I originally began typing this at the end of May, and finally completed this because of and for Victoria. For those of you who were waiting for it, sorry about that. I know I started selling it to some people the same morning I had the dream (as I was typing it, lol. smh). It wasn’t my intention to take so long, although I couldn’t forget the dream … I couldn’t rekindle the original pace that I had after being interrupted by memorial day weekend. Please excuse that. There’s three sections to it. Each is a completely different writing, topic, tone, tempo, and delivery. Although the topics relate, pause between each cause the previous section will be lost by the next … so let it marinate before going onto the rest.

The Entry.

I’m stuck in three places. A dream, reality, and thought. Something which I do not wish to choose between, and while the resulting delivery may be fractured if you permit me some time … I’ll give it structure. Though know, this will not be short. If you are to read it, take your time with it. If you do not absorb a line, re-read it and if by the end you have nothing to say … it’s cool. Though I ask that you comment anyway to just let me know who read it. While I’d prefer that it be read in silence, I accomodated desire and picked an appropriate playlist. So … if . you’d . like … hit . play . below . and . keep . your . volume . low.

The Dream.

It’s medieval times. I am a knight in the royal army … one of the elite, but not the best. There is a woman, beautiful … but I do not remember what she looks like facially (typical, eh?). She’s seemingly caucasian (or maybe not). I joined the knights because in one part I enjoyed the fight, and in another because I had a death wish. The death wish was because of “her”, but I currently do not know who she is.

I’m sitting on the corner stone of a large platform that they use to bring in fish, and three inches beneath my dangling armored feet are tall grass and cattails. The grass fills the right of the platform and extends the entire length of the water. There’s also some green between the platform and the ten feet it rests away from the water. Along the water’s nadir there are dark grey water-smoothed semi-flat ovalish rocks the size of fists. The sky is a blend of pink, orange, yellow, and red … it shimmers off the light blue water.

I’m watching the sun set in silence. A knight sits down to the left of me, and says “You still miss her.” I look over at her, she’s beautiful. I’ve seen her in battle before, moving so gallantly and as she drank in the pubs with the other men. Though I do not personally know her. Her eyes, a light color that I cannot discern because of the hue shifting sunlight’s reflection as she gazes at the horizon. She looks at me. I would’ve slain her where she sat … but with her eyes, she confronts me with no defenses in her heart. Her gaze is piercing, and sincere. I do not respond, and my attention shifts back to the horizon.

She continues, “Of all the knights you are the most noble, honor-bound, and fearless. While you may fumble, what you lack in skill you make up for in bravery. Though at times, I sense that you just want someone to put you out of your misery … but no one was skillfull enough to do so on equal terms.” She pauses, I look at her … she looks towards the horizon, and my eyes return there as well. She continues, “She will come back, but until she does I will keep your bed warm … and if you must die, it will be by my and only my blade. Until then, live.” I get up and walk away without uttering a word. My armored feet clanking on the crudely paved road of sand and small pebbles that runs parallel with the water. I cross that path and return to my tent.

I sit down on my bed constructed with cylindrical branches tied together at the hinges with rope made from straw (reminiscent of one half of a military bunk bed). Although I don’t know how long I sat there for, I know I zoned out for awhile. Eventually I come to … and slowly take off my helmet. My hair is long, and straight … it wisps in the breeze that suddenly enters the door. As I stand up and begin to take off my armor, a strong gust enters … whipping my hair into my face … so I place my back against it. With my left hand I unfasten the buckle and latch underneath my right arm … and as I do so a soft hand reaches from behind and enters the space between my chest and breastplate …

and rests against my heart.

It reached down and unfastens the bottom then the other side, and as my heart’s protection goes crashing to the floor … I turn, but before I speak she leans in and kisses me … stealing my words. She slightly pulls away and says into my lips, “I come to you not as a comrade but as a woman.” She descends to unfasten the rest of my armor. I look down upon her … she’s wearing an off white light-wool dress. Fitted on the upper body and arms, but loose and exaggerated (long) at the wrists, and free flowing at the waist. It’s the first time I’ve seen her dressed in such a manner. She’s usually wearing leather or cloth slacks of some sort. I’m thinking I should stop this … but something about her completely removes my will to fight.

And as if she can read my mind … she retorts, “and that is why you’ll die upon on my blade.” She rises as she utters those last few words, and pushes me back onto the bed. She lays against me, reaching her right hand down between my legs … and as I create the opening sound of a phrase she seals my lips with the vice of a fingertip. She looks into my eyes with her light greenish blue/brown gaze and she says, “I’ve stared into the eyes of thousands of men … in battle, or not and have seen my reflection as an enemy, nightmare, friend, idol, and abomination … but it’s only in yours that I see the woman. As such, I give myself to you …

I do this, not for you … but for me.”

She kisses me so intensely and deeply that the little bit of fight which remained in my mind was completely erased. We hastilly and desperately strip the remaining garments from one another like they were tissue paper, and make love so passionately you’d think it was our last night on earth before being separated by the heavens. Her body … her … curves … conform to me like a glove. Her skin light and fair. We move to a steady rhythm. Her calves, and thighs flex as her heels and hands urge me in further. When she holds me … arms wrapped without restraint or hesitation. She embraces me … completely … truly.

Paint that picture.

She can feel my body tense up as my strides become deeper … longer … and lingering. She softly moans into my right ear, “don’t waste it, ever.” I say, “but” and she interrupts, “we’ll deal with that as it comes, and not before.” I lift her from the bed … my left palm underneath her right shoulder blade … my right palm upon the nape of her neck. She’s sitting in my lap … hugging my shoulders and neck, she’s holding on for dear life as she ascends and descends. Her chest, stomach and body firmly against mine … and when we climax simultaneously our exhales and moans of rapture are so loud I imagine that even the enemy fleet in the distance can hear us from their ships. We collapse exhausted … panting … laying together like lovers.

-

The next morning, as I awaken she’s dressing. Her dress descends and covers her marvelous bare ass. She has a fabulous shape, a bit muscular in some places but curvacious and very womanly. She can feel my eyes on her, and looks back at me. I ask, “where are you venturing?” “To get my items.” Naked, I follow her to the door, but I stop and lean my elbow on the wooden pole frame … looking outside as the kids play … with my member swaying openly without a care. There’s someone standing to the right. Next to me. Another knight. He says to me, “love on the battle field becomes a problem, it can mess with one’s judgment.” I say, “You need not worry about me.” He says, “I’m not. I’m worried about her.”

There’s a pause … and as he begins to walk away he adds, “she’s only ever given herself to one man, and he tried to slay her. The scar on her back is a reminder of that. Mind where you point your sword.” Me, “on my honor.” We nod, he leaves. She returns, sees him walking away and asks, “what did Barbarous want?” (Or some name like that which starts with a B). “He was just telling me the upcoming weather, and wanted to know the course of action.” I look and see she only carried a few items and ask, “Is that all you have?” “No. ‘This’ will only be when the desire or need arises.” “Then, now.” “I know, or I shan’t have returned.”

She undresses, I grab her … and she playfully laughs lightly as I pull her towards me. She places her elbows on my shoulders, arms straight … hands relaxed but fingers slightly together behind my head. She looks down at me. My fingertips against her lower spine (slightly above the small of her back, while my palm was resting on the beginning curve of her hips / lower ribs … due to my large hands). We sit in silence … gazing into each others eyes. She shifts closer, and as my hand moves against her back … I can feel the keloid of her scar. I trace it from her upper right shoulder blade, as it descends to her lower left hip / love handle … and as I do so it gives her shivers. She kisses me as if she’s trying to stifle her own moan of ecstasy and compounded sigh of pain.

