Stepping into Outer Darkness

[madnomadtoo (imported)]

For one who regrets the somber loss of a limb, the celebrations of the willfully crippled seem repugnant.

This is the chapter I've finished, and the next lies too leaden to turn. A lifetime of testalgia drove me to banish what had become my enemies. I eyed my reflection in a deep glass and asked, not "am I still a man," but "am I still who I was?" When I found eunuch.org, I foresaw meeting others like me, and there were a few. Like most mourners, however, we seemed to nod in a rainy circle, as if before a crypt, not really knowing what to say.

Meanwhile, at the wake, the astounding party dances on. The temperate whirl to the corners as the loud winnow the floor. The miraculous organs of manhood flush away like offal, because the bothered cannot be bothered with discipline. The zealots boast of severed penises, and the acolytes paw to follow. The urge to win by failing. The hope to rise by falling.

The quest to lose the grail.

I cannot, must not, condemn what I don't understand. And I confess I don't understand. Here is a table where I no longer can sit, where I no longer feel welcome. I eyed my reflection until the glass ripped, and I saw myself turn away, the door to eunuch.org latching behind me.

Life rolls this colorful complicated game before us. Its trinkets flash and dangle just out of reach, enticing us to chase. So we do. We run alongside, shedding parts of ourselves that slow us down, trading more precious parts for the cheaper trinkets, swapping our bodily treasures for things that lose their luster with possession. Without fail, we all stumble. We fall. The game ambles forward without us, its diminishing wagon swaying into days we can't visit.

Many of us disregard our losses, reasoning that chasing the game was the point. What happens in Life stays in Life. Others of us mourn for what we surrendered in trade. Our trust shades through suspicion into regret. The game never returns. Or, if it does, only after we have blinked in and out of millennia of shackled lives, our wisdom lost again.

If I could relive one day forever, would it be the day of the crossroad? The day when I could remedy everything by the constant throwing of switches?

Or would it be that lone day of no effort, pointless plans laid down? The day of pleasure and satisfaction, when all that mattered was that nothing mattered?

[jamiepan (imported)]

Try not to be too aggrieved by those desirous of the removal of that which you would keep.

People be nuts. And there is no point in ever trying to understand the kink, fetish, or psychological desire of another, especially one you don't have.

I'm gay as toast, I love wearing tights, I'm turned on by cute sneakers and 80's style sports tube socks, am highly turned on by a specific shade of brown hair, and I'm sexually excited by the idea of not being sexually excited.... I can't begin to explain the origins of my own desires, so I refuse to question or even to act incredulous of anything that float's another's boat.

But I'm glad you have a place to vent . I hope you can understand that we (or I, at least) don't understand the root of the desire, either.