i have no footing

samer gets a taint massage from alexander.

he describes it with childlike glee and wonder . . . so it seems less threatening to me. maybe not entirely consciously, but the survival instinct in him knows.

the facts: he also just got a fantastic massage from a good friend and was giddy to share the news with me. neck pain gone — erotic, connected, safe, dirty.

alexander is physical. very physical. he thrives off intimacy. connection. contact. he lives to please others and their senses. this sustains xan.

& samer wants this. he needs a chaperone into this realm. into a true collective, a fictive family, love beyond labels — community.

they could become best friends.

i dread intimacy.

i must know, accept, and set my boundaries.

i cannot allow you in. you have not earned to be in this space i have offered you. i have to keep you where i need you to be.

i have been too open and honest with someone who does not reciprocate.

i do not have to accept everyone as my equal. it is a lie.

i have to find my own path. and it can’t involve everyone else.

i don’t claim to be right or evolved. simply trying to accept my nature.

there is a continuous story my thoughts and actions tell. and have told.

i am not built to please. i am built to be. if my being pleases, then so be it.

open relationships are insane. probably because relationships are insane.

simply adding more to the mix isn’t going to fix a rotten recipe.

and i am not good at sharing certain things. i am not above falling prey to scarcity.

i need to be most loved, most wanted. i cannot share this.

and i think it is because i have never shared the raw, true intimacy that makes one incapable of questioning someone else. the “i get you so fucking thoroughly” passion that would have to accompany being open. but then perhaps you wouldn’t want to be open. hence the paradox. the rotten recipe.

i am sure others are there. i’m sure their discomfort with it doesn’t cause them to fly off. well, i am not others. i cannot pretend unless i am willing to pretend for some end.

i thought i had reached a bottom floor. a space to reach up from. footing.

nick yoder is getting a divorce.

he is as stuck and deluded as the day we met in college. he cannot stomach an honest look and therefore does not see.

nothing is of comfort.

woe, woe.

i want to become senator. or a famous director/writer/actor/photographer/journalist. whatever it is . . . i need to close myself off from everyone and crack myself open down the middle.

it may prove to be for the enjoyment, pleasure, advancement, activisim, and common good of all, but:

from now it is about me. i am one. i am not part of one. i am one.

it must be me.

no one else can help me or save me or fix me or grow me or prove me or honor me.

i am my stripes. what else can i be?

as is the rest of the world.

now i am a cornered animal.

i am wounded.

this isn’t drama.

this is a reality i can choose to evade for as long as feels necessary.

now i am at the road’s end. i choose what truths fit.

i don’t want to breathe into what is safe. what is safe is what hurts.

the way i explode is not the way samer explodes. or how brendan exploded.

do i want to wake at 40 a loser?

not everyone wins. not everyone is a special snowflake. not everyone is compelling.

these are your facts. your preach things other than your facts. you preach we all are good and worthy and capable and connected and safe.

what are your facts?

you want everyone to win, to feel special, to be compelling and to be compelled.

but that is not the world you see.

your life is doublespeak by the thought police. you are stockholm syndrome. a false prophet.

robert is guarded for a reason.

intimate one-on-one love is not mine to have. i cannot know love like that.

all i can do is be hurt and drive the wedge further into my own heart.

and the heart of others.

i preach and teach that following your own path, getting what you came for, is the answer. watching someone honor this code is painful. and frightening. and animalistic. and chucks me into loops.

samer is set free. he is highly in love with himself and his journey. and he will stop at nothing. he wants his rescue buoy. his pain and confusion runs deep enough it can’t be focused on all the time. he is good at compartmentalizing. who knows what his insides look like.

i’ve lost most interest in finding out. i cannot believe i got here. to this place i cannot name.

he is so incredibly judgmental of me.

he learned from the best.

he has woken to what i have lived.

and now i cannot be with him.

because there is no passion.

and i am afraid of him.

his chastity.

his taking.

the way he gives. the way he honors others. the way he blatantly ignores others. he is very good at subtly asserting his wishes and will. he is getting what he came for. he has built an incredibly safe netting to catch himself with during these initital test flights. and i am too much of the netting.

so there it is: i am not an open relationship person. i am incredulous over this news. devastated really. something beyond sentimentality.

i am also terrible at monogomy.

so single i should remain. a closed being. who sometimes opens wing and invites all under the fold. but then they must leave. they always must leave.

dawn is mine to witness alone.

only how to disengage?

the thought of it is pain. immense fear. to be alone again. to have my own space. to not wake next to him. to wake to a day that is mine. without expectation. except the mountains i place upon myself.

samer will love denver. he will do well here.

i will get this apartment with him. he can afford the rent.

i will try to disengage while living together. i will try to make of him what i feel about the rest. it is my great challenge right now.

disengage my heart from samer. become his friend. see the beautiful little boy i met all those years ago. witness his magic. get out from under the spell.

remaining single — keeping away from base feelings of insecurity, jealousy, and ownership … is my only hope to find peace. to crack the code.

through this i shall birth the greatest projects.

i do not possess the gene to give hour long massages.

i do not possess the gene to slowly seduce someone.

i need relief.

to accept my stripes.

i am a rhetorician.

a politician.

a performer.

a director.

i am not real. i am not loving and soft.

i do not care in the way i claim to care.

i have seen. knowing hardens you.

i must stop pining to be softer than is now beneficial for my tao.

i don’t need anyone making me feel better. only i can do that. and i do that by accepting this.

radical acceptance is freedom is nirvana.

this is my tao.

i am enough for myself. i want to need and want more than i really need and want.

this is what spoils the milk.

it is never them.

it is always me.

i am enough for me. this is a scary proposition.

and it is a necessary maxim to live by, to feel in my bones . . . if i am ever to fully Be Him.

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