I embrace her and she says, “A reminder of another life. One which I never let a man touch.” “If, then why?” “Because I shan’t deny you.” “Nor I, you.” We kiss, and make love again. This time was shorter, less intense … as if we got most of our restrained or pent up energy out before. Less of a release, more of bonus or dessert … but it was still very passionate. Though afterwards we did not get time to relax. For no sooner than we layed down, we were jostled by the bellow of the war horn’s cry. Her handmaiden rushes in with her armor, and begins to dress her.

-

Of all the knights, I’m the only one without a handmaiden … since I never let women get that close to me. As such, I never completely undo my armor. I guess that’s metaphoric for one who never really stops fighting. Though I unfasten it enough to be able to slide it off. However, yesterday she completely undid it. So … drained from our passion, and muscles rubbery … I’m having a little trouble equiping myself. Her handmaiden gestures in my direction. Habitually I pull away like she was a leper. She sees her maiden, my reaction and then says, “Should you ever touch my lover, you will pay for that pleasure with your life.” She came over to me, and dressed me as would a wife. It felt great.

She had a stern look upon her face, as she was focused on what she was doing.

My eyes never left her visage. She lovingly / shyingly smiled when she noticed … and I kissed her. Then cold faced, her demeanor changed as she pulled away and handed me my helmet. She chooses to not wear one, because it’s unnecessary and obstructs one’s field of vision. I wore one for many reasons … most prominently it’s because I prefered to be without identity, and also for protection. I’m usually amongst the leaders forcing my way past flying arrows and spears … bringing the battle to them, instead of waiting for it to come to me. Whereas she’s with the strongest. The ones who defend, as the other men absorb arrows like living and dying pincushions. I just happen to be one of the pincushions that manages to always walk away unscathed.

Of the elite, we each have a battle identity or a niche we fill. One who’s role supports another’s. Some say I survive because of my skill, as they tell tales of the man who’s faced death a thousand times but never lost. The tales of man who walks to hell just because he likes the scenery along the journey. Other than children most people stay away from me, because they say I’m mad (insane). However, they love to fight by my side, because it brings greater chance of survival. For no man within spear’s reach has ever advanced beyond my path. There is a line of war which is drawn and stops by me as bodies fall. Then there are others that say my survival is merely luck, or fortune. That the stars are aligned in my favor. Though sometimes I wonder if it’s my curse. Whatever the case, my name is known along the battle field, so I hide my face … and yell the warcry of fortitude.

“Know me only by the clashing of our swords, and I will carve my memory of you into your body to be forgotten.”

The elite knight who chooses to remain on the frontline. In the trenches. Where armor is black and red decorated by blood and earth. So that no silver remains in sight … and the only white to be seen is from the color of my eyes. That is my battle identity, and she does not fear me. Afterall, she’s more skilled than I. I just happen to be Hades’ drinking buddy, cause I’ve seen him so many times. She is said to be of the same bloodline as Joan. Her deadly beauty sways the hearts of many to pump it’s last beat. On the battle field she is queen.

Though today is different.

After a lingering glance into each other’s eyes we communicate in silence … “survive”, and part ways at the door. I can hear the chanting in my direction, and the silence of hers. Two different worlds. We fight for two different reasons. I do not know hers, but I know her cause. For a second I wonder what it would have been like for us, if things were different … but then reality sets in as atingled hands slam onto my armor and bodies make way for my stride. Then someone utters, “Today’s a good day to die.” I respond, “It’s always a good day to die. Though today you will go home to your wife and child … and await tomorrow’s death, and I will go to Hades and appeal to him once again.” At the top of my lungs I say …

“Let the sound of our yells strike fear in their loins, and let the sound of their cries be felt throughout their bloodline.”

The sound of the uproar can be heard in the distance. She’s talking to her clan … imagining me. They’re looking down upon the cavern from atop the mountain. My silver armor is the only one amongst the black, like a single white dot in a pool of ink. From the distance the ink moves like a wave rippling outward from me as the elated hands of men extend with swords and staffs. Barbarous says, “you know he’s dangerous.” She responds, “do not presume to educate me of my lover.” “You cannot control him.” “I do not desire to. He will do as I say, and if he objects I will do as he wishes.” “And if he should ever get out of hand?” “Then I’ll render him fingerless.” “Do you think you can?”

“Do not subject me to your insecurities. For while you may be more skilled than he, you cannot defeat him … because you fear death more than he. You were better off slaying him as he stood naked earlier, but did not because of your fear. While your hesitation will be your demise, I will slay him in bed if I must. For I have already been slain by love before. Now stay your tongue Barbarous, before I snatch it from your skull.” On the grounds below, the battle wages on. My armor has still not been blotted out by crimson sweat. Heads, and appendages are flying left and right of me.

Still aware.

Have not been lost to the fury yet. Though the troves of men who become slumps of meat upon meeting me do not seem to end. I’m weary. My movements becoming sloppy and erratic. My sight linear as the onset of tunnel vision kicks in. My peers around me have all fallen. So I close my eyes, and cut loose. Where the identity of who I was even faceless with a mask … is lost. She can sense it happening, and starts getting restless. She paces left and right with her horse. Barbarous says to her demandingly, “hold the line.” Damn, almost remembered her name for a second. She becomes impatient and rushes into battle. Her clan follows without hesitation.

I’m gone … mentally. I’m off having daydreams of butterflies and sunflowers, memories of scenes almost forgotten. The memory of a woman that etched her love into my heart. Yet, in the real-world I’m like a wild animal, howling and lost in the bloodlust. I can’t see her face, but I can remember her laugh, her touch. The scene was like a cottage or summer house with the windows open, and white curtains waifed in the breeze. I’m sitting on a chair, she’s sideways on my lap laughing as she’s trying to get away. Do I hear the sound of children, or is my mind filling it in? Nah, no children … couldn’t have been. That would contradict and things would be terribly out of sequence. In the real-world, my new lover decends from her horse … and slashes a few men as she rushes to towards me.

She grabs me, and pushes my helmet off. Everyone can see my face drenched in blood. Yet, they can still tell who I am, and their acknowledgement of identity strikes fear in their hearts. With another man’s blood upon my mouth, you can see it squeeze between as she kisses me deeply and whispers into my lips “come back to me.” I do not deny her call, my psychedelic trip or dream is interrupted. Reality and the scene sink in. I look into her eyes and she says as she advances, “fight by me, or stand down.” My knees hit the ground as I collapse in exhaustion. My sword hits the ground last, as knights rush by me following her. I look to my left, and can see her from behind as she rushes the enemy cutting through them like butter. I plunge my sword into the earth, and use it to wrestle myself back to my feet. Gasping for air … I stand up, looking into the sky momentarilly as I rise … but then head hanging after I’ve risen.

Trying to catch my breath, the sky strains to make a difference and give me another wind.

I can hear her screams of anger and rage in the distance … and I hear Barbarous say with his baritone voice, “if you do not fight, she will die.” Though I don’t see him. “Is it only in my mind?”, I wonder as I look around at the knights fighting. The gravity of the situation has not yet hit me, that is … until I see her being slashed. I think, “This is not their fight. This is not the stage of battles they are used to. One where there are more enemies than directions you can pay attention to. It is one without honor and much bloodshed. A brutality they do not know. Though this … this is my home. Where I have lived, and died a million times over. It is not her place.” I rush towards her with such a fervor it’s as if the other knights running along side me are moving in slow motion. I strike down the men who surround her, and look back at her asking “are you okay? Can you fight?”

