The Hermit Chronicles: Castle Of Singularity

“…Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of Mankind, the Misanthrope flies from it: He resolves to become a Hermit, and buries himself in the Cavern of some gloomy Rock…” – Matthew Gregory Lewis, The Monk
seattlestravels

I existed alone, in a little cave of nowhere, and was quite content to be exactly where I didn’t know. Gladly retiring to my castle of singularity, I sensed others, not prowling, but curious of my existence. I hid quietly, waiting for them to pass by like so many times before, but then the rustling stopped, the leaves breathlessly announcing a turn in the path leading to me. The steps crunched closer and my hiding place is revealed. I’ve discovered many places to hide, and in spite of my camouflage, there I’m found. I don’t want them to find me, I want to remain secluded, my resources won’t support their hunger and thirst. No matter how I try, they come. With desires no man can tame, they press me out of my comfort, pushing me to give a portion of myself. What is it about a man who desires no pleasure of company, that lures so many to invite themselves to just that, his company? The more I push and pull from society, the more curiosity I inspire. Can’t they just pass by and stop following me down these endless circling, rocky paths? Only to lay on me the guilt of their choice saying, “You never looked out for us, you led us down the wrong path”. Turn back little ones, fair maidens, here in this dark cave lies great desire, desire that will fuel the pain of loss, for only when you desire much can your hopes be dashed against the longing, when all you sought disappears in the dark once again.

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Princess of the Night

“Are you a princess?” I said. 
She replied, “I’m much more than a princess, 
but you don’t have a name for it yet here on earth. ”
themurdershewore
The wind took her hair, black and flowing, tossing and spinning it in the late evening breeze like a child with a favorite toy. With the ambiance of crashing waves, the night took on the deep color of a precious jewel, as each facet of the raw and innocent exterior of a man and woman were cut away to reveal the hidden colors of love. She had the regal features of an Indian princess, with a curious mischief and passion sparkling in her eyes, and a gentle voice that cut through my defenses, whispering my name with subtle beguilement. Possess me my native flower, let me breath your essence deep into my waiting abyss. In the giving there was as much pleasure as in the receiving, never before had I lunged so completely into the unknown. With her gentle touch guiding me through corridors of pleasure, I knew this flight of my soul could take me through the nether worlds of ethereal desire and effervescent delight. I only stopped at one point to ask myself, “do you want to love her?”. I felt the challenge to leave the pains and brokenness of the past to fly with her. With one decision, the natural way became a supernatural journey that would leave me wounded but happy with my sacrifice and let me spend the rest of my days listening for her siren song calling my name.

Alone –

 Imaginary lovers
Never turn you down
When all the others turn you away
They’re around
It’s my private pleasure
Midnight fantasy
Someone to share my
Wildest dreams with me” 

 

DreamWind

I’d do anything to keep from being alone, pay any price, be used to the “nth” degree and never say a word. Being used is better than being alone but it stings knowing the object of my affection will hurt me, maim my spirit, and destroy my forward progress. Still, I follow hard after her, giving all to maintain that relationship and avoid the terrors of being alone. What compromises have I willing conceded to? What violations of my self-esteem and personal space have I allowed for unrequited affection? What tortures has my heart been through, my body feeling the wretch of emotions that sets my nerves on fire? Being addicted, not to a substance, but to a world of egocentric affection that I’ve created by taking the object of my affection and embellishing her to a fantastic degree. I should know better, I do know better. The voices of friends and family, concerned that I am “being used”, try to slap me awake. Ignoring their advice, pushing away the voice of truth, I continue to live a world that only I see. Go away you bearers of truth, you wreckers of dreams, this is my world, I will not see it in your light! I take my script and apply it haphazardly, patching up the holes in the dike containing my empty dreams. Eagerly lapping up my lack of self-control and willful delusion, the protagonist in my play continues to feed my world of facades with empty compliments, cool affections, and eyes empty of love.  One day I’ll wake up and grab hold of myself, one day I’ll acknowledge this self-imposed hell, one day…but for now, I look at her and imagine how she loves me.

Also published in Broowaha

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Hands – Abandoned to touch

“Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.” 
 
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Hands, sensual, flowing, graceful.
Your hands dance with mine,
Flowing like a gentle stream, around the banks of me
The touch so slight, not holding, but grazing, delighting
Pleasure, not sexual, but pure, innocent,
Heat, energy, not forceful, but powerful
Your hands, so wonderful to watch, to feel, to know

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Sheets

“The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.” – Rupert Brooke

nicholaspadula
We succumb to the softly falling sheets, gently settling, as a billow of laughter touches our skin lightly at first, then, holding us in cool delight. Little is known of the heat born as the neatly lying cotton cage begins to twist and flip while we twirl beneath it. We give birth in our playful gathering to memories, touches that last and excite through the night, the dawn, and the new day and days. There is where our happiness finds a purchase, in wrinkled sheets lying on the bed’s corner, falling on the floor, leaving us to cover our nakedness with a dozen pillows that allow our satiated skin, still wet with the practice of secret pleasure, to peek out in childish delight. 

Also published in Broowaha

The Flavor of Full – Too much is not enough

“We have a good life when we manage to live with both satisfied and unsatisfied needs, when we are not obsessed by what is beyond our reach.”– Kjell Magne Bondevik

mexicansonbicycles

It’s not the experience of pain that brings hopelessness, it’s the inability of pleasure to bring satisfaction. What do I do when what is supposed to make me happy no longer does? How will I find the passion to live? What purpose will I serve? My desire for pleasure is like a fire. It’s never full, I keep feeding it and when that’s used up, it wants more. No matter how much I give it, it is never satisfied. Soon the glowing embers of want crave more fuel. It’s then that I must reset of my pleasure threshold. Food never tastes so good as when I eat after going hungry for awhile. There is a proverb that states, “A full soul hates honey, but to the hungry, even a bitter thing is sweet”. If I always do only what feels good, I soon burn out trying to stoke the boundless appetites of my pleasure fire. When my appetites are denied, I find that when I “eat” again it’s all the more satisfying because I’ve reset my pleasure threshold by abstinence. 

Also published in Broowaha

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Malevolent – The Illusion of Freedom

“When she’s abandoned her moral center and teachings…when she’s cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor…when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure…..enticing from within this feral lioness…growling and scratching and biting…taking everything I dish out to her…..at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. ”
Marquis de Sade

“All the dark, malevolent Passions of the Soul are roused and exerted; its mild and amiable affections are suppressed; and with them, virtuous Principles are laid prostrate.” – Charles Inglis


tassiasete


Malevolent is my lovers name,
holding her passions lust near pain
Never to light again let them be,
in the open choices of wills release

Fiery and soft though her affections seem,
her subtlety controls the whole of me

With touches sharp and pleasures same,
malevolent creates her wily game

Obscuring with intangible moves,
binding me with hemp that soothes

The illusion of freedom is her claim,
free will held with the surest chains

Malevolent from your sultry kiss I turn,
hard lessons taught but never learned 

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