To at once soar and suffocate in the sky of his eyes
God, it's one of those days when everything just hurts too much. I shouldn't be feeling that bad, even, considering I'm fit enough to write and Photoshop and stuff. But I still desperately yearn to just fall at someone's feet and to be hugged and to cry about the stupid amounts of romantic, erotic and spiritual pain I am thanks to Conrad Veidt. And for someone to understand it.
So few people get it. So, so few. But the pain is unlike anything I've ever felt.
There--there should be some therapist out there, or some group of therapists for this kind of thing--priestesses, maybe? I get to talk to a couple of people about it now and then, but sometimes I feel like I need this hotline, 24/7, and I can't inflict this need on just those few people because that's exhausting and spammy (hell, I'm spamming them already). I'm trying so very hard not to send marathon emails to three people at once, yelling about the same things, so that's why I'm typing here.
I know I should be channeling this all into the Jaffar/Princess fic I'm in the middle of writing right now, but I'm too restless to focus on it.
I... I hurt in my vagina. I've already masturbated once today, and twice yesterday, and with ridged toys, and yet I have this ache so, so deep in my pussy, like it's *screaming* to be fucked. I know a part of that comes exactly because of the vaginal walls being so irritated from being rubbed so much, but still. I wish there was just some button I could press to tell my pussy to shut the fuck up and my eyes to stop flowing with tears and for my belly to stop trembling and my heart from aching.
But it's just one of those days when I can't. He's too much. And I'm... crushed. I mean, well, it's the original sense of a juggernaut--to be crushed underneath a god. (Jagannath means 'lord of the world/universe' and oh, how he is mine, appearing everywhere even when I'm not looking for it, having seduced all of popular culture so utterly that he left marks of himself, illegitimate children in his line everywhere, as little markers of his ownership of--everything.)
It's... one of those days where the walls don't hold, the dam breaks and everything is flooded, crushed, rubbed raw and I've written and I've drawn and I've Photoshopped and I've created and given and there's nothing left but this heaving mass of sore flesh, barely breathing. And yet the passion and the hunger and the rage and the sorrow remains.
It's terrible because it's exactly like the sort of pain you hear saints going through in their devotion to their beloved deity, the one they can never reach, and the whole unreachability is what creates the yearning and the beauty and the passion and the songs in the first place. I want the ecstasy to continue even when I want the pain to stop; I want to merge in that divinity and be dissolved. But in ecstasy; never to the point where my body drops off, because I want to feel it right there, deep in the cunt, deep in the chest, want to hear my own screams ringing in my ears as he takes me and takes me.
Yet I wish I could be contained right now, somehow. Tied up, whipped, exhausted through some means so that it'd be easier to breathe. If only for a little while. Before the dance begins again.
And these words aren't even a fraction of what the experience is like. These are so inadequate and sound so stupid. When the experience is beyond words, beyond everything, beyond human ken.
*Sigh*
Fucking bastard.
So few people get it. So, so few. But the pain is unlike anything I've ever felt.
There--there should be some therapist out there, or some group of therapists for this kind of thing--priestesses, maybe? I get to talk to a couple of people about it now and then, but sometimes I feel like I need this hotline, 24/7, and I can't inflict this need on just those few people because that's exhausting and spammy (hell, I'm spamming them already). I'm trying so very hard not to send marathon emails to three people at once, yelling about the same things, so that's why I'm typing here.
I know I should be channeling this all into the Jaffar/Princess fic I'm in the middle of writing right now, but I'm too restless to focus on it.
I... I hurt in my vagina. I've already masturbated once today, and twice yesterday, and with ridged toys, and yet I have this ache so, so deep in my pussy, like it's *screaming* to be fucked. I know a part of that comes exactly because of the vaginal walls being so irritated from being rubbed so much, but still. I wish there was just some button I could press to tell my pussy to shut the fuck up and my eyes to stop flowing with tears and for my belly to stop trembling and my heart from aching.
But it's just one of those days when I can't. He's too much. And I'm... crushed. I mean, well, it's the original sense of a juggernaut--to be crushed underneath a god. (Jagannath means 'lord of the world/universe' and oh, how he is mine, appearing everywhere even when I'm not looking for it, having seduced all of popular culture so utterly that he left marks of himself, illegitimate children in his line everywhere, as little markers of his ownership of--everything.)
It's... one of those days where the walls don't hold, the dam breaks and everything is flooded, crushed, rubbed raw and I've written and I've drawn and I've Photoshopped and I've created and given and there's nothing left but this heaving mass of sore flesh, barely breathing. And yet the passion and the hunger and the rage and the sorrow remains.
It's terrible because it's exactly like the sort of pain you hear saints going through in their devotion to their beloved deity, the one they can never reach, and the whole unreachability is what creates the yearning and the beauty and the passion and the songs in the first place. I want the ecstasy to continue even when I want the pain to stop; I want to merge in that divinity and be dissolved. But in ecstasy; never to the point where my body drops off, because I want to feel it right there, deep in the cunt, deep in the chest, want to hear my own screams ringing in my ears as he takes me and takes me.
Yet I wish I could be contained right now, somehow. Tied up, whipped, exhausted through some means so that it'd be easier to breathe. If only for a little while. Before the dance begins again.
And these words aren't even a fraction of what the experience is like. These are so inadequate and sound so stupid. When the experience is beyond words, beyond everything, beyond human ken.
*Sigh*
Fucking bastard.