She responds, “I have two arms … it would be such a waste to not try and lose the other.” She drops the sword in her left hand and advances (she’s a two-handed fighter). I smile, and with my fingers scrape away three lines to the left and right of my eyes within the blood caked upon my face. As I look up into the barely cloudy sky … I say, “today is a good day.” I grab her discarded sword, and take her place. While she gets lost in the pain and rage. I cut through with an artistry that can only be matched by her. Time passes, the battle wages on, and in the end only a few of us remain standing. She hits the floor face first. I rush to her side once again and as she lays in my arms she says, “take me back, patch me up, and let me rest for awhile. Tomorrow’s another day.” She closes her eyes, as she passes out.

-

We’re back in my tent, she’s sitting on a stool with me behind her … I begin to take off her armor. I wash away the excess blood so I can see her wound. Her tricep was sliced open, not irrepairably but she’s definitely unfit to fight again until she heals. Though I do not tell her that. I jokingly call her a little babe for making such a big deal of such a small wound. She says, “you cannot deceive me so why even try?” I stitch up her arm, and as I do … look at the large scar across her back, plus the many other small ones. As I wipe her down I say, “A woman should take better care of her body.” She retorts, “It matters not to one who never intended to marry.” “And what of children?” “It shall never happen. I will terminate it.” “Why?” “Because although I am yours, you are not mine. Nor will I take you from her.”

She looks at me lovingly, caringly, yet sternly and grabs the back of my neck as she continues, “You will fulfill your obligation.” I retort softly as I lift her up into my arms, “right now my obligation is to you.” “Yes, for the time.” I carry then lay her upon the bed, and as I do … she holds onto my shirt, not allowing me to pull away. “All right.” She lets go and says, “Stay with me for now.” I climb into bed, and lay on my back making sure not to hurt her arm. She rolls over, and places her head on my chest … falling asleep to the sound of my heartbeat.

-

A few days pass before the next attack, and in that time her handmaiden moved the rest of her things into my tent. Together the maiden and I took care of her. I was with her more often than not. Save for the moments when I had to fight. We ate together, slept together, made love together, bathed together, played together, even went to convocation together. She made me take her place in the battalion, until she recovered. Though she still attended congress, and joshed in the tavern. It was different seeing her in such settings consistently without slacks, but not behaving like the whores which surrounded the men. Attending only me.

Barbarous said in confidence, “I’ve never seen her as happy, nor as at peace. Nor have I ever seen you as focused in battle, making sure that you return to her. When a man has something to live for, it is then that he fears death. She’s become a woman, and you … human.” I looked at her as she was talking to another woman, and said “Perhaps you are right.” He retorts, “Mayhaps.” She looks at me from the distance, and smiles. Time passes, and our tent walls turn to stone … as dark grey smooth stone was layed due to our longer stay. Our home, looks pretty much the same … just less light, and a bit more space since they layed the stone around the tent … then removed the tent from within.

We make love at least twice, sometimes thrice a day.

Everything’s seemingly perfect. Even the war which is being waged outside, and the contrasting serenity and stillness inside. So metaphoric. Laying with her is a kind of comfort and satisfaction I cannot describe. I can still feel it as it lingers while I type. My lover was already fit to return to battle, but never did … she stayed with me … and during battle awaited my return. Then one day it was announced that the princess would be arriving within a few days. My heart dropped to my toes. They said she was coming to personally thank the knights on the front-line which fight so valiantly to defend the land. My lover scoffs at it and says, “she’s coming for you.”

I look at her … speechless, and she says “when she comes, go to her and I will return to the battle … our time is up.” She walks out with a cold expression on her face. Though I do not stop her. Eventually I leave as well, and walk to clear my mind. She returns as I am away, dissappointed when she sees that I’m not home. She grabs a metal bowl and casts it aside in frustration. It echos as it bounces off the wall, and scrapes while spinning on the floor. Barbarous enters, and he says “cookware cannot fight back. If you are angry with him, then fight him.” She says, “I cannot.” He asks, “Why not?” “I knew this would come to be, and accepted this temporary allegiance regardless … but somewhere along the line I became comfortable, and began to wish she’d never return. Even made this my home.”

“Then stand by your word.” “I cannot … I do not desire to.” “Why?” “Because I am with child.” “Does he know?” “No, nor shall he.” “Does he not deserve to know?” “He does, but he does not deserve for me to disrupt his world. I love him too much to do so.” “But you are his world, and if you do not perceive yourself to be … maybe it is you who needs to see the truth, and then decide what is right.” As he walks out, I walk in. I heard their conversation. He could tell. His right hand touches my right shoulder, and he looks at me … then continues leaving. She sees me, then turns away. With her back towards me, I hold her from behind … wrapping my arms around her crossed arms. She pushes my hands away, and says “there’s something I need to say, but am ashamed.”

I say, “I know.” “I’m sorry.” “Why be?” “Because I cannot follow-through with my words to you.” “I’m glad you cannot. I thought I did not have a choice in the matter. I’d never want to lose our child.” “Though what am I to do? What are we to do? She’s the woman I swore my life to protect, but have disgraced.” “I’ll talk with her.” “No, I will not be made the villain of love.” “Then what do you propose?” “That I request audience with her, where she and I will decide, and you will blindly abide by whatever that may be.” “Okay.” I pause, then continue, “I will stay away for the next few days, and shall return when you’re done.” “Okay. Though stay with me for the night, so I can rest easier tomorrow.”

Day turns to night as time passes by. We lay there in our nakedness illuminated by a single flickering candle. I’m laying on my back, she’s laying to my right, on her side … her thigh on my pelvis, her head propped up by her hand, braced by her elbow. Her right hand is on my chest, fingertips twirling it’s hairs. She begins to tell me of her parents. It’s a first, as we don’t speak of our pasts for we choose to live in the moment. She says that her parents were slain when she but a babe, and in her father’s last moments Barbarous vowed to raise her as his own. While Barbarous was strict in his training, and can be over-protective … he was a good father and took care of her. Though he never forgave himself for her almost being slain by her love. For it was a man he approved of, one which their meeting was made possible by him.

I ask her why has she told me of this and she says, “I will not covet who I was, keeping the keys to myself. I will let go of she, and the pain she bore … for what matters is who I am … to you.” She kisses me slowly, gently … not intensely, and asks “what of you?” I respond, “Everything I am and was, you already know. However, I will fill the space with the details if you so desire.” “I do.” I begin to tell her my story, which starts off as a child. I lived on the palace grounds. My father was the royal guard’s combat instructor. As children, the princess and I played around the palace, always getting into mischief. We were inseparable, always holding each other’s hands. Though as she began to become of age, it was unlady-like for her to interact with or play with boys.

The bulk of her grooming began, as did our increasing separation. Although I began fighting upon taking my first steps, I was additionally trained to be her personal knight. I’d see her at night through her window, as she stood there brushing her hair … I’d watch from the shadows. With her unable to see me, but she could tell I was there. She’d at times look for me aimlessly out the window, but she never saw me as I stepped back into the shadows. I never spoke of my presence. She began sneaking out at night, the first night I objected and with attitude she said, “is it not your duty to serve me?” “It is.” She apologized for saying so, that in her heart we are still equals. She asked that I not deny her the few moments of happiness in her controlled and orchestrated life. I acquiesced.

