On nights like these, with nowhere to go, or nobody to go to, I can’t help but to think of lovers past, and mourn our unlived futures. But I have solace in knowing there’ll be others, with their own delicacies to snack on, albeit temporarily, because nothing lasts forever.
The Fish from the Tinder Cesspool Taste Like Stinking Excrement
An excerpt from a recent Tinder exchange:
I would encourage you to reread my actual words, and distance yourself emotionally from the presuppositions you have toward me. This cookie cutter narrative of what you think I'm all about is not only inaccurate, it illustrates your lack of creativity.
I never said I'm looking for sexual favors. On the contrary, from our first exchange I made it clear I have no real expectations from anyone...except my abounding curiosity into their psyche.
I'm sorry if you're getting upset Amber, but you're reacting rather than digesting. Nothing in life is ever as it seems. Sadly, as humans we have the flawed tendency to over-simplify that which is difficult to decipher. Rather than exert mental effort and struggle with the nuanced complexities that interlaces any given situation or individual, people seek reprieve from those psychological knots.
And your assumption that I've been abused as a child, well, that's just a generic hypothesis that unimaginative types use to conveniently define and articulate those whose behavior and actions are nebulous and irregular.
I don't blame you though. Our society brainwashes us to believe in these overarching labels/categories/definitions. God forbid people like me delve into the abyss, and gleefully play in its sandbox.
The Apologetics of Rage: The Case for Vengeance in a Civilized Society
I want you to listen, and listen carefully My disciples.
The best motivation for anything in life, is RAGE.
Forgive Me. I don't know what came over Me. How foolish of Me. Allow Me a moment to regain My fleeting composure.
The best motivation for anything in life, is love–a love for VENGEANCE.
Sweet, delectable vengeance. My divine ambrosia. My nonextinguishable fuel. My loyal companion.
When I start to feel the dejection trickle down My spine, and the easy temptation of forgiveness caresses the back of My neck, you spur Me on with the simple, yet unrelenting pierce of memory. No, I won't forget what she's done.
And I have a perverse delight in knowing that she's nearing 30, and her new lesbian lover is showing signs of wear and tear as well.
But I, HA. I will indulge in the tight, yet ripe freshness of a barely-legal remedy...whomever that may be–I don't know her yet, but I will.
And when I'm lapping up the stale innocence between her thighs, I'll think back at those two who've wronged Me, frolicking under the sheets in their sea of loose skin, and sagging pleasures. All while I snack on My teen dream, undisturbed–peace of mind, peace of taut ass inches from My FACE.
And that will be My sublime revenge. I will make SURE of it.
Thus spoke, The Impeccable One.
Excavated Laughter
She talked of crystals, and understood them. I took it in and heard the earth.
A mine I followed, impossible to crawl through. A geode that shatters with her youth.
I examined the glimmer, upon the surface. Each cold crystal had a blackened glow.
My love was there, for the taking. Now it's been given back to her.
But anger can fade if you cast it away. Dig a hole, bury it, and welcome back laughter.
A sparkling gem abandoned down in the depths. My love's been given back to her.
L.
