The Chestnut Tree Cafe Blog by Ick R Us
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This is no place for the faint of heart or the wicked in deed. No cowards with guns, no bunker warrior urban repressors. No hostel for lovers nor sanctum for pilgrims. No preaching of holy-thou's or prophets of greed. Here there be monsters in form of fire and fall. Here there be redemption in the sollice of a moonless balcony Waiting for its inagural leap. May the Recluse song bring you the dull ache of the broken. In spirit in heart in promise and word. Come now to the cardhouse catastrophe of my ascension. Where we burn alone, and fall without fear.
The kind that matters, not for this silly internet popularity contest. That means I need to make a trip... soonish. I missed another great moment today too, nothing beats the excitement of being present for a child being born, or say giving someone a "just because you make my life better" present face to face. But its always great to get that enthusiasm at least secondhand. More on these topics, more poetically, later For now I'm just riding two high points, and actually getting ready for bed Lonely as I am I think I'll be in better company tonight. When I'm a rich man I'll give you diamonds When I'm a happy man I'll give you my love. And to Mackenzie: don't worry, I won't call you mac and cheese around your friends and Your parents love you very much... even if they are pretty damned clueless. I guess that's why I'm in the equation Looking forward to all your firsts, and being a part of the great adventure ahead. -Love Arthur.
This way to my last dance My last open jar of remedy and mirth. Fresh out, nothing left to share. There was a boy here, onyx eyed, copper haired he left with the first whisper of spring on to what promised to be finer, more real things. The promise was a dream, a home, a life, a love sweet smelling green fields, salty flavored kisses, and a menagerie of pleasures, gifts pure-divine, some sweaty and mundane. The lie fell through swiftly. In all the time it took to build love, children, forever- it was swept away like toyhouses of sand. These little... precious gifts, these shards of promises glinting like starlight in his palms. There is no one left to protect. Only this shining dust falling innocently from a young man's hand. All these fragile, precious gifts, tokens of a happy life. Shattered, profaned, and discarded. Without my consent, with my knowledge. Sealed now in a matrimony of lustful misdeed and willfull dishonesty. To the happy couple: May we all someday find what we truly deserve.
I didn't get laid today, or start a new relationship I didn't pay my bills, or buy a new game I did however start today with a new project from a dream. I liked it, I'll write more about it when my computer is back up. It was one of the few projects I've started where I said "hey, I'd actually read this". That's always a good place to start from. I even outlined the whole book which is unprecedented for me. My clothes are tumbling in the dryer, my heart's in my throat after once again nudging one of my favorite people and asking her why we're not going out, they're inducing labor for my god daughter in about 3 hours, and I've finally decided what to do with my damn PC. Could it be better? Immensely. I could be making love to my favorite goddess while being hand fed olives and drinking ambrosia from a gold chalice, its still a damn sight better than yesterday's shenanigans. Tomorrow's busy, hideously busy, and I'm quite infatuated in a quite impossible situation. Nothing to do but to carry on bravely.
a combination of reasons really. My ex got married to the guy she cheated on me with. Why did I even check? I knew already... I guess today I wanted to feel. I need to leave the city start over, find what I never knew I was looking for rageout, fuck a stranger, love a friend something drink drop breathe something...right? My toast was stuck, I did this to myself with my favorite fork Its not even her, she's just a metaphor, an avatar. Its that for all my grand works my brave noble deeds and intentions I will always be undeserving I will always have failed at that crucial insurmountable moment. I'm not going to stop. I will fail again. I will be injured in pride duty and body but I will not yield. I might not be able to stop save change or help but I won't stop trying. Its a combination of faith profession vision and mission aligned and in crisis despite my best efforts and patience. There before me is the idol of my hated antithesis in prosper as I toil in the muck of the so-named good fight.
Just for today I'm the cubicle bogeyman. My snatch sack over your head rag bandages and distilled terror on my finer points. I'm hiding under your desk right now maybe snacking on forgotten granola bar crums, staring at those dainty panties you wore two days in a row Questioning the wisdom of you never checking under the desk. Obsessing Dripping grinding with anticipation... All that silky flesh snuggly crammed into nylon mesh... Its almost like the scent of nightshade or staring into the sun. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Free refills, today only. But nothing to hold it in. Oh the bad things I'm going to do today- When you're not looking when you feel safe. The odd, wet, tingling sensations I'll feel today... as I wish feverishly for you to share them. That peculiar madness of danger dancing over your loins, with those fingertips of seductive flirtations under the desk. Like a hot caramel apple, still oozing from the dredge. Like so many long slow licks against firmament.
