Out upon my semi-jog

Out upon my semi-jog.

There are a couple of cats down the street, uncollared and unbathed, a little rough, but at least one is not feral, probably both. They must be getting used to me going down the street. The dark one walked up next to me while I stood there reading, and although I was not able to give it a full petting, I was able to run its tail through my hand. The cat meowed so piteously, reminding me of Sammy, and I worried that the cats might be hungry or in bad need of water, but they look rather full of body, and I know how sorrowful of soul Sammy can be even though he has everything at hand. I imagine that these cats are in the condition that Ash and Willy were in, that is, they have a homeowner who feeds and waters them and has socialized them, but has perhaps not allowed them to come inside the house. If so, I wonder if the cats are at least sterilized. I also wonder, when my cats go out at night, if they meet up with these cats.

Then, at the pond, seated at a park bench, I saw what I take to be an old Asian woman, for her hair was white-grey, but I am not at all sure, because her body was more like thirty and rocking. Big tits and a well-shaped ass that is still mocking gravity, which could be plainly seen because she was wearing skin-tight sweatpants. Moreover, she was jogging with a very impressive stride, practically a full run. I don’t know what to think. I didn’t get a good look at her face, as I only noticed her from the side when she had just ran past me. My libido focused more on the body and on a what fun time she could be. With those tits, I cannot help thinking that she did some time dancing at the clubs, maybe working a full-service massage parlor. Those cannot be naturals.

I think about all the reports about how terrible it is for women to be out and getting harassed with nasty catcalls, and I was regretting that this doesn’t seem to be the case here. It speaks well for the neighborhood and the park, of course, but my nasty streak regrets not at least giving her an audio fucking-over. “Nice tits, bitch! Yeah, work that sexy ass! I bet you like to get fucked! You wanna get fucked!” Jogging besides her and getting a good feel of her ass and under between her legs. “You know you love it, cunt!” “How much money?” “You give massage, yes, sucky-fucky, yes? Twenty dollar?”

This is why I masturbate: to get that dark psychosexual energy out of my system, so that I can be my meek and irrelevant self.

no exit ramp

Pop has only now come out of his room, a good hour behind his regular schedule. I’m not surprised, though, since I know he was up until after five in the morning in his office. It is not unusual for him to be up until three, but he is obviously getting worse.

Mother says, “You really should get serious about getting a job, son. He’s not going to last forever.”

I know. But I think I am pretty much wedded to this destiny now.

“Son, you can have so many good years in front of you.”

I understand. I see no exit ramp from this road, though.”

less wanky is definitely good

I really need to stop wanking right after I take a good shower. But I guess a big part of the problem is that I am now taking my showers, as often as not, after I do my morning workout. The timing just works out this way.

Bo says, “Or maybe you can just stop wanking every day.”

Hey, I’d have you know that I am pretty much down to every other day. I think the everyday wank is finally behind me. My middle-age is finally catching up with me.

“Well, that’s a real big impressive improvement. Jerking it only every other day. My stellar master and human!”

It’s significant. Back in the teens and twenties, it could be a twice a day habit, given the opportunity. Personally, I think I’d rather be younger than less wanky, but I guess it is up to us to seize on the advantages of every situation, along with the downfalls, and less wanky is definitely good. Being almost 50, on the other hand, is not so very good, but there you go!

50... talk about a downfall!

“You’re not going to dwell on that again, are you?”

Nah, I suppose I have played that record enough lately and it could use a rest. But it really does scare me a little. It is an irreversible condition, you know. One never gets better from getting old. It’s terminal. One just eventually dies.

“Sigh. You’re dwelling on it.”

How about a nap? Does that sound good to you?

“Now you’re talking like a sensible creature.”

nervous about letting the cats

I feel nervous about letting the cats out this evening. It looks and feels like rain. There are a few clouds that look pretty angry. But I cannot believe it is really going to rain, or at least do anything more than drizzle for a few minutes. The weathercast confirms my pessimism. I won’t be shocked if the weather starts to get a little interesting, though. Of course, we are also desperate for rain and a good long storm would be worth a few slightly wet cats.

American adaptation of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”

I recorded the American adaptation of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”. The recording got busted up because of our signal problems, but I only wanted to check out the rape scenes anyway. I am surprised and delighted to see that the American version is actually stronger and nastier than the European ones. Maybe that has to do with the fact that the movie follows fast on the heels of the European original. They needed to come out big. And they did. Pretty hot.

Miss Interrupted

Meanwhile, back in La La land, we get a real conversation. Miss Interrupted responds to a post. I guess she would like some comment-action, after all, and is helping to get the ball rolling again. I am more than happy to oblige.

She chose my Sylvia Plath post in which our doomed poet is writing about how good she has it in being in one of America’s finest colleges with some of the nation’s best girls, and cannot understand why she should feel so down.

Miss Interrupted wrote, “I have wondered that myself many, many times. Why am I depressed, when, essentially, I have nothing to complain about? The mysteries of life and clinical depression.”

She does not sound genuinely interested in what I posted and is indeed just trying to regain our little e-connection, which is fine with me. It doesn’t hurt that she is a hot little number.

I wrote, “I think the present-day meme that could go with this is ‘First World Problems’. First World, Third World - we're all humans and we suffer. Some of us just suffer with better electronic goods. ;)”

You can tell that I am a little excited, because this response really is a bit inspired. And I think she would agree with that proposition because she was moved to go beyond the call of duty and to respond again, and gave a pretty inspired comment herself.

She said, “iPhones just make it easier to post suicidal poetry to our LiveJournals. ^_^”

Pi says, “So, you do continue to enjoy little happy flashes of e-live, even with ‘hot little numbers’.”

I suppose, but it is a mere taste of better years gone by. [Monk glumly shakes his head.] But I have to count myself lucky that I had those years at all.

Bo says, “We know, we know! It saved your life. It restored you. Rah, rah, rah!”

[Pi laughs gaily.]

Well, it’s true. It made me feel human and smart again. And if much of that has fallen away again, it was enough to keep me going. It caught me and picked me up at a desperately needy time.

Daimon says, “But isn’t it pretty damning that after accepting you for a time, they should feel moved to drop you, once they got to know you better?”

Heh, it is definitely hurtful. It keeps me humble. But like I said, that little sharing of social life and flirtations carried me over the hump, so that I can find myself in books and in my writing again. I am able to look forward to seeing the next day. I have something I want to do.