To make a move to write again, is to make a move about writing down the things that matter. Back in 2010, whenever I started This Intangible Existence as a blog hosted on among the free domain space of the internet, I was actually in the early stages of creating something much bigger than that: the records that followed under that pseudonym.
One of the first entries that I wrote under my own domain was the ceremonial act of burning my books. At the time I was just listening to what God was telling me to do. Now I find my words pressed into the digital format; moving past the strokes of the pen, and into the realm of 0's and 1's.
The act of preserving my mind dialog is often questioned by myself. Is it necessary to actually log these words. Is it necessary to even let the content remain accounted for. The Father will throw away what is forgiven in the end, and let it burn away until all that remains is left to his desire.
In these past months of my life I wonder what I've done. My chest is heavy with my guilt, and my soul is burdened in ways that won't recede. A rut this could be; however, I believe this could be the bottom. I'm tired of the bottom.
I'm tired of being the bottom.
Even in the whims of an afternoon delight, I find myself feeling lost and unaccounted for.
So if I sing to the Lord, To repair my soul, It requires I die, Until the new leaves grow.
And let way for new budding grass, That in the fire it would not pass. So that by the end, my fruitless plane, Could bare the name of Jesus' name.
The power in the name is a concentration I've considered for my work, moving forward. It's importance is of the utmost; for the Utmost High can not be denied any further. That the something-that-has-to-give should reveal itself shortly, and I could move forward with the only purpose my heart has truly known: to proclaim Jesus Saves; and to relieve myself of the oddity of the homosexual sin and lifestyle.
But what does that look like, and what does that really mean? Does that mean that I get married to a woman? Does that mean that I'm celibate? I know it doesn't mean that I should have sex with whoever I shall please, at any given time.
A trotting C Lydian, and dressed in mauve tones - accented in a blue twilight forest of sticks and stones - caught in the path of the predicted ISON - for the God of Aaron and Moses.
As much as I think it is inappropriate for me to talk about such thing in a public place, it seems that I'm caught in my addictions worse than ever.
Over the last weekend, I settled (somewhat) some things with a lady friend of mine with who I was courting month prior to nameless; and myself became emotionally and physically involved. I basically left her hanging in the wind with what was to become of she and I. During that time nameless; and I became sexually involved, and I couldn't muster up enough courage to tell her what was going on. Basically I lied to her, and I found myself caught up in a love triangle that would mangle the majority of sanity.
Promiscuous is the word that would describe this. There have been seven people since nameless; died. My sexual addiction has left me powerless in my loss of my friend and lover. Sexually frustrated is a word that could fit well, but I believe it's something more sinister than just that. To say that I'm sexually frustrated seems like a cop out in my book. It would be easier if I could just rub one out, and that would be the end of it; however the hunger is deeper than self pleasure.
It's demonic in nature. I can't stop thinking about who I could coheres in to "coming over". I've even reached out to people with whom the extent of our conversation have never breached a "hello" or a like on Facebook.
Perhaps there was a freeing subconsciously, as if to settle with my lady friend would be the release I needed to become a complete whore in the matter of days.
Whatever it is something has got to give in all of this. There has to be a bottom, and I would choose not to fall crashing into it. With all that said; however, I believe that there is a hope and a reprieve. Something has to give, and that's what I'm waiting on. November seems like it has always been historically difficult for me mentally and emotionally. November was whenever me and nameless; became sexual last year. November is when I'm starting to see how much I've been affected by the blow that went through the neck of my forbidden lover.
I wish that he was here still. Not because I miss him, but because he filled the void for me. Last year I had a conversation with him about how I thought I was "falling apart". What I really meant was that I wanted him so bad that I was willing to do whatever it took: spells, love songs, or food. He stood in between me and all the other potential sexual partners I could have had over the course of 2012 and early 2013 before his death.
Somehow I feel like he protected me from that--he protected me from myself, and the destruction that I bring upon my body. That in itself is a heavy load for any one man to carry.