaped eyes?  Almond colored eyes?  I always thought I had an Asian fetish, but that particular belief is thrown into question.  She’s Native American and she dwells in my heart.

What defines a man?  How can he redeem himself as he falls down on his face in a drunken stupor?  Conversely, how can he find meaning while sprawling head over heels in a backwards somersault as a noble teetotaler?  Man is a fool in all of his endeavors.  It’s love for his fellow human being that redeems poor man.  I am but a sorry creature searching for meaning in a world obsessed with procreation and gratification.  No person is an island.  I prefer to think of myself as an archipelago.

I want to cum* in and around all surrounding entities.  My seed should spread around in a pool and mingle.  So when I’m faced with the distant destination, the shining beacon, I want to uproot and shake the very foundations of nature in order to affect the stable continent — A seismic event shaking consistency and security.  I want consistency and security.  All 0f the alcohol and drug fueled mayhem leads me in a very violent, subterranean movement towards stable ground.  It’s a balance I can only begin to comprehend.

She is my Earth.  As I descend, like Phaeton, in anticipation of a horrific crash, I sing many songs.  Will the gods allow me to leave an impact on Good Earth?  Will I be obliterated before reaching my final home?

Will I perish in a fiery, yet glorious flourish before true arrival?

I don’t know.