Butterfly sex

It happens that the past holds beautiful moments and its images will only fade if we let them. So in order to let the beauty ring we pronounce its name under the bridge or inside a cave.

Orwell reminded me of the nature of time. Time will always remain constant and it will always have control over us, a kind of influence that will kick our butts. The older we get the more in a hurry we are and the more anxious we become, and we pay less attention to things. It’s not until we are old bags – seniors! – that we will stop and look at things and learn to appreciate…fuck!
I think I am just pretending to be wise here then.
Well, at least this is how I imagine things to be, but truth is that I imagine a lot of things and I prefer them as part of my imagination because I don’t give them legs, thus… they will never kick me. I don’t like being kicked. I won’t give them arms, either, as I don’t like being elbowed. It’s that simple.

I went into the woods with a friend last weekend to do some exploring. Most of the trees are wounded, sick and bleak but still standing on their feet creating air for me to breathe. I had a little bit of an oxygen overdose, but I needed it. Some trees were ugly…bulimic to be exact. On the other hand there were fat trees as well. It’s strange that I see people in trees, as if I need them so much.

I saw butterfly sex; they didn’t like me watching and got too embarrassed making love in the air. Hmm, making love in the air…

Acorns were falling on my head. This is how you get my attention. This is how you hit on me.

After visiting the woods I slept quite well I must say…after 9hrs of hiking in the forest. Although I did have freaky dreams like little elephants with two trunks and wings swimming under water.
And there was a man eating a hot dog with thick blood on top, which I mistook for ketchup. It turned out I bit into it.
Other dreams you don’t want to hear, but I am sure at some point Dali’s “Metamorphosis of Narcissus” appeared briefly. I cannot refrain from letting a series of dirty thoughts enter my head when I look at the Dali piece (, which is my favorite of his). I mean, where the fuck are the fingers you’re talking about? All I see are a man fucking a woman from behind and she happens to have an egg-shaped head. No, no, she’s not stupid. You want to enter the center of her head and eat the yellow part of that egg, but you won’t ever get there. It’s not that she doesn’t want you to, but she wants to be the first to enter it herself, do you understand?
Weird that my other favorite Dali piece is “In Voluptas”, weird because I don’t see naked women, I see the face of the clown from Rob Zombie’s Devil’s Rejects.
I might not always see much in clouds, but I see a lot of things in paintings, like dirty things, which I don’t really understand. I think I am too disconnected during sex, you are supposed to let the brain go, which I do, but there’s something in me that I cannot connect with (yet).
And you see that’s Ellen’s problem, too, except that I know how she can be healed. As for me, I need to find another way.
Butterfly sex, who knows.
Neurosurgeon.
Elephant trunks.

You think about crazy stuff when numb. Like the other night I woke up and forgot for 2 seconds who I was and where I was. It was two seconds of thrill and some of it is still with me. I felt like I had the power to recreate.

Then I played some Beck music and realized that I was still high from the forest air. I saw two moths, however, not having sex.

No, currently I don’t need to get laid; I haven’t even been touching myself. I’m just hungry for progress and I am working hard on it. And it happens that my imagination conjures up pictures of pleasure, which in real life don’t feel the same as they look, although butterfly sex is a bit of a turn-on.

When moths have air sex they must look beautiful while exchanging colored scales.

Jelly

Maybe it’s a good thing if my body decides that excessive eye lubrication is of obsolete nature. I no longer need it. However, I cannot decide for sure if it’s a good thing or not. It’s either I’ve grown too strong or the level of indifference has surpassed the bucket of my former emotions. They’re all gone.

The jelly has finally grown hard.

During the course of writing (the novel), I was seeking more depth in a book called “The Pattern of Madness” by Symington in order to apply it to my protagonist. The center of our personality is a jelly with no particular form. So if a person says that s/he is a mess, we know we all are. On the inside we are a bunch of fragments with no order whatsoever on how to restore sanity.

You speak of control, but that’s not enough.

You need motivation.
A friend says that motivation is desire. Desire can be a lot of things: greed, attraction, envy, …
Can you prove to me that desire can be of selfless nature?
You seek motivation in order to move yourself forward.
Even Pip, who was motivated by his love for Estella, only went ahead to become a gentleman because he wanted reciprocation. He did it for her, but in the hope of benefitting from it.

My protagonist lives her life based on a lie, and yet motivated by her flaws she is curious whether she could ever come to terms with the past.

This proves that unrequited love can be used as a tool, the excitement lies behind the notion of not knowing – there is only hope. But people will never understand what I mean by that – the art of not knowing but urged by the desire to find out.
You don’t understand.

Anyway, back to the jelly: If you cannot speak for yourself, it means your jelly is gelatinous and vulnerable. Therefore in your life you will work upon hardening and shaping it. There is nothing more to personality.
Let’s take greed as an example. Once you’re driven by greed, you will notice how it rouses you into action. The jelly inside starts to take form and that makes you a person with personality, but not so quick, this is just a part of the whole thing, as we are all preys of the narcissistic condition. The jelly needs a particular desire and if you take greed, you will see that we always “want”.
It’s not a bad thing, unless what we are…who we are is a bad thing.

In fact, I am not too sure about her jelly in the end.

It’s time to check.