She began sneaking out more frequently, and staying out longer. Running so dangerously close to being caught. One night, the first night we kissed … she gave herself to me, wholely … completely … and said that I am her first, her last, and only love. She gave me her chastity, a crime for me which is punishable by castration, mutilation, then a slow and torturous death. To make matters worse, I am of Moor and caucasian decent … skin fair, hair straight and not unkempt, but would taint the royal bloodline. Though I did not fear the consequences, and living without her would be a death far worse than they can afford me. To me, it required no thought. As time passed, the queen … unable to produce a royal heir … the king attempted with his mistresses with no such luck.

It was found that it was he who was unable to do so (sterile), and that the princess was the sole and rightful heir to the throne. She was to be married to a neighboring kingdom, but that kingdom’s medical examiners soon found out she was already deflowered. Outraged, the King commanded that this blasphemer be discovered. I was prepared to go to him, and identify myself … but she came to me that night, and demanded that I do not. It was our first and only true fight. I said it was my duty as one who serves this land, to speak with honor of my transgressions. She said, that my duty was to her and only her.

She commanded that I leave, and join the front battallion … furthest away from the palace. To fight, and survive for her and when she is able to subvert her father’s authority, she would come for me. Though my identity as her lover is to not be found, and so I exist essentially nameless … and have for five years since. I know no longer of what transpires in the castle walls, my parents died many moons ago … even prior to my departure. The only thing I know is of the controversy which arose from her utter refusal to accept another knight as her own. Though that was some time ago. So I waited, dying slowly … “until you”, and then lived unlike I ever have before.

She looks at me, then rests her head on my chest and says … “This beat is steady. Not many men would remain true to the heart of a child for as long as you.” She then fell asleep silently. Though I remained awake as the candle flickers it’s last life, and the room is illuminated by moonlight and a starry sky. She usually holds me like a vice and we share the same skin … but that night, she didn’t and remained separate from me. So I slipped out from underneath her, and disappeared as she slumbered. The morning arrives, as she awakens she reaches for me and upon seeing I’m not there … she wept softly. She then composes herself, and continues about her day.

A day later, the soon to be queen arrives.

Unexpectedly, she walks into our small home. Surprised, my lover kneels with her head lowered in her presence. The princess asks demandingly, “where is my knight?” “He is gone.” “Where has he gone?” “Milady, I do not know.” “Who are you, and why are you here … is this not his home?” She hesitates so the princess says, “speak now.” “We are lovers, and this is our home.” The princess has a shocked look on her face, like someone stabbed her in the heart or she just learned that someone dear to her as died. She commands her guards to leave them, so they may speak in private. When they leave, the princess sits as if she used the rest of her strength to remain standing and maintain appearances. She asks, “for how long has this gone on?” “Since not too long after the start of the last campaign.”

The princess looks down and puts her hand over her eyes as if she was trying to create shade from the sunlight. “Has there been others?” “No, he remained true to his love for you.” “Then why has he gone?” “So that we could have space to speak as women.” “What could you possibly have to say to me?” “That, I’m grievous.” She laughs, and says “Do you think that helps?” “No, but it is the truth. I did not intend for things to be as they are. I thought this would only be temporary.” “It is.” “But I love him.” “That matters not. Name your price, and be on your way.” “I am with child, and it is his.” “Then I will raise it as my own, and you need not worry of the life it leads.”

“Have you no heart that you’d separate a mother and child? Are you so cruel?” “You judge me?” “No, I ask you.” “Your feelings are of no concern to me, the only thing which matters is he.” “Then are you not considering his feelings?” “He shall be with his child, and if you must … you are free to live in the palace. Though you must vow to never be with him.” “I cannot. I shall not.” The princess stands up aggressively, “You dare to challenge me?” My lover stands up as well, “Yes, I do. I do not fear for my life. I have faced death in your name, and lived to tell the tale. I have supported the man you claim to love, but you abandoned and left for dead. It is I who kept him alive. I have earned the right to challenge you.”

She continues, “While you were in your palace sitting safe and all high and mighty, bathing in milk … he bathed in blood. He has faced innumerable horrors, and a life of chaos and destruction … yet, he still manages to find the time and appreciate a sunrise, as battleships in the distance create shade in it. How well do you know your would be lover? Can you understand the struggles he has gone through because of or for love? Can he truly share with you those things you’d never truly understand?” “Do you think it has been easy for me?” “No, pain is pain. One person’s pain is not greater than another. Just the same as the pain you feel now is not greater than my own.”

She pauses, “However, that does not lay little that there are parts of him you cannot appease. Or do you only see the child he was, and not the man he’s become? The two of you were in love during a time when you were both pure. He is no longer pure, and is tainted. Can you still love him as he should be loved?” “Can you?” “No, I suffer no delusions and understand that there is a part of him I cannot touch. One where only you are privy. His innocence which was lost by time.” “Then you are as unfit to be his lover as I.” “Mayhaps. Though I am willing to do what it takes for the happiness of the man I love. Are you?”

“I will pay any price.” “Would you even give up your kingdom for him?” “Yes.” “Then my price is the kingdom. Not as your ruler, but as your equal.” There is a long silence. “Are you rediculously proposing that I share him?” “No, I am proposing that we put aside ourselves and consider love first, and saying that us fighting will only bring about misery. I am proposing that we do not fight.” “…” “You are the soon to be queen, that I have sworn to protect. I do not want to fight you, but if it’s for the man I love … I shall cut you down without hesitation. Please do not make me fight you.”

“I have never had to share anything, especially not that which I covet the most.” “I know that it will not be easy, but I’m not asking you to share him. I’m asking you to share your kingdom … not your lover. To share your life, not your love for him. That in time, I share with you the things you do not know … as you shall with me, and if after time we deem one of us to be better suited as his lover, then so be it.” “Would that not lead to competition and conflict?” “Mayhaps. Though it may be lessened if we spend more time together than with him. I bear you no ill will.”

“Then I will take you as my handmaiden for now, and after my coronation I will accept him as my king, and allow him to take another wife. Not as his mistress, but as his queen. At that moment, you will have as much authority as I. Though you are forbidden to see him until then.” “Can I have three more nights at home before I leave?” “Yes.” “Then I accept those terms.” The princess is still upset, and her lack of desire to do this can be clearly seen upon her face. My lover, is surprisingly happy … glad that it went much better than she expected.

She says to the princess, “I was prepared to lose my life over this.” “You may still.” She grabs the princess’ hand, and places it on her stomach, and asks her, “do you think it’ll be a boy or girl?” With attitude the princess walks away without answering the question, and leaves the house. Satisfied, my lover sits holding her stomach with her left hand. A day passes, and still I have not returned. She becomes anxious, wondering when I will. As day turns to night she begins to think that she might not see me before being taken away. That while she wants to have faith that I’ll return in time, the thought of it still breaks her heart, and she cries herself to sleep.

That night I returned.

I enter our house, and sit on the edge of the bed watching her peaceful trip in the land of Nod. Still asleep she turns towards me, as if she knows I’m there. I lean over her, and kiss her … bringing her from her slumber. For as I pull away, she leans forward unconsciously following me. She wraps her arms around my neck and opens her eyes. She moans, as we kiss. I lay her back down, and am working my way from her neck to her chest, and stomach. She says, “I must speak with you.” I say, “whatever it is … it can wait. Don’t interrupt.” I ravage her like a man held captive for a few years without touch.

