Staring into the eyes of doom...









I spent a few minutes today staring down, or rather attempting to stare down, a beautiful barn owl who had the blackest, most disturbing eyes. (The only more disquieting eyes I've seen are those of the gorilla. Simply too human to be caged.) As I became engrossed in his steady, unflinching gaze, I couldn't help but think. Think about death...the grand finale that flashes "game over" on everyone's entire life sooner or later, and the lostness of soul and hope that sometimes finds us even while we're still breathing. Imagining how I would tremble if he were 6 feet tall instead of 16 inches. Wondering if I could have ever gotten close enough to see those frightening eyes had there been no cage to contain him. Thinking of how I'd occasionally like to have eyes like that...cavernous eyes that could penetrate those who hurt me with the perfect ratio of condescension and utter nothingness. It was a small thing. Just a moment, to be sure, in the middle of a beautiful spring day.

But the eyes.
Oh, those unsettling eyes spoke to me from another world.
A place where the sun can't reach and my lips are bitten instead of smiling. Eyes that will follow me into my dreams...

Apotemnophilia: the sexual desire to have limbs removed

Teratophilia: the sexual attraction to deformed or monstrous people.

Acrotomophilia: sexual attraction to amputees.

urophagia: the consumption of urine.

Emetophilia: This fetish involves vomiting or watching others vomit. Also known as a Roman Shower when the participants actively vomit on each other.

Coprophilia: sexual pleasure derived from feces. The fetish can involve defecating on a partner, frequently in the mouth of the other person. Coprophilia can also include coprophagia, which is the consumption of fecal matter. This can lead to serious health risks.

Crush Fetish: A crush fetish is a desire to see small insects or animals crushed to death.

Klismaphilia: is the fetish in which pleasure is derived from enemas.

Necrophilia: a sexual attraction to human corpses. This fetish can lead to grave-robbing and sexual activity with the dead body.

Omorashi: arousal from the feeling of having a full bladder. Climax usually coincides with the moment of relief and embarrassment experienced when the desperate individual loses bladder control.

Infanitilism: sexual pleasure from dressing, acting, or being treated as a baby

Agalmatophilia: sexual attraction to statues or mannequins

Blood Fetish: when a person derives satisfaction from watching someone bleed, or simply seeing blood on partly or entirely naked skin. Blood fetishism is often accompanied by some licking or drinking blood through bloodletting. This is sometimes done by biting (referred to as “love-bites”) however this is not the norm due to the potential for damage from bruising or infection. Most often a razor blade is used.

The air has never been so still.

Tonight I sat outside...intending on doing some thinking while looking at the trees in the rapidly dimming light. As I cleared my mind, I realized how perfectly -nothing- the atmosphere seemed. Some might call the stillness something like peace, or serenity, but I found it more like death. Uncomfortable. Stagnant. I was driven quite quickly back inside with a heavy feeling suddenly gripping my heart.

I am addicted to movement.

Bobbing my head to music, turning on lights in the blackness and wearing the darkest of shades in the sun, I am rarely satisfied with what is and eternally chasing something that very likely isn't simply elusive, but may well be nonexistant. When my nerves are sanded down smooth, I am bored. When they are on edge, I am jumpy and miserable. Where is contentment? Is there even such a thing, aside from the rare snatches that temporarily make life worth living that come upon me now and then....usually after sex, dancing, or particularly interesting time spent with someone I haven't yet grown bored with?

I often get the urge to take a tire iron to a mailbox or a window while screaming like a banshee. The intensity I carry inside of me is malignant, I fear, taking my mind and heart to darker and darker places as the years pass. No longer can I successfully pass for sane. No longer can I carry on polite conversation without wanting to beat the hell out of the boring fuck in front of me. I want to run. To fly. I want to escape this treadmill called life. Not via body bag, mind you, even though I am aware that is my destiny (as it is for us all), but to step off the hamster-wheel and run full-tilt through a more interesting landscape than I have been looking at for so long now. Run till my lungs burst. Till I lay down throbbing with exhaustion and watch the sky move, thinking "how beautiful!"

As someone addicted to movement, I am somewhat dazed from emerging from my cell. A comfortable cell with many amneties, but a cell nonetheless. I don't quite know what to do with my mind, my heart, or my self these days. I am clinging to the small word "hope" with clenched fists and teeth grinding. I am frightened and unsure. No wiser today than I was at 17, for wisdom can find nowhere to take root inside me...my heart contains no substance, just a black hole of swiftly shifting wind. What I crave with a constant ferver that pales heroin addiction often dooms me. Movement.

Right now, I have to beleive there is something out there waiting for me. Something that will cause the tornado in my head to move with a better rhythm, to daze and mesmerize like the purest lsd, and spin prisms of light containing every gorgeous color in the world. I call that something true happiness, and what fashion or form it may take when I find it I can't pretend to know. The day I stop believing that I will find it, I will suddenly be old. I will wither. I will die of a broken spirit.

But not today.
I am not dead yet.
I still choose to believe....