The Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs At Midnight

Tue, 15 Jul 2003 23:02:14 GMT

God DAMN it!

Can I PLEASE post something of political weight and NOT have one of the people I would like to call friends come back with a completely immature, "Bush is worse!" retort? You wanna say something to me about politics, you say it, you don't fucking throw a grenade. Not in my journal, god damn it.

FTR, Dubya has a B.A. in history from Yale, and an MBA from Harvard. He's Texan, which goes a long way to explaining his verbal "eccentricities," but he is by no means unintelligent. As my wizened grandfather should have said, "If you can't add to the debate, don't!"

Shower meme

Fri, 20 Jun 2003 16:59:52 GMT

If you want me to interview you--post a comment that simply says, "Interview me." I'll respond with questions for you to take back to your own journal and answer as a post. Of course, they'll be different for each person since this is an interview and not a general survey. At the bottom of your post, after answering the Interviewer's questions, you ask if anyone wants to be interviewed. So it becomes your turn-- in the comments, you ask them any questions you have for them to take back to their journals and answer. And so it becomes the circle.

--------
dreamervictoria's questions for me:

1) Why is it so hard?

Well, you just have that effect on me, babe. }:-, Seriously, I think mostly, things are no harder or easier than we (or some part of us) wants them to be. Generally, it's hard because if it were easy we would value it less. Specifically, it's hard because we resist listening to our hearts, where, I think, the real Flow exists.

2) Why does it hurt?

(Ignoring the dirty comment this time) It hurts because sometimes that's the only way the lesson will sink in. Just as we learn not to touch the glowing thing on the top of the stove (cliche but true), we grow most quickly when we're trying to head off imminent pain. Unfortunately, sometimes the lesson isn't as easy to find, so we invent lessons to make sense of why we suffer. For instance, I thought the lesson was that if I worked hard enough, I could find a way to make everyone else happy, even at the sacrifice of my own happiness. With perspective, I'm starting to see that the real lesson was that I can't make everyone happy, and killing myself to create happiness for others is a fool's errand.

3) What do you get out of it?

Value. Everything is in search of elusive value. I have begun to learn to value myself, but I'm also working on being OK with having value to others. That's just who I am. I like myself. I just like it when others see in me what I know to be there, and are willing to recognize it.

4) What do you want to do for a living?

I don't care. I'm not dodging the question, it's just that "what I do for a living" doesn't register for me. It's a paycheck, and as long as the money's good and it doesn't take too much away from the things I do in my spare time, it works for me. I don't expect fulfillment from my job; I expect to find fulfillment in the life I lead away from the job.

5) Why aren't you doing it (or taking the steps toward doing it)?

To answer the question narrowly, I'm there. My job pays well, adds little stress to my life, and the hours are good (especially relative to the pay). Now, all I have to do is whatever's necessary to stay here.

To answer the question broadly, I still want to learn how to help the people I love without smothering them with it, or without taking from them the achievement of accomplishing things for themselves. That's something I learned from your folks (though not in the way they expected, I think) - that taking on the leadership role can be fulfilling for me, but it isn't always as fulfilling for the people around me. What's odd is, I used to be much better at Socratic dialogue - asking people the questions necessary to help people find their own answers. I need to work on that more.

Wed, 04 Jun 2003 21:53:44 GMT

OK, this one is hard for even me to believe I put up with...

This weekend, I paid for the anniversary card that a woman I wanted very much to date last year bought for the man she chose over me. God, I'm a doormat sometimes.