Our pillow talk is great.

It’s in those moments where we truly converse with words. She tells me what happened, and the decision they came to. She then says to me, that if by time they send for me I do not feel the same about her as I do know, she will abide by whatever I decide. Though she must leave me for now. I want to object, but I do not. I will not contest her decision. She can tell that I want to, but I stopped myself. She says, “love, thank you.” We pretty much sleep and make love for the rest of the time she’s there, barely do we even leave to the tavern to eat.

The royal guard comes to pick her up. Everyone in our now settled village is wondering why the commotion. She walks over to me, to kiss me goodbye … but so prideful, my back is to her. I refuse to watch her leave. She speaks into my ear from behind, “it’s only for a short while.” She huggs me and I can feel our child pressed up against my back. I turn to her, kiss her. She takes my hand and leads me out of our house to the carriage. She gets in, and before they pull away … she says it for the first time, “I love you now, and forever.” “As I do you.” We call each other ‘lover’ but never have we said “I love you”. It never needed to be said, it was always proven in our actions … and understood by each other.

So when she said it and they pulled away, it was as if someone was tearing my heart from my chest. She didn’t look out the window again, the crowd dispersed … but I stood there watching her disappear upon the horizon. By then, in the village I was no longer a person others avoided. She made me warm, loving, considerate, and caring. It is because of her that I am the man I became. My anger is not in the fact that she left, but my frustration with myself. That even though that’s the case, my heart still longs for the princess. Yet, my lover knows this … she does not want to force me to choose between them. She believes it would be unfair. When it’s merely a matter of ego which will cause separation and misery, so she chose to overcome her pride.

I understand this, yet my mind cannot help but fight what I know to be okay. I wage war with myself needlessly. The carriage arrives at the palace, the princess greets my lover … her new handmaiden, and she asks of my whereabouts. “He’s home.” She tells her guard, “take me to him” and says to my lover, “you shall await my return.” She is hurt, distraught but still she bows and curtsies saying “yes, milady.” The palace guards take my lover to see the King, who’s on his deathbed. As she enters the bedchamber the guards leave her. The king in a weakened voice says “come closer”, and so she does.

-

“Are you the one who is to take care of my daughter?” “Yes, sire.” “Oh my, it’s not often a beautiful woman calls me sire. Are you one of my knights?” “Yes, sire.” “I do recall a woman in the ranks, Barbarous’ daughter was is?” “Yes, sire that is correct.” “I’ve heard many of your tales, you’d do well to protect her.” “With my life.” “Please don’t mind her, she can be a bit headstrong, stubborn, and spoiled but I can assure you her heart is true and always in the right place. Even enough to resist a father’s wrath for love.” “I know that well.” “I do so wish that I could’ve seen her married before my time, though she’s refused to give her heart to any man. So inexorable and obdurate, she gets that from her mother.”

My lover laughs. “Ah there’s a smile. How about you, are you to marry?” “I’d like to one day sire.” “Good, good. I would’ve liked to have met the man she gave her heart to. Though I understand then it wouldn’t have been the most favorable ideas. However, illness has wore out this stubborn old goat. Death gives one a different perspective. Her happiness is most important. I’d just like to know that she’ll be happy.” “She will sire.” “You seem very confident in that.” “I am.” “Do you know of him?” “Yes, sire I do.” “Is he someone I’d approve?”

“You already have sire.” He pauses for awhile, and asks “was he the boy that she favored so much as a child?” “Yes sire.” “Is he not a Moor?” “He is sire, half.” “Oh dear, I can see why she did not tell me. Though he would not have been my choice for her, he is still a good choice. I hear he’s one of my best warriors.” “The best sire, one of your elite knights. He leads the men against the enemy.” He leans forward looks at her and asks, “The frontline?” “Indeed.” “Interesting. Tell me my dear, are you in love with him?”

Surprised she tries to speak, but the words won’t come out. “I can see it in your eyes when you speak of him. You don’t get to be my age without being able to know love when you see it. How can a king be a king if he cannot hear the hearts of his people?” Tears well up in her eyes, as she says “you are a great king sir.” She begins to cry as she collapses on the bed, he embraces her and says “come, come my dear. I’m sure things will work out fine.” She says, “We’ve already come to a resolution … it’s just a bit hard for me right now.” He asks her to explain, and she does.

Upon finishing he says, “While that would not have been my decision, it is a wise one indeed. Maybe if my queen had taken the time to get to know those she despised, she would not have been as miserable as she was. Nor would I have needed so many mistresses in my time, and there were many. Instead, she’d have them poisoned or slain. A king cannot serve his country while under love’s duress. A wife should support the decisions of her husband, even if he makes mistakes … and he should support her as well. Though because they do not if infidelity were not a punishable offense, many more men would do it.”

He continues, “She should not reprimand, nag, and ridcule him for being human. Maybe, then he would not seek support from another. Though I was not as wise nor understanding as I am now. I merely made matters worse, getting another mistress everytime she retaliated. Eventually ostracizing her when I could not take anymore. My daughter would run to my side when we’d fight. Cursing her mother’s transgressions and lack of understanding. Though if she was still alive today, I’d do things differently. Maybe we’ll get a chance another time.”

He looks at her again, “My daughter will learn a lot from you, she’s stayed within her closed reality and hasn’t experienced much of the world. But she knows the conflict well, even if she’s blindly reacting too much to see it at that moment, she’ll get it eventually. Try to be understanding of her.” “I shall try sire, but I too will make mistakes.” “That is fine, as long as you learn from them and do not repeat them.” “Yes, sire.” “Then you have my blessing, tomorrow I will put it in writing. For now let me rest.” “Thank you, my lord.”

She exits the bedchamber, closing the doors behind her.

-

I can hear the hooves of a charriage in the distance. I sprang from our bed thinking it’s my lover returning, and exit the door as it pulls up. The princess descends from the carriage and hugs me. I step back from the gentle impact of our bodies. She looks at me, and I am startled as I look at her. She says, “I’ve missed you so” as she leans in and kisses me. I do not respond nor even kiss her back. However, I do not pull away. Lips pressed, mine without warmth she pulls away. With attitude in her voice she says, “I was a fool to allow room for another to enter my bed and claim it as their own.” She looks at me, my gaze is remorseless … cold … as if she doesn’t even exist.

“Do you hate me?” “I do not.” “Then, do you love me?” “…” “I still am in love with you. I have never given my heart, mind, nor body to another … they are still yours. I am still yours.” “…” She turns away. “Tell me that you are still mine.” “…” She sits, in silence. “Then I shall take you from her.” “Are you without honor?” She stands hastingly, “DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF HONOR IN THE FACE OF LOVE.” She sits and says, “I’m sorry.” “I am not.” Taken back she pauses and says, “I’ve painstakingly waited for the day where I could be by your side, it hurts so to see you not want me there.”

“I have fought countless battles, day upon day for so many years that I no longer count. For so long, that at times I even forget what I am fighting for. Fighting just because war was all I knew and love was nothing more than a distant dream. I’d respond to women with adversion subconsciously. Without even questioning why. Without doubt. Without waivering. I fought the fight with passion. Snuffing out lives like a moth lost in the flicker of a candle, and when there was nothing left to give … I bled my bones and fought with my hardened marrow as my blade, fighting for a death which would not quench my blade’s thirst. A lonely death that I longed for, I gave others the fortune which was not granted me.

