My trouble’s different. I don’t get writer’s block due to having nothing to write. Please – I have fucking shitloads of material. In fact, I get writer’s block due to having too many fucking things to write; and, since I write everything in my head before typing a single word, my head sometimes explodes when trying to write a dozen or so things, all at the same time.

Not enough bandwidth creates a blockage, a bottleneck of thoughts and ideas; and, I become a fart in a skillet, getting all manic, conflating stories, trying to crowbar one situation into another. For example, wouldn’t it be yummy if Dahlia hosted a pool party? Perhaps with a really open-minded friend of mine, and her hubby? I don’t golf, but a foursome sounds nice.

The best way for me to penetrate the blockage, to crack the bottleneck, is to shotgun a post with anything and everything; to spew and expel out of me as much as possible. A “kitchen sink” post, with the goal being more toward a mental exfoliation. A scrubbing and deliberate removal of stale lingering words, to make way for something new – something fresh.

—ooOoo—

Twas simple. Existential depression. Nothing more. Nothing less.

What a crazy-odd picture. Why is he the center of attention in an overly dramatic manner? Why is she merely dangling over his shoulder with an unflattering expression? How bizarre. A picture does tell a story, I guess.

Do you regret sending her the letter? Writing things like bipolar?

Of the upperclass, me thinks. Sporting a spotless greaser, a quaffed jelly roll, with not a single hair outta place. Priceless and bizarre. Reminds me of a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic’s – his hair was perfect.

Nope. Not at all. She’s not my life, nor my suffering. It is what it is.

How bizarre. Some say: “Marriage is just a piece of paper if it’s not a happy one.” Makes sense. So does: “Happy endings are best achieved by keeping the right doors locked.” No need to thank me. You’re welcome.

—ooOoo—

It took me a very long time to understand these lyrics:

“Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.” –Bob Seger

Not for everything, especially romantic relationships, when I think:

“I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger.” –Faces

—ooOoo—

I have a new definition of love. New to me, but a long time in the making, and I suspect mine will never be consecrated or ordained by the church.

Simply put, I’ve totally transcended the nuclear family. I no longer need (or look for) a wife, and my child-rearing days are thankfully behind me.

I don’t need a commitment, and expectations are useless junk. I want to, as St. Francis of Assisi once said, “wear the world like a loose garment.”

Attachment is one of the three poisons, one of the three Kleshas, one of the three unwholesome roots that lead to negative states of conscious.

I’m not suggesting apathy, nor encouraging isolation. I’m not saying don’t love or fall in love. Rather, I’m thinking best to engage and to be present.

To string a serious of continuous events, endless adventures, where sexuality and exploration intersect with love, making perpetual joy.

To be continued…