The most heartless man to ever own a pulse…

Consider the weekend dust being bitten. And so, another one shows her lack of understanding. Another deems me the villain in my own story.

I had a good weekend and then the whole thing is destroyed when the girl gets all emotional. Bloody women. Oh well.

Seriously these pills, my god, these pills make everything ok. I can think about things, but it is like there is a filter that is removing the emotional significance of it all. Right now I should be deeply hurt that a woman I shared a lot of myself with determines to hurt me by calling me a ‘user’. I mean, that’s the catch-phrase of the moment. Ex-friends, Ex-lovers… ex-cetera… all of them calling me a ‘monster’. And what for, I hear you cry?

For telling the god-damned unabashed truth.

For saying, ‘you know what, this isn’t working.’ Or ‘I never loved you, so I’m going to start hitting the field.’ Or ‘I’m going to start drinking again, because you made me out of be an alcoholic when really I was just unhappy.’

All these wonderfully monstrous confessions. How I can say… ‘i enjoy sex.’ And that is read as, ‘i used you for sex.’

The thing I’m learning is that people feel too much, too little and too late in the reverse order. They don’t realize their own objectives. This latest one took a last ditch effort to change me into a man who could love her. FAIL. It’s temporarily beyond me.

The only thing that the text gave me… because I know you’ll read this… is a distinct dislike for you. You learnt me well enough to say something hurtful to me… you don’t care for me if you treat me like this, so I’m not going to waste my time on you. Goodbye. Great life.

Onwards and outwards. Another thing that the weekend has afforded me is a closure on my sexual-escapades… or for now, anyhow… I’m tired out at the thought of randomly shagging my way around Liverpool… so now my objective is to stick it out as single and just do some fun dating. No sex, just relax, take things slowly and stop saying no to feelings.

I think slowly is the key. If I keep things nice and arm’s length for the time being then it will at least stir me into the right type of thinking, without hurting anyone in the process.

Except god knows every woman I have ever been out with has always fallen for me inside a week and is confessing their love not long after. Its a symptom of being too irresistible. Don’t protest… I joke, I jest, I play the fool.

Today I started reading Miller again to perk up what little chauvinistic skill remained intact. I read about his life and the ‘rosy crucifixion’ portion of his existence – where he moved away from everything he knew to begin again. Much like myself. Actually there is quite a lot of parallels to see when it comes to his prose. Certainly his life speaks a direct epiphany.

Regardless this is just one more reason I should be grateful for being free. At least I haven’t gotten myself in too deep. Gotten used to loving anyone or anything like that. That would be tragic, the old Jensen might well have taken to some model he managed to discuss marxism with. Or taken the number from a girl only to call her the wrong name down the phone. Or similarly fallen into the trap of some honey with a mind of mush and a great body, one that he couldn’t help but wish to be with because of their ‘connection’ and then, not long later, finds she’s dating another guy too. Spreading the odds. As well as her legs.

I’ve done nothing I can really be upset about. Instead I’ve held it together pretty well and… if I don’t have any more undue surprises… I think I’ll be well on the way to a happy day with some beaming broad one day soon.

See, the more time that passes without me needing to apologize, the less I have to be sorry for.

No man in a sorry-state can be happy, nor can he attract someone to share an evening with… in any true format of proclivity.

Child

I had one for the blink of an eye. I dreamt him back into being, after Melissa had the abortion. His name would have been Ben. I hadn’t known a thing about there being a child until a friend told me 9 months after Lissa left. She told me that Lissa had run away so abruptly, because she couldn’t face the fact that I would have wanted to keep him.
So I dreamt him back into being. First the size of a few cells, up to the size of a pea, then I drew motion into him, a tadpole. He grew to a birth of nothingness.
I accelerate past his first Christmas, first few steps; learning to ride a bike, kick a ball in the park. Past his first crush, heartbreaks, accidents and exams. Cast away hobbies and nights on his own, just thinking and listening to music.
I imagined a wife for him, children and then past my own existence, to him telling his grandchildren about me.
So I dreamt him back into being, but he wasn’t back. All I keep thinking is that he ended as a smattering on a toilet bowl and then I start crying again.

Jerk

I’m horny, so I call my then partner Lissa. She tells me to come over. So I do. The week before she comes over in nothing but underwear and a coat over the top. So I go one better. No underwear, no coat.
I walk over to her house, it is cold, and I’m butt naked for the whole 20min walk. And I must stress I did walk. Ok, I had to jerk a bit of life into the ‘little guy’ before I rang the doorbell, but the second she saw me she called me a “cute little bugger” and grabbed my arm to pull my “cute little tush” inside.

Lissa

So I miss the bitch and can’t stop thinking about the night of the photo shoot. Almost the best fuck ever. Second best if I’m honest. Sexy, extravagant, outrageous.
I want sex like that – no guilt. Let someone else worry. Let me suck and lick and scratch and bite and fuck and let me fall in love, like that, again.