In short.

Too brilliant for stupidity, too stupid for brilliance.

Entitled Stupidity.

She'd labelled it the great stupidity. Oh right. She had labelled it The Great Stupidity. Or titled it, I should say. My life, titled, The Great Stupidity. She laid a clammy palm on my shoulder and gently rolled it up the back of my neck while kissing the back of my head.

"Perhaps you should put it on love."

The hand stopped moving. The left hand that is. "Put what on?"

"Let's not fool us love. The bauble you so expertly slip off before impatiently rapping on my front door. I assume it's done in the elevator."

The left hand touched a quick piano sonata down my arm, "My little act of treason excites you so, you need verification to fulfill your perversity?"

"Au contraire love, it soothes me, to see that insignificant significance dancing in the dim light."

The right hand, which had been moving slowly, deliberately and with purpose, stopped, "Right now the only thing that needs soothing is well taken care of."

"Well, put it on anyway."

The right hand began moving again, "Are you serious?"

"Yes love. Quite. I'm sure you can reach it with your left hand and slip it on as deftly as you slip it off in the elevator."

After a split second of hesitation the left hand left my arm and snaked off, "One, 24 carats is hardly insignificant, and two, it's done just before I knock the door, not in the elevator."

"And both points I'm sure, are as beautiful as you are when you're naked and your ego is on edge."

The left hand reappeared, announcing its arrival by glinting in the dim light, "What soothes you is knowing that you can love without having to deliver what the significance of this insignificant bauble is all about my sweet. Knowing that you and I could never reach an end is the means to your end."

"Touché my love. But that's the thing excites me, when you reach in and pull me out into the open, the bauble soothes me. Promise."

The right hand quickened slightly at the thickening of its hold, "I know, now."

It was tomorrow just now.

It will be tomorrow in a bit.

I would like you to see the good I do for you, in my goodbye to you.

You're beautiful.

And finally there is a song in my head which is not about you.

Not about me.

Not about her.

On repeat.

I was getting tired of waiting.

Here's to me/you/I (Delete where applicable).

I see you becoming the me you don't want me to be.

Knock knock..

Oh look what I found, a piece of my what was my heart. (I have to be up and about in less than three hours)

Grin. The bit about the butterfly starting the tsunami. Grin again. That is just one of insanity's many faces. Burning desires. Within and without. One of life's many questions that remain unanswered. Why do we sleep? Why do we dream? Why do we never have sex anymore? Exactly ninety seven personalities zipped up into a single ziplock bag. Starving for air. Oh such talent within those hands. Not enough masturbation. Hands are steady hence. Too much mind masturbation. Took me on a mind fuck I want to go back to again and again. For the very demands of biodiversity. Not a known species. Adam and Eve. So we are all cousins? No human comes close to having this ability to evolve and impregnate. Does an elliptic curve have an infinite number of rational solutions? Leave the rationale at the door on this cognizance conundrum. Because (never start a sentence with 'because' baby) you are never coming home after this trip. Wants a penis. Cannot handle a penis. No not in that sense you dim-witted fuckwit. I said not the cheese. No cheese. A tongue teasing twister tantalizing thriller. Beat it. She drives me wild. Off the wall. Get on the floor. Rock with you. The way you make me feel. Wanna be startin somethin? Bad. Not bad bad. Good bad. Does not like boys. Has an affiliation with my panties. Cuddly. Tries not to exude sensuality while knowing full well its capabilities. Delectably delicious delightfully dishy. No moron I am not gushing. Its a rule of thumb when visiting the dainty land of the impulsive. Its time to panic. Its time to get paranoid. She just likes to fuss and get a little over anxious. Erotically concupiscent although very much against heavy breathing. Eloquent whining. Ardent sobbing. Quick witted except when reduced to mush at the Hand. Fluent except when reduced to mush at the Hand. Intelligence in abundance. Except when reduced to mush at the Hand. Am I flaunting? Fuck yeah.

Eternal.

I do not need to blog.

I was just letting this die its slow painless death. I see the fucking fucknot of this thing. And I am pretty sure, you will say you do too.

Yes I am still not over you. And yes the age old adage of to get over someone, you get under someone else, does not fucking work. The sex is fanfuckingtastic though. I am living out a carnal desire or two. Maybe three, if I count "forced sex". I just need to find my way under a fucking bus or something.

No. This is not a rant. This is not angst. This is composure.

Think about it, you just might see it.

Here's to thee luv..

I am not your consequence.

Stop? Just stop. I thought I was quite clear.
See.
The torture is here, not there.
I have to put up with the need, the curiosity, and the desire.
To know.
Why.
Which I do not enjoy. At all.
It might just be a drunken call.
To you.
I do not know.
Enjoy it. Please do.

I am not your friend.

When you are in trouble, you call me.

Who do I call, when I am in trouble.