Definition by excess, impulse, consumption. A clove in the hand, it's embers fade as I type, a break... To drag slowly, a French inhale, as much a habit as the device itself. Maybe for you it's coffee, sex, food, television, drugs, or alcohol. You can have your nine-to-five, but even on breaks, at work, you are addicted to them. I say them, because it's not one of those things. A mixture, sometimes one just delays the need or accents another. You're thinking about yours right now, but then... You were fifteen minutes ago as well. Unless you're a very slow reader, I'd clock that before you started reading this. You're mouth is watering now though, because whatever they are that define you, even if you have stayed away for years... You're mouth still moistens when you think about them. All are sexually driven creatures, to state it bluntly, these others are sub-definitions, a habit can outlive sexuality, certainly. Even the successful rehabilitation, is just learning what else you can train yourself to do. Exercise, thrill seek... Any extreme, is a diversion from something else, usually the polar opposite, but not always. What is it that quickens your breath? Causes blood flow to increase? What are you missing right now? You can tell me... I have plenty, collected for years, and as I outgrew them, something always had to fill the void. Children, life's one great distraction... To care for and carry on thy seed. Yet, what happens to the soul ripped away from parenthood? A void that needs filling, that can never be met. You can try to get the gods attention, but no matter what you burn through... There's a hollow. Mine has whittled to a simple life of depravation, I try to neither indulge the impulses, or give in to the depression. What kind of human allows ink filled needles to pierce them thousands of times? Hooks in the back or cheeks to be pulled from? Trading in, selling out, settling down. Orange bottles fill that drawer, never thrown away so month by month an account can be shown. I crave hooks, hard sex, and depressants. In fact, I can't sleep without medication, and usually an orgasm. Pornography though blasphemed has certainly made avoiding the strongest of all urges; flesh, the ultimate goal behind your fast cars, and high heels. Lip-stick, Armani, just sex, in pursuit form. Those two minutes after an orgasm, especially for us men... The only time we think clearly, often, shame or regret fill those two minutes, a scramble to cloth ones self, the shame/sin of nudity, or the realization that you lost control.
Now where are we? My clove went out several minutes ago, my palms are already sweating, I don't even want to smoke. It wastes time, which is it's actual purpose, just distraction. Before the day is done, I'll have watched tv, masterbated, eaten, taken medication to calm, and then to sleep. I'll chew on my lip rings, shake my legs nervously. Anxiety, nerves... Huge issues for me. What am I anticipating? What am I expecting? It never comes, it'll be the same strain tomorrow, just to get to the next day, they pass and nothing happens, nothing substantial . Life-altering wow moment where the wait goes away. We're all waiting for it... No matter how well you distract yourself. The ID inside us, primal self, knows it needs something. You can pray away your semen stained sheets, and cover up your bruises, while you wait, disguise habits, while you wait. In every pleasurable moment I've been in, I've known there would be another, or that it was nowhere near as good as one from the past. Meditate and exercise, pray to the fallen, worship whatever deity that helps you waste time. Even if that deity is self. Waste time, or wait. I'm typing while my heart hurts, literally.... This has become my time, typing rapid thoughts, flashes if life I know we've all lived. But I grow tired of typing. What impulse to feed next?