Wed, 28 May 2003 17:04:06 GMT

I hate this. I have a girlfriend. I have friends (though I don't see most of them very often). I work in a very congenial office, with nice, easy-to-get-along-with people. So why the hell do I feel so lonely? Am I that fucked up that I need this input from people I care about? And it becomes a vicious circle. I fear being abandoned, but I'm afraid to reach out to people, mostly because I figure they don't want or need me around. Mr. Cellophane. Bad comparison. And it makes me feel even more self-pitying. Ah, there's the rub. I want people to notice me. I hang out with people who suck the air out of the room, and I feel like I have nothing to offer. I want to matter, but outside of becoming such an attention whore I can't see straight, I don't see it happening. And I've watched people who don't know how to get attention but want it. It ain't pretty, folks. And I don't know how to get attention. I offer myself (or those parts that I figure are worthy of attention), and I really think that adds to my not being noticed. People don't need to return the attention, since I just GIVE it away. But I can't compete with people like J (of whom I know I'm damn near insanely jealous of, for several reasons). With frustrating regularity, I feel ignored for people who, well, know how to be the center of attention. For some stupid reason, I expect people to value what I offer, despite knowing that, in the real world, people don't value what they don't earn. And I still don't know how to deal with my feelings of being forgotten, left behind. Ignored. Especially when it was my idea in the first place. Since I don't think I'm going to be OK until I write this down, even though the consequences are dire (at least in my world, they are), I guess I might as well. Ten months ago or so, someone I love was feeling down, so I did a silly thing. I turned her into an interest. I listed her, then I talked quite a few of her friends into doing the same. I expected nothing in return, though I was happy when it made her day. Then she made J an interest. And she and J made his girlfriend an interest. Then the three of them made her friend M an interest. From there, they added a few more people, but never did so with me. In fact, the person I originally did this for never even acknowledged that I was the person behind it (not that it was exactly easy to miss that one). Yep, that hurt like a sunuvabitch. I've talked to M about it (the only one so far), and she said something that stuck - "It just didn't occur to me to do that." There was more there, and I don't want to play the rest down for sound-bite effect, but that's a fair analysis of the situation. It didn't occur to anyone that I should be included in the club I started. I can't think of anything in the last year (and it's been an eventful year) that has left me feeling so left out as that. And of course, the reason I never mentioned it? Because there's this stupid, foolish, needy, greedy, lonely core in me that knows that the minute I let this secret out, no one will ever be able to do this for me. It'll forever be, in my mind, rendered worthless, because anyone who did anything about this did it because they felt obligated to do it, rather than because it occurred to them that I would be worthy of this incredibly tiny, near-insignificant gesture of acknowledgement.

"You know you bring this on yourself?" she asked. "Yeah" I replied, but I don't know that. I know that I gain some value from it once in the situation (and Lord knows I need to fix that), but I'd love to know how, outside of karmicly, I manage to find these situations not merely without recognizing the wanring signs, but actively LOOKING for them, and missing them. The person who said the above is a perfect example. Her and my situation was fucked up from the start, but I really honestly tried to figure out a way to make things work. Worse, I spent effort she (and the others involved) will never know trying to find a possible way to make things, if not work out, at least minimize the pain. There wasn't one. There, I said it. Not merely was it an impossible situation, it was that from the start, and I DIDN'T MAKE IT THAT WAY. I didn't "look for" the situation. In fact, for once in my life, I stood up and said what I wanted, rather than "taking one for the team." Of course, not only couldn't I have what I wanted, raking one for the team wouldn't have solved anything. It very likely would have made things worse. Well, probably not, but it wouldn't have made anything better. It was a fucked up situation, and I didn't look for it.

And my current situation, I probably could have stayed out of - by letting someone die. Yes, I do believe that the person I'm with now would have either died, or been permanently institutionalized but for me. And I'm just not yet ready to do that. If anyone but me reads this, they'll probably think I'm being melodramatic, and who knows? I might be. But this went from zero to unfixable in one evening. And it scares the piss out of me. Even writing this scares the piss out of me, because of the fear that the wrong person might read it and misinterpret it. This should be my private place, and I'm scared of hurting perople here. At this point, I'm tempted to make yet another journal; one that NO ONE knows about, and hide there. Hiding. God, that feels good right about now. I hate how I feel, and I hate that I'm expected to be better. What all of this has dredged up is the added frustration that I never feel allowed to suffer. I don't trust my support network to support me. Bottom line. And unfortunately, there's just enough reassurance in the fear that it won't be there that I can't rely on it. I have this image in my head of playing the "Trust Game," where you lean back and trust the person behind you to catch you, and all I can see right now is looking up, flat on my back, several people staring down at me saying, "What the hell did you do that for? You were just fine standing up, and you just pitched back. You really need to look into your leaning issues. Now get up, other people need the floor space." It may not be completely rational, but it's just enough to REALLY make this journal necessary. I look back at this, and hear the voice, "GEEZ, you want a liitle cheese with that whine?" But it stands. And it will be uploaded. I can't let the fear of people I care about judging me for this. It's been held in too long already. Let the truth be told, though the heavens fall.