You see me as your life, I see you carrying a sickle.

Though forgive me for not bleeding for you now. I dripped my last drop when you couldn’t hear it’s echo.” “I am angry, but know that your actions were just. I cannot begin to fathom what you have faced, and understand your anger with me.” “I am not angry.” “You are not?” “No, nor am I bitter. I am merely blank. Maybe you remain somewhere caged in a space I can no longer reach.” “Will you give me the key?” “I do not even know if such a thing exists.” “Then I will forge one with my skin.” She lovingly kisses me, and as she does so I can literally feel my heart tear … as we fall back onto the bed.

Yet, I did not deny her. However, I did not give myself to her either. We did not make love, we fucked. Purely, carnally as such that romance would be an antonym. Then somewhere in the space between she and I, there was a sigh which combined with a moan to be delivered directly upon my ear with her lips to my lobe … which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The kind of moan only a woman who’s given herself to someone … wholely could utter. In that moment, I felt her embrace. Completely. Thoroughly … and it shook me to my toes. I paused and looked into her teary eyes, and could see myself knowing that truly all she saw was me.

I will not deprive her of ‘our’ desires.

She can see herself in my eyes, and she smiles as I kiss her deeply. I push into her entirely and she welcomes me, accompanied by her throaty moan. Though not a grunt … soft, intense, almost bellowing. After our body’s trip down memory lane, we laid there in exhaustion … and pass out like narcoleptics. Somewhere in the twilight she arises, kisses me bye as I’m still unconscious, and returns to the palace … where at the steps my lover awaits after hearing the hooves clacking and echoing throughout the palace halls in the night’s silence. The princess passes her, and stops a few feet after her. Their backs facing each other she says, “I bedded him.”

The look on my lover’s face is as one who’s hurt but trying to push past it. Trying to be understanding of it. The princess continues, “you may have saved his life and retaught him how to live, but I saw his eyes. The void in them, so I reminded him … who he was that he forgot, and healed him like you could not. This man that you ‘love’, ask yourself ’should I have not? and if you were I would you have?’” “I don’t know, and yes.” “Now we are equals in love.” She continues to her bedchamber. My lover sits on the steps, like a tomboy in a dress. While the moon oversees her digression.

Barbarous called her Celestialis
she and princess Epiphanie.

The Reality.

The other day I was having a conversation with Danielle and in it I conveyed something that I usually do not. So I wanted to openly convey this since it seems to lead to many misinterpretations. I told her that because I am a public and community-oriented person, my personal space is never just my space. As such, I am selective about whom I truly let into our space. Despite that exclusiveness, I’m not really exclusive. I’m willing to interact with anyone that can tolerate me. Simple. From a white Supremist to a Quaker family (which I have literally done). However, that does not mean “I will try to interact with everyone.”

I absolutely will not, I do not like to waste my time. I barely acknowledge people … I let my intuition to guide me in that regard. Although I am willing to interact with anyone that can tolerate me, it does not mean everyone I know would be willing to interact with them also. Due to me being the protective type, I am considerate of those who’s personal spaces also happens to be my own. To put it into perspective, would you invite just any random person off the streets into your house? I would, and have done so. I’ve let complete strangers spend the night. I’m a public person and my house is insignificant to me. My home is another story.

Home is wherever my heart is, and my heart is always with those I care about. Home can be in McDonald’s. I won’t even invite a random person to McDonald’s if someone I care about will be there. I will anally make sure they won’t truly rub the person wrong … long before they ever interact with them. If I think they’re someone that a large percentage of my friends would like, then I’ll “truly” invite them into my home without them ever even asking me to or indicating that they want it. I’ll even push them to my friends. “Check out this person who I met the other day, I think you’ll like them.” Nine times out of ten if they are someone who caught my attention first, they probably caught my attention with someone else in mind. Since I am generally a “we, us, our” oriented person.

I interact with significantly more people than anyone I know in real-life does, I average 15,000 new interactions per year (that does not mean mere encounters). 6,000 of them are in depth. Yes, I keep track … I’m anally organized. That’s about 16 new non-superficial interactions per day, if I did it every day. The fact is, I don’t. I actually average about 40 new non-superficial interactions each day that I do interact with people, which is about three days a week. I filter through people at a very high rate. I’m pretty positive I interact “in depth” with more people than most people do. So please don’t confuse your desire to be private as me desiring privacy.

As a group, “we” are exclusive. As an individual, I am not.

Get it? Got it? Get it? Good.

The Thought.

“Life begets war … and war begot civilization.”

I was watching an anime, and those words stated reverbrated through my brain. I found it so profound that I even rewound it and replayed it a few times, as it racked havoc with my mind. It’s like a situation which involves a chicken and an egg. Where even if you retrace the steps to the dawn of man in order to understand, and perceive the collaboration … you’re still left to ask, “but is that really civilization?” If you take it even further, you might be left to ponder “can we only be civil after we fight?” That just doesn’t seem right. Right? … Right?!?! Yet, oddly enough it’s accurate and makes complete fucking sense. Leaving me only left with …

“What the fuck is wrong with us?”

We have fucking issues. Though please excuse me for my misuse and abuse of the term ‘fuck’. Actually, no … fuck that, and you if you have a problem with this shit. Reality can be harsh, so excuse me while I rape and fuck you for a bit. What is the purpose to life? *points finger at you* What is the point to your life? Many would say, to be happy or some other cliche bullshit. I like to believe something simpler, yet infinitely more complex. To have sex, lol. Nah, wait … actually … yeah. To me the purpose to life is to simply live. That doesn’t just mean “live, simply.” It means to live however you seem or deem fit, whatever it entails, and learn from it … or not. It’s more complex because it leaves various tangents, angles, rights, and lefts … as such you’re really still left with no direction.

So that’s anti-productive to most who ask the question.

Since they want something definite and clear, a purpose to which a focused point can appear. A goal to reach, something to achieve … seeking some motivation just so they can keep … going, fueled by a dream. They fight for causes, rights, even life itself … because if they didn’t have those things to fight for they wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with themselves. So life becomes a singular view, even if you are doing something different. The structure’s still the same, because of our brains. The sheep follow the leaders, and the leaders are driven to move forward with a fucking staff in hand … and flock en tow. That is the standard. So … regardless of if what you’re doing is different from the next, you’re still a fucking mess.

Does that make sense?

Or are you rejecting it? Refusing to accept it like some spoiled child? Are you pouting? Did you chalk it up to just be my perception? If you did, then we are waging war. So give me a sec while I slap you again, and maybe … just maybe we can then be civil. Did you miss that? Were my hands too fast? Did you get that? Do you get this? It is my intention to offend you … even . if . I . do . not. Especially if I do not. Though I imagine some are instead thinking that my head’s so big my feet point skyward, and my body rocks when I try to move. Aren’t you? … Are you now? lol. *says underneath his breath* Fucking sheep. Ladies and gentlemen, I am your herder for the day … so line the fuck up, and please … please … pay a-fucking-ttention.

Or else, you might miss it.

