you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there
just as cold as you taste

a waif's siren call

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"Finally, from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind."  
Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quijote de La Mancha

I wasn't looking and there she was: inspiration inside a monster truck jumper. A little dangerous waif's siren call that I could not resist. I kept going back facisnated by every little detail and escapade. It's not until I was describing her to my muse that I realized how predictable I am. I respect her recorded sexuality, her honesty or need for attention. Any flaws look like diamonds on her.

I'm trying to sleep, nap, anything that turns me off. I start writing a note. I can't sleep until I crafted it perfectly. I'll never know her but appreciate this fuel, this propulsion I felt from her. I need to write her and thank her. I want to share secrets with her. I want to know all her secrets. The spark gets brighter and I write her a note:  I want to tell you how pretty you are each hour of the day. I want to stop wondering if you are wearing cute underwear and just have you show me. I want to go buy cigarettes for you and come back to you waiting in bed naked. I want to whisper dirty things to you in public. I want to play with your hair while you fall asleep. I want to wake you by going down on you. I want to tell you "guess what? today you didn't cry".

I'm feeding off of Creativity to survive. Each post is a heartbeat. It's how you know that I am alive. I was feeling like I was going to shut down. Inspiration felt like something I could not hold or imagine. The menial ecosystem of life gets in the way and ruins my mood. Nothing is going right in my Life. Not A Single Thing. I have to take a moment and try some mental yoga. I aim to avoid a state of emergency. Make a list of the certainties: I love photography. I love women. I love the fall season.
Sometimes it's so quiet here I feel I'm living like a monk. I want to break the silence in the dirtiest way possible. To rebel against things said about me: "he's very nice", "has high morals", "does the right thing", "one of the reasons I like you as a friend is that you've never tried to fuck me".

I [need] joy. I am not mobilizing to find it though. Something keeps me serene. I [long] for a shoulder to lean on. I need to look beyond these walls. Photography is my moment of zen. This leads to Tumblr, a vortex, a black hole, an eternity of pixels.

 babyskinnyminny 
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