Update

Sat, 24 May 2003 18:29:51 GMT

We were rehearsing the wedding when I looked down at the J.P.'s notes. The last line was, "I now present you C* and M* R*." (If that isn't confusing enough) I got from this that my mom is taking M's last name. For the first time, I had a pang of "Oh, no you don't." I've been supportive of this wedding, but all of a sudden, I feel like my mom is "abandoning" the family name. And it dregs up this feeling like when she was dating Bill, and left the family behind. Which pisses me off, because it gives me reason to doubt my feelings on this. Am I upset because I'm offended by the name change alone, or is this just a reaction to a similar situation. I want to, I think I deserve to, want my mom to keep my family's name.

And then comes the second cycle - the guilt for wanting this. Well, that's not for here. Here is for honest feelings - even the ones I'm afraid will hurt. I hate feeling guilty for wanting things, goddamnit.

Mawwiage - X-post

Thu, 22 May 2003 00:23:24 GMT

Briefly - my mom is getting married this weekend...

So, I'm also wondering why I have no allegiance to my father. I know that's how my brother looks at it. He is the keeper of my father's memory, and he sees this (or at least a part of him does) as a betrayal. I don't. I love my father, but I was more my mom's kid than my dad's (big shock). Besides, as far as I'm concerned, the correlation of my mom's and my bad dating histories includes my father. He was a good person, generally, he just didn't know how to be a father. He knew what his grandfather taught him, and did better than that, but we just weren't close. In the last years of his life, we tried, but it was too late by then. It felt forced, like he was trying to buy his way back into my heart by reaching out in stereotypical ways. Like he knew his time was coming (he did) and was trying to atone for his sins through me.

I've got this urge to tone that down, or qualify it. Fuck that. This is where I'm allowed to be angry with my father, and even though I think he sees this sort of thing (yep, I'm superstitious that way. He and I have talked several times in my dreams, and there are other reasons why I think he has contact with this side, but they're mine, and I'm not here to defend them), I don't owe it to him to couch this in "You were OK in many ways" bullshit. Let it fall where it does.

So my mom found someone who seems pretty good. I'm going to keep an eye out, because I'm protective of my mom (oh, you thought this came from nowhere did ya? This protection thing goes way back beyond girlfriends, girlfriend). But I'm sure as hell not going to soil it just because he isn't my father. And good on him for that...

An exercise in unbridled fantasy...

Mon, 19 May 2003 19:21:05 GMT

It was supposed to be the end...

She had just finished telling me it was over. I was stunned, almost unable to say a word, but something inside me came out. She had been the one to pursue this, she had been the one who had called me late at night. Though I had wanted her with a passion that I had thought was gone from my life, I was willing to keep it on the "friends" level, but it was she who had pushed the envelope. Oh, I had followed along willingly, and once I had been given the go-ahead, I did my own pushing, but now it was she who was saying she didn't want it, that I was too needy. And after I had opened up, asked to be together. Fair enough, but I was going to say what I needed to.

"Fine," I started, not knowing where I was going, but being led by the inner voice of pain, "I don't get it, but fine. I guess I always knew I wanted this more than you did, but I thought it might work out. I tried to make you safe, and now I feel like I"m losing what I wanted because I did so. I'm pissed off, and getting more so as I think about it. Yeah, I'm not the most confident person in the world, but I told you that up front, and you seemed fine with it. I have tried to be a good person for you, and I guess that isn't what you want right now. I'm pissed that you're being so god-damned immature about this. I have never thought of you as a spoiled child before, and I may never again, but right now, you are behaving just like a little girl, and I'm tired of spoiled little girls throwing me away for being me. Get the hell out of my house."

Immature. Spoiled. These words seemed to strike home. I could see a flicker of fire, of "how dare you" anger, quickly extinguished by her firm determination that someone like ME wasn't going to get to HER.

She raised herself up in full ire, reared back her right hand, and sent it flying toward my left cheek. It never landed.