I’m gonna smack you til you’re stupid. Til you don’t know what to think. Until the only letters left in your name that you still remember are … A … L … I. You don’t really want to be happy. If you think you do, you’re fucking wrong. If you can perceive reality then you’ll know it to be a fact. Your actions prove it. Your desire for unhappiness is the reason why you’re sensitive, or conflict. You are unable to accept things, and that inability is the reason why you’re miserable, because you want to be unhappy. If you didn’t you’d change it. Your desire for unhappiness, is the very reason why you wage war. Though, it’s not your fault right? The other person was saying hurtful things, right? If they didn’t say it then you wouldn’t be hurt … right? Right. However …

if you didn’t fight it you wouldn’t be hurt either.

If you didn’t perceive it the way you did, you wouldn’t be hurt either. A man can drop a pencil and someone might be offended. “You tried to trip me didn’t you? How could you do that to me?” Whining, like fucking babies. You bitch, you moan, because you’re a fucking baby. It’s all in how you immaturely interpret it. It’s always their fault … right? You put the blame on the other person because you do not want to control yourself. You do not want to end your own misery at that moment. Your ass is so weak and unable to cope with shit that you cry about it or avoid it. Though no matter what your reaction or the tactic you use to reject things … you are still rejecting it. You are still fighting. Maybe you think you’re just giving another perspective. You’re still conflicting. Maybe you perceive yourself to be building.

You’re still conflicting.

Any time you reject something, anything … you are fighting. Everytime you run away, you’re avoiding. Oh, you like to say “walk away” don’t you? Or better yet, “not bothering.” I bet you think that makes a difference. Pffft, it’s the same fucking shit. It doesn’t matter if you move fast or slow, if it’s not to … then it’s fro. The direction is still the same. You can try to manipulate it til you’re blue in the face. Use whatever excuse you need to delude yourself that it’s different as you over complicate it. That’s fine. However, must you run away, must you walk away, must you not bother? I imagine that while you’re doing that you may perceive someone like me to be the negative one, as you take the pessimistic perspective. Even the things that offend you means you took the negative perspective at that moment. I imagine you’d think I’m the one being complex, but aren’t I trying to simplify your biases and relative perceptions? You’re the one with more categories aren’t you? The one with the various choices instead of just one. I’m not as complex as you, I just might understand what you do but may not see.

Can you be still?

If most people were to be, once again … they wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with themselves. Which is why they seek movement instead of serenity. Which is why you seek passion, happiness, and all of the other things which come with a negative … while trying to avoid what’s left, like that’s even fucking possible. Literally trying to perform miracles, and I’m just sitting watching it. You’re fucking crazy. Which is why you’re reading this, right? Out of your fucking gord … you masochist you. If you want to be happy, why are you putting yourself through this? Live your life however you deem fit. Here’s a lollipop before you go, no hard feelings … k? If you’d like, I’ll even tuck you in and read you a bedtime story before I kiss you goodnight. Actually, nah … fuck that … take your ass to bed.

-

Now that the kids are away, the grown folks can talk and play. To the rest of you, I have four letters for you … o … r … g … y. Just, no niggas grabbing my ass, k? K. Even sadness, is happiness. If you don’t agree, understand I told you I would fuck you til you are stupid. By definition happiness is fortune, it’s luck, it’s an agreeable condition. When you’re sad, you want to be sad … or else you’d change it. Therefore, when you’re sad you got exactly what you wanted. That is fortune. Though wait, peep the implications. “Those who seek happiness, are already happy but they do not realize it.” Though wait, let’s take a trip in the time machine. “You are unable to accept things, and that inability is the reason why you’re miserable.”

Isn’t it ironic that your inability to accept your own “happiness in sadness” fuels your sadness itself? lmfao. You really want to be miserable don’t you? Though what does any of this have to do with anything? You fight, simply because you’re alive. People that “avoid” conflict, do not want to transcend. It’s okay to accept where one is and stay there, that’s fine. However, it’s only through fighting that one can truly learn how not to fight. It’s only through running that one can truly learn how not to run. It’s only through being miserable that one can truly learn how not to be miserable. So it’s only through war, that civilization is spawned. Though what is civilization? A couple is sitting across from you, and they are talking … calmly. She smiles, he laughs, curiously you ask them how long they’ve been together … they say, they just met. You’re amazed at the chemistry between them. It seems as if they’ve been together for years.

Are they being civil?

You have another couple who is fighting, yelling at the top of their lungs at each other. Are they being civil? If your answer wasn’t yes to both questions, first … you’re still fighting. Second, you have no clue what it is to be civil. Something which is civil is a point of measurement in “comparison” of two events. The dawn of man, wild times, peaceful times. The latter being civilization. It is an organized progression. War is not only organized, it’s also a progression. A couple which is fighting is also progressing. It is also accurate to say that civilization is the result of war (if the people survive that is, lol). Therefore, it’s only “after” a couple fights that they can ever be civil with one another.

Which is why the only time a person can say “let’s be civilized” appropriately is during a moment of chaos or conflict, or something which is not civilized. It is the result of a non-civilized action. The couple that’s fighting and the couple that’s not, are being civil in exactly the same way. Before you reject it, understand the point … see beyond your biases. Do not fight. See what I’m really saying. One who is civil is a citizen. Both couples have that. Check. Civilization is marked by a progress. Both couples have that, check. At that moment neither of the couples have the result of a conflict, also check. The civilized result is either they walked away, or remain. However, only a couple after fighting that remains are being civilized together. It is then that they are civil, for they are citizens in each other’s domain.

That new couple?

Oh, they’re still checking out each other’s papers trying to gain true admission. The new couple could never be civilized in a manner that everyone else isn’t already civilized at all times. Therefore all of those civilized points are moot and null, because in all situations they exist. The only couple that’s different … is the couple that fought and survived together. However, most people aren’t civilized enough. They aren’t mature enough. Hence all of the previous perceivable belittling. If you managed to make it this far, then you are one who desires to be still. Even if you do not consciously acknowledge it. Even if right now you seek happiness. Being civilized is the act of transcending. The point to life is to transcend, even if you don’t believe in reincarnation and the stages of life. Even if you go through something and desire to not learn from it, you still learn from it. You still progress, even if you regress. People just can’t see beyond their biases and relative perceptions. However, the person who walks backwards is still moving forward.

Are you still with me?

Cool, then let’s elevate again. But first empty your pockets, you’re carrying too much weight. Discard your dreams, your goals, your points, your biases, your defenses, your pretenses, and all of the rest of the bullshit baggage you carried even though the sign said “only two bags”. Actually, you know what? Fuck that sign, you’re not bringing shit with you on this trip. Get rid of all of it. Are you done? Cool, now what do you do next? Wtf, don’t look at me. You tell me. Smh, don’t look at them either. What do you do with your life? What do you have left? What would you do today if the dream for tomorrow suddenly vanished? Would you dream of something else? At what point in time do you focus on and appreciate what you have? Or is even what you have an illusory dream? How much do you want? How much does it take to please you? Are you answering my questions? If not, then answer them … I’ll wait.

- Prasand J.

Do you get it?
If you don’t then you just wasted your time.
If you do get it, and my dream didn’t sit well with you
thanks for letting me fuck you.
Though re-read it and transcend your conflict once again
by asking yourself “can I only wage war or run away?”
Then tell me if you perceive the dream differently.
It’s … the greatest love story I’ve ever written.
Can you see it?

Be happy … Peace / Gone.

I had an interesting dream just now. For some, this may be unsettling or even disturbing. However, give it a chance. As my dreams usually go, it was primarily in third person but switches between points of view. Though unlike previous depictions I will not reflect those switches much. This entry is not about passion, but perception.

