Through the northern windows.

[sightempest]

There is hardly a process to explain how blood reminds me that I always reside in the future. Scraped my elbow twice and drowned it with isopropyl alcohol; all I could think about was how tolerable the pain was compared to lingering regret - how satisfying it is to feel certain things as they happen, to be to be pulled, wincing, to experience the

Comments

[bennybunny]

If people find physical pain erotic, why shouldn't emotional pain be the same. It is strange to me but one of the most exhilerating moments I can remember at university was seeing the girl I wanted end up with someone else. But she was clearly having a good time. I'm not sure it was entirely vicarious, just the immense tension in knowing something was going to happen and feeling somehow involved in her story.

I am nothing without my comical disasters. Just the same as my racist grandparents, in all the things they were not, gave me the conviction otherwise lacking to be.

I think also, I am addicted because it's rich in reassurance. Its good to see punishment meted out when i'm being a relentless dick. And often I am- because it gives me warmth and certainty it will go the other direction.

The first day my girlfriend of a few years ago commented on how nice it was we didn't ever fight, and she couldn't imagine us fighting, all I could think about as she spoke was 'but what if its because there's no SPARK. We're doomed aren't we. Doomed. And I haven't paid the milkman this morning.' And bless my cotton socks if I didn't insure there was a fight nigh on every day thereafter. What a scamp I was.

I've never felt comfortable in bed without a mingling of affection and ribbing. I mean I fall in love with details, knowing how they might do things, but complacency, complacency kills and I thrive on that friendly competition and slight hint of deviousness, the unexpected... usually the hurtful unexpected.

It's a horrible thing to be trapped in one's own face. Unable to say the wrong thing. Preferable to be trapped outside of someone else's, largely comforted, but always wondering if they just might have it in them. To take all those kind or personal things you told them and use them scurrilously in an act of war.