I'm a sucker for narrow eyes and short hair on girls with little to no tattoos, who COULD wear pink hair but don't feel the need to. I like Deborahs. No need to call them downers. They can still fuck, and what's better is a Deborah can help you balance your checkbook, and know which fork to use at a 4star. Starting to see the appeal here gents? No? More for me then.
I think I caught some damn fool's flu. And I know just the damn fool. Like it matters. That's not why I've brought you all here today. And its not to kill superman. ... this time. No, I've gathered you all here because every fucking thing hurts, and I really don't care. See, I was thinking about this while I was looking at the faces in my parent's 1/2 bath door. The wood grain looks like a thousand tormented mortals trapped, pressed, and sliced sandwich meat thin in some sort of frozen window into hell, I thought gee there's a poem right there. But really, I can't write anything worth a shit til I get paid, get fucked, and get coffee. I know. I'm being quite a prat about the whole issue, but really, I'm just not in any mood for spiritualism, feigning sophistication and all the other bullocks that falls out of my head when I'm actually inspired. It can't be helped. I have a fulltime job, and a notime lover. Madness really. And what about my innevitable trek into grad-school? What then? Will there be blowjobs and wild parties there? Trips to europe and saucey whores in amsterdam? No. Dear gods no there will be no such thing. I haven't the money or the time. So what does it all mean? Am I retiring? Hanging up my quills? Or just protesting, like a limb flinging three your old? Really I don't know, but I've come to discover something about my oft misunderstood pissiness. I like it. It is me. And every once in a while, everyone needs to fuck off, and let me be mad. I don't really feel like fixing it this time. No deep meditation, no introspection or "fixing the problem" the problem is I need a good shag, and some fucking money. I work hard, I'm a good lay, and a self righteous prick. But hey- haven't you ever had a bit of chocolate after a nine hour day? Ever stopped at the bar and had a cocktail because "god damn it, you deserved it"? Then don't start getting off telling me how to get off and get over this blah. It's not just hormones, its a fucking sense of entitlement. I've given up huge pieces of me. And for what? Bragging rights? Balderdash. I just want some fucking reciprocal passion in my life, some equality, respect. I want my life to have a more complex flavor. Banana ice cream is great and all, but wouldn't it be great to sprinkle on some pecans, drizzle a smidge of chocolate- and by god have it hand cranked by someone else for once? That's a pun y'know. Yes, I'm terribly lonely, yes I'm terribly horny, and yes I'm... just tired. It's alright to be in tune with your humanity once in a while. Some of our greatest artists were dreadfully aware of it, and ... went bonkers, but not before publishing some extremely intriguing/vulgar things. I don't see the problem. This doesn't mean I'll stop, or even drag my feet. We all want to be adequately rewarded for our work. But the mark of avarice would be to stop, learn nothing, trash everything, and get a business degree. I'm not even really asking for that much. All things need love. All men need full stomachs. The book series, millions of dollars, and my name carved in history are all just a wonderful aftertone. I don't even have the necessities. Just my pride, my passion, and my ever deteriorating mind, body, and spirit. I'm not meant to age on a shelf. I should be enjoyed everyday. To the last drops, to the bitter pulpy dregs.
What do you give a man that has everything? What do you say to one that has nothing to lose? I need a new world to burn. Not a world of paper, ink and thought something to abort, annihilate and bathe in the ashes. I want to warm my fingers by the tailblaze, whistle a happy tune, and erase another civilization. Burn, burn, burn. Not engulfed but empowered. Warm fingers of light enclose me as I wish upon another spark. Burn burn burn. Until the skyline is free, and acid becomes synonymous with rain. The orange glow on the horizon will fade and I will wander this earth alone a sea of grey and ruin my only companion the best anyone could ask for.
I'm not wearing socks today. Cuz that leads to shoes shoes lead to grocery stores military service, and any myriad of bullshit tasks and cornucopias of busy work. No socks, no watches, In one fell swoop I have eliminated both time and task. All for a dream a burning sensation in the mind. There's no cream for that y'know... Just a righteous wrist and mind's eye set to fingertips. Still sends shivers up my back. Butterflies down my pants. Red phantom lips across my body. Ah what it is to be infatuated with college educated women of independent means with sophistication class, and tenacity dedication, and soft, silent completely missable sensuality that is unless your eros-fevered brain wraps silk and frills around her hips places your favorite perfume on her thighs and just for the fun of it, we garment her in an apron featherduster and demicup corset her alabastor chest heaving with each round on the brass pole Her knees flicked effortlessly to her cheek a jaunty corsair smirk each time our eyes meet. ah what it is to be infatuated and asleep. wait wait wait... lose the stripper pole lose the corset and apron now this fantasy is going somewhere...
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