I held her wrist with my left hand in mid-swing. Now I was angry. She was even angrier. The "how dare you" face had won out over her cold exterior, the one that tells the world that "you don't matter to me." Her left hand was now in motion. I caught it with a little more difficulty because she now knew I would resist. But after a second's struggle, I had both her wrists in my hands. She twisted to try to get free, and I anticipated her next move. I forced my knee between hers to prevent the inevitable kick, then used my body weight to pin her to the wall behind her. By now she was furious. And a little scared. I'm not sure if anyone had stood up to her this way. She carried with her the air of someone who always gets her way, but I was pretty sure that was a mask. In truth, I think she just decided that whenever she didn't get her way, she could just "make it not matter." But now, she was stuck, and she couldn't make it not matter. Not pinned to the wall like this. And I knew it. I don't know what it was that made me do it, but I pushed in against her, hip to hip, and kissed her, hard. I knew she disliked kissing, thought it was messy, gross, wet. So I did it as much to piss her off, like I felt, as out of any feeling.

I cried out and yanked back. There was a light shine of blood on her lip. My blood. She had bitten me. She had a self-satisfied look on her face, smug, defiant. I dragged her wrists above her head and pinned them, together, with my left hand. With my right, I reached down and took a firm grip on her hair. It was long, straight, and soft, and as my fingers interwove into it, a faraway part of my brain lavished in its feel against my fingers. Then I pulled taut. Her head flew to the side, and the defiance left her face with a jerk. I dove my head forward, teeth bared, onto her neck. I dug my teeth into her soft flesh, and she screamed.

My blood boiling, I raised my face to hers, looking as defiantly into her eyes as she had just looked into mine. There was a new look in her eyes, feral, hungry, and challenging. We were now like animals, locked in combat, and I didn't care anymore what she did to me. I had taken that "you don't matter" look out of her eye for once, and I was willing to pay whatever price it took to do so.

She wrenched her arms loose and grabbed my hair. She looked me in the eye wildly, jerked my head to the side and plunged for my neck. I did the same. For a brief moment, we were clutched at each others' throats, unwilling to let go of each other. Then when we did, there was a different look in our eyes. My fury had changed to desire, and her eyes said the same. She let go of my hair and wrapped her arms around my neck, and pulled me to her. My arms dropped from her head, to her waist, roughly cinching her lower body to mine. I ground my cock against her groin, and her pelvis responded invitingly. I thrust against her again, and she found my tempo. I lowered my hands, and put them on her thighs, just below the hem of her skirt. As I looked into her eyes, I raised my hands to the waistband of her panties, hooked my thumbs and slowly lowered them. I slid down her front as I did, and as her panties hit the floor, I was eye to eye with her belly button, now visible below the hem of her shirt. My hands rose again, this time along the inside of her thighs. They crept under her skirt, and raised it slowly. She had fine, downy hair, soft, luxuriant in its fullness. I could see the gentle crease hidden beneath it, and longed for it from the core of my being. My hand now firmly between her thighs, I applied a gentle pressure to her right leg. She lifted it over my shoulder, and I had full access to her. I dove against her, searching with my tongue for the hard nub of her clit, then massaging it roughly. I sucked at it, pulling it into my mouth, rolling it with my tongue. She bucked against my head, her fingers wrapped in my hair, pushing me deeper into her, both of us losing our senses, me in her heady scent, her in the feeling of my tongue against her.

She pulled hard on my hair and dragged me up against her. I felt her hands descend along my chest, to my stomach, then to the waistline of my jeans. I felt her nimble fingers clutch the button, then pull at the tabs, pulling them open. I felt her hands against my pelvis, pushing against the skin, separating it from my pants and shorts, pushing them down to below my ass. My cock, rigid, was now pushing insistently against her downy hair. I could feel her wetness engulfing me, willing, yielding, yet powerful and hungry.

I cupped her ass with my hands, and lifted her against the wall. She raised her legs and wrapped them around my waist, crossing them against the small of my back, getting purchase on the base of my spine. I moved one hand until it guided my cock into her. She was so soft, and tight, and smooth. I thrust against her, harder. She grunted, and cried out in passion, pushing her hips against mine, using her legs to pull me deeper into her. As I thrust into her, it shook the world. I slammed into her, as she screamed into my ear. She grabbed my back, yanking my shirt up to my neck, her fingernails digging into my shoulders, clawing, scraping, drawing blood in small streaks across my back. I dug into her neck with my teeth, pulling back, raking my teeth across her skin, leaving dark red stains on her shoulder.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I fucked a woman. And she fucked me. It was raw, animal passion, not the clumsy sex of my teenage years, nor the tender lovemaking of my adulthood. This was fucking, and we both felt it. She cried against me, and I came, letting out my pent up desire in a stream into her. I tried to pull out of her, but she forced herself against me, and I thrust back into her again, again feeling the spasm of orgasm against me. I felt her pull me to her, and knew that she had come as well. In another first in my life, we had come together, adding each to the other's intensity. I slid to my knees, she still holding me inside her as I fell. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, and as I leaned back to look at her, I could see her own tears shining in her eyes...