–

The Setting:

I was living in Japan again. Finally moved back there to complete my training, as I’ve said I would like to. My apartment, an elongated five tatami room with what appeared to be newspapers, magazines and other haibutsu overflowing it. There was only enough room around the kotatsu for me to do my pushups, and situps. Definitely not enough to practice advanced kata.

The room was rectangular, with the doorway opening off center … mostly to the left. The larger part of the room was to the right as you walk in, with the kotatsu sitting in the middle. A small circular fluorescent light above the kotatsu barely illuminates the room. To the left (opposite of the kotatsu) was the terebi propped up by magazines. To the right (behind the kotatsu) was a small sink and full-sized refrigerator to the left of the sink. It was a dingy white, slightly rounded, a heavy metal antiquated machine. The rice cooker sat on the counter between the sink and refrigerator. The floors outside of the apartment were also tatami.

The Dream:

A woman approaches my door. I do not remember what she looked like; only that she was beautiful and I know her. For me, faces and identity tend to be lost in prophetic dreams like this. She’s wearing business attire. A dark grey tailored knee-length skirt with a slit in the back, skin-toned stockings, a light blue button down shirt with three-quarter length sleeves and unbuttoned cuffs flipped up once. Her shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing her neckline and cleavage. Her hair is in a frayed bun held up by a chopstick. She kneels in front of the door, knocks, and waits for awhile before entering without a response.

She slowly slides the solid door open, and she sees me sleeping on the bare tatami floor, facing the left in a slightly fetal position with my feet towards her, wearing a white t-shirt and light grey shorts. She steps around me, around the kotatsu, and goes to the sink. She fills a kettle with water, and places it on the hotplate. Then she goes and kneels in front of me, bends down and kisses me to awaken me from my slumber. I wake up and find myself laying with a naked woman, on the bare floor, covered only by a sheet.

WTF!?!?

I mentally replayed what happened before I passed out. I was working out strenuously, training so hard that beads of sweat collected on my skin. Tired, I came back to my room shirtless … and did a few backwards handstand pushups. I then literally hit the floor from exhaustion, and passed out. I didn’t remember anything which happened in between, almost as if I was running on auto-pilot or something. My movement provokes her awakening. Propped up by her right hand, the side of her right breast can be seen between her arm and side from behind. She looks over her right shoulder at me and says, “Oh, you’re finally up.”

My jaw hits the ground, thinking “OMG!! Her!?!? When?? How?? WTF!??” She says, “You know, you take grouchiness to a whole new level” … and proceeds, “I knew you weren’t awake the moment I saw how you reacted.” “How did I react?” “You responded in kind by aggressively grabbed my waistline, pulling me against you, and deeply kissed me while I was still in shock.” “…” “There was too much testosterone in your actions. Not your usual courteousness, completely voracious.”

Calmly I say with my eyes closed, “My caring and concern is primarily conscious. So when I first wake up, if I’m still sleeping my considerations and filters do not exist. So I usually tell people to be careful interacting with me in those moments, that the person they know and the person they are interacting with are two totally different people. In that moment I wake up, I will not care about one’s feelings, what they think, their insecurities, defenses, nor weaknesses and probably will hurt their feelings. I will only care about the person I was holding as I slept.” (the previous was a true story)

She said, “I liked it.”

She proceeded, “Normally, you’re so concerned with other’s interpretations and so excessively considerate in non-typical ways that I doubt you’re ever truly yourself. Your thoughts, and feelings are always conveyed with extreme honesty but you never truly express.” “?” “I mean, you’re so occupied with stating what or how you think and feel, but don’t actually express those things. For example, you say you’re mad but rarely ever actually express that anger. Only a few people can get you mad enough that you actually yell. However, all of those lesser times are all bottled in. It’s one thing to be a happy person that never gets mad, and to be a person that gets angry but never expresses it.”

“I release those in other ways.”

“Yeah, you let go of the anger or vent your frustrations through your training, and meditation … but it only partially helps. You end up with an overwhelming amount of passion, without anger, or sadness and therefore no typical way to release it. Which builds up until you flatline, and can no longer feel anyone’s passion or warmth, because you literally cannot take anymore. You merely appease your brain by speaking it, or resolving not to.” “Interesting, never looked at it that way.”

“Training, fighting, and relaxing only appease and release a few types of energy. There is another which can only be released by mutual exchange.” “So in other words, sex”, lol. “You know what I mean.” “Of course, interaction is interaction and regardless of how one interacts with another they are sharing energy … be it sexual or not. It just happens that due to social psychosis ’sex’ is the time we release, exchange, or share the most mutual energy. However, one without taboo, less insecurities, or fear can release an equal amount through other means.”

Her, “your release was sexually, and your taboo or fear was sex itself … because of your recent issues with intimacy.”

Me, “Ironic. Waitaminute, why did you come here?”

Her, “I came to talk to you about a project I thought you might be interested in.”

Me, “and essentially got raped.”

Her, “more like devoured”, lol.

Me, “why didn’t you stop me?”

She softly says, “my body wasn’t listening to me.”

As she described what happened, my brain filled in the gaps. Like, how she asked me to stop, but was physically pulling me closer. I relived the dream, inside of the dream … in fragments. Scenes interjected by her words. She said, “and when you ripped off my stockings.” I interrupted, “and you said, ‘just don’t come inside of me.’” Her, “yeah.” “Did I?” “Yes, ten times.” I was amazed by that, because I know that anything over three times usually begins to hurt … so ten times is a bit unfathomable. Though I merely said, “wow”, got up and poured her some tea that was still warming on the plate.

I sat opposite of her, in the small space between the sink and the kotatsu. As she basically crawled to the table naked and physically drained, I remembered her hands and thighs pulling me in deeper when she felt me about to climax. I said, “but you wanted me to.” “Yes, but no. Like I said, my body wasn’t listening to me. I can’t afford to have a child at this moment in my life.” *puzzled expression on his face* “No, I’m not ovulating.” *an internal sigh of relief, but then an expression of slight disappointment* “I don’t have the time to manage a child. So I’d like for you to be considerate and not train so hard while I’m ovulating.”

I think to myself, “What’s this? Is she saying what I think she’s saying?” Still a bit confused, I simply comply, “okay.” “With you, I won’t take birth-control and won’t ever deny you. I’ll bear our child, but understand that at this rate we’ll end up having more children than we can possibly afford.” I laugh and say, “women and their practicality at familial matters.” She laughs and retorts, “men and their inability to think in moments when overcome with passion.” “Touché.” “One’s body needs more rest than their mind, but with you … your training is so taxing on your brain, that when you do it excessively your conscious thoughts shut down. You even purposely do so in your as you call it ‘detox meditation’ technique.”

She pauses, then continues, “I’ll take care of your desires, be them physical or not. So lover, rest easy.” *as she straddles me, and places her arms around my neck (elbows on shoulders) she jokingly adds* “but ten times is a bit much. I felt like I was going to die at around the fifth time. I’m not as strong as you mentally, I don’t think I can keep my sanity experiencing that too often, and I refuse to be your sex vegetable.” Me, “Okay. I’ll meditate on it and instill some sort of preventative from letting that happen ‘too’ often.” Her, “uhuh@too … though for our first time, it was great.” *we laugh, and kiss*

–

So now I sincerely ask. What did you see? If you submersed yourself, what did you feel?

- Prasand J.