This is just a story. This is just a fantasy, passed on by another, translated into my own thoughts. Thank you for the gift of fantasy.

Lust in the Dust...

Mon, 19 May 2003 17:41:08 GMT

I am a wolf in sheep's clothing, an evolutionary anomaly; I play the dog so well I can feel the collar around my neck, the leash taut against me, even though I know I'm the one holding the leash as well. But I can also feel the wolf inside me, tearing at the inner walls of my heart. He wants out, and I am bound to protect the world from his escape...

I am John's raging hormones. Between anger and lust, I know lust is worse. Anger I let out to breathe every once in a while, when I think it's safe, when I'm alone. I can't even let lust out in the safest of times. Because while anger feeds on me, lust feeds on those around me, too. It feeds on everything, and cares less about the world than anger does. It is all-consuming, and uncaring. So it feels.

Of course, I know mainly why I feel this way. I am surrounded (by my choice) by people I see as injured in some way by someone else's lust. By and large, this manifests in them as extreme insecurity regarding sex. Some fear and loathe sex, so I'm perfect to be around. I never want sex. I am a eunuch. Others believe themselves only worthy of attention for their sexual personae. My natural reaction is to "prove" to them that they're worth more than their bodies. And again, I never want sex. And the beast grows with every denial I feed it.

And I'm ashamed of the beast. Oh, it used to be for all the pat reasons - religion, body issues, fear of rejection. Now, I'm among people who revel in exercising the beast, and I can't let go. I've sold into the virtue of being different, of being in control, of NOT being just another boy. And part of me loves that part. I can be an ascetic, and be safe behind my denials. A part of me wants to be seen, recognized, acknowledged, but the other part of me knows that, if I show this part of me, people will recoil from me, like they have in the past. Sound familiar?

So, again, fidel_sarcastro. Any surprise that I actually created him to hide my lust from the world, to peruse livejournal porno sites? Expression of my other parts was incidental, and I came on the idea long after creating him.

I want to let this out. It's killing me to hold it in, but letting go embodies everything I fear. Hurting those I love. Being rejected for being human (or whatever species this is). Being "just another boy." And the beast is so powerful now, that letting go even the smallest amount risks letting go too much. I won't just let go and indulge, without care for others. I've watched that happen, and I am repulsed by it. But I'm intrigued by it, too.

I am almost two whole people now. One side is "virtuous," and sees every woman as a spiritual being, who seeks connection on every level, who wants to feel the bond of the soul. The other is "base," lupine, sleek, dark, hungry, who only wants to drag you into the shadows, to touch, to feel, to grab, to bite, to devour. To make you scream...

Anger

Thu, 15 May 2003 21:11:32 GMT

Years ago, in college, I met someone who actually prided himself on his nasty temper. What he actually prided himself on was his short temper. He said, with almost irrepressible glee, that he was almost always angry, and tolerated very little foolishness. At the time, I laughed at him (mostly, I think, to avoid the inevitable homicide charge. There were witnesses. It was unfortunate). I thought to myself, this is someone who has absolutely no understanding of true anger. He had a short fuse, and popped off at the slightest provocation, and he took pride in it. But he had no inkling of true anger - the kind that sits at the base of the soul and sees people like him as morons, self-satisfied with how obnoxious they are. The kind of anger that can poison the soul. The kind of anger that comes out once in a blue moon, but gets written of by the survivors. Of course, I also considered him a petulent, childish, self-aggrandizing prick, but that's just an aside.

All of my life, I've dealt with anger, because I've swallowed it whole. The real person behind fidel_sarcastro is terrified of hurting people, of having them leave, so he created me. I am John's raging anger. I am his lust, his righteous indignation. I am all of the things he swallowed to get along in life.

Some people wonder at and envy that Mr. Hyde in the base of their brain, wrapped around their medulla oblongata, the primate that first took that wooly mammoth's femur and bashed the head of their clanmate for taking too much of the kill, or just to rise in the heirarchy of the clan. Until recently, I (that is, the outside me) never did. I hated it. It took everything from me. I was the good guy everybody liked when he was around, but who faded from the consciousness when he left the room. Except when Mr. Hyde came out. Then I was remembered. People used to talk about my occasional rages, while looking at me warily (assuming they stuck around long enough to converse in front of me, which was pathetically infrequently). So I controlled Mr. Hyde, held him in, and resented him. And I resented anyone who expressed their snotty, brattish side, the side I denied with such passion. I really resented them for "getting away with" expressing those parts that my expression always seemed to cost me. Okay, I absolutely hated them. My most grotesque fantasies are still reserved for people who vent their childish desires, who justify their indulgence by claiming that they're "just getting in touch with their child." To paraphrase, if murder weren't illegal, what I'd do to them still would be.

So Fidel. I'm still unpracticed in expressing my anger, my lust, my "immoral" desires, in letting out those parts of me that some part of me still hates. So it goes scattershot, and does more damage than I want, and to a far wider range than I want. And I (that is, fidel_sarcastro) am not just my anger, I'm not just my Mr. Hyde. In time, I will be one with my IRL persona. I want that, because I hate being two people, and I feel like a liar sometimes when I know people see only my light side, the side I want people to believe is the whole me.

Only three people that know "the real me" even know that Fidel exists. There's only one person that I "know" has read this. To that person (you know who you are), a warning. I'm going to start working here, and I welcome you here. I grappled with making things "friends-only" for a while, but I decided that that would defeat the purpose of this. But there's going to be talk of you, and it may make you uncomfortable. I have to live with this. I hope you can, too. I'll warn you ahead of time, but I won't hide it from you. I'm pretty sure you'd be upset if I did.

Thu, 03 Apr 2003 06:54:02 GMT

Allied forces surround Baghdad. France Surrenders.

TROGDOR!

Sat, 29 Mar 2003 10:55:41 GMT

Which member of the Homestar Runner gang are you?

Establishing Shot

Wed, 26 Mar 2003 18:57:17 GMT

This is the obligatory first post, wherein the author explains himslef to a greater or lesser degree. Only this is not for the reader, it's for the author. I'm tired of hiding. I've been surrounded for too long, not merely by those of opposing political stripe, but by those who consider their political views inseparable from their moral views. No, gentle reader, not the "religious right," but the moralistic left. Oh, I've spent time around those of religious bent who lean to the right (sometimes so far it looks like they're lying down) - I did grow up in the South, after all. But now I live in the hotbed of modern moral liberalism - San Francisco. And for some reason (I think it's the thrill of the challenge), I have wound up with mostly liberal friends. What's ironic is, though I think I'm around these people to inspire my own thought process, I am completely uncomfortable talking to them about what I think. At first, it was a knee-jerk reaction, a fear of being judged by friends. Then, I let a little of myself out. Mind you, I was never secretive about my political bent. I just kept my actual opinions to myself. Until recently. And, of course, the predicatble happened. Some jackass that I tried to actually talk to decided that I was, among other things, overbearing, arrogant, immoral, and self-righteous. What especially galled was that, because I didn't want to take on everything he had to say, I was too scared of being challenged in my righteousness. But of course, he felt free to dismiss everything I had to say. Let's just say I am NOT amused.

So this. This is my effort to express my true, unvarnished self. I don't exist except in the ether of the internet. I will say what I think here, and I will not be shamed into silence anymore. What's more, I will happliy engage anyone who comes here, on any topic I am able to discuss, and will make certain reasonable efforts to educate myself if I'm not enough already, but if you engage, be ready to follow through on this. I am Dog. I will gnaw on any bone until it is powder, even if that bone is another person. I will rise, or fall, to the level the other party sets, and I'm good enough at it to match most people out there.

And one last thing, a promise:

I will change any position I cannot defend. However, having defended myself for 35 years in the face of daily challenge, I'm not easily swayed. Coming here carries with it the implicit promise that all parties will at least consider adopting my promise, while within these metaphorical walls. Welcome.