Dear Secret

In the era of influencers and accessibly techno-aristocratic sensationalism, I understand better the sentiment of "Hello, You."

The Taurean narrator enunciating gravelly dialogue to the curious and irrevocable

In addition to the highly stratified, superficially diverse array of vloggers and streamers depicting gaming and supernatural measuring worlds, dawns a new wave of 'educators', aesthetically intersectional being their brags to riches.

I feel tugged, reassuring refreshing voices of the rule-oriented unfortunately surrounded by affluence, and those liberating at least in appeal but caring very little the details beneath and between the nomenclature.

I have a much greater appreciation of my psyche envisioning spending the rest of their days hermit-ting in habitude at a woodland cottage firstly daresay foretold at five years old at said portrait in a family friend's home, humble abode depicting humble abode.

Ironically, the physical activity I desire to express and exchange most dearly I find clearly within the right and wrong hands.

I see my appreciation for conflict of returning to where and whence incessantly churning.

Thank goodness, my body brought me back home, jaw relaxed and exhaled sedating air, eyes sleepy, existence warm and dreamy.

Beautiful soul, beautiful play on words, you are the nineteenth person I knew to bellow and follow, you are my body and warmth saying yes, every green flag in the book, substance greeting substance.

I just, can't help, but see through the specifics and know when charades benefit from a generality listed multifold.

My gut viscerally warned me with a jarring night-vision of Savannah disrupting my train of thought, or rather adding.

Why I do I want to rat you out when I've already concluded that what I already previously worst feared for myself, out of nowhere.

The beauty is in your substance, the layers in which you try to appreciate many aren't the most accurate, but they're there.

And that somehow is more exciting, more appealing, warmer, for me.

Have I finally found truly, glee, in knowing, deeper fine-it-e-s exist, between Madame essentialisme and accurate fine-tuned to a pin, perfectly seeing me, adverbial standard leading to the latter and therefore an undoing, a letting go.

Alors, nous avons um instant qui en parle, des mots de l'Internet, Fr.realvids.com.

I see, now

I see, more

Knowing my rising sign has affinity for our Moon, and seeing the cans of the psyche open as I type or scribble or otherwise let my hands and lips do the talking, finally stopping thoughts in their tracks, loops in their lops.

My focus is finally forward, the gold on Corinthian marble and cockney dialogues and nonchalant polycules.

Alarming when algorithms don't recognize the natural and techno-subconscious assume the unspoken 'alternative.'

I found a happier ally in Joe Goldberg than most professors, colleagues, and kinksters.

For once, although delusional-l-y obsessive, it was not about oneself.

The bigger picture was vastly and effortlessly appreciated, his wisdom whether conveyed in murder or the arts of truly helping people made me feel happy to be alive, whimsically saying 2018 meant bi/pan/etc. and years later exposed a promising future, the death of paradigms and loyalists refusing to acknowledge the desire for trans people.

He was the first time, along with December 28th and every single soul soaking me in friendly or frisky fortitude, that made me happy to be awake.

In honor to and inspiration from Joe Goldberg, a figment of the ever talented and faceted Mr. Badgley. 

When did proper nouns face the scrutiny of autocorrect? 

This is AI museum pieces filled to the brim with racial underpinnings. 

Is it in his succinctly verbose gravelly-ness that his confessions of being complexly problematic, the emphatic adjective a reflection of the paradigm and actions that do not reflect him as a person but rather what needs working through.

Everyone loves an anti-heroic ally, there's greater authentic symbolism.

Maybe I've fallen smitten with another dashing author, capable of spindling blades and wire.

Though the greatest irony, in depicting this trend vividly in remembrance across the perfect crushes societally or geographically inaccessible relatively speaking, is hearing those sculpted and sheared to be closest, rambling on the insistence of self-enjoyment and cutting ties with familial bonds that had no plans of a happy ending.

What they are telling is my eventual story.

The one person by blood who cares along with myself will stay in touch,

The other, will be a removed contact, out of reach willingly.

Laughter will greet me, as I had every fiber and strand of follicle material stand in glee, knowing my deed is done.

I had taught myself the talk long before so my parents didn't have to, one rad-ly a prude, the other, well, would proclaim about imagination over pornography, even though contemporarily skimming a fair share weekly, even though I at the time was well acquainted even within a year of beginning, like playing the piano.

Like Joe, Professor Goldberg, like any mental projector, the neurodivergent mind within a craving and fulfilled body, they preferred the lonesome flat, a bed all to themselves, a pizza just for thee.

I briefly felt it right to add that on November 1, 1986, the introduction of long sought character Joe Goldberg and etc. aliases is the Taurus archetype's mirror, though not necessarily, let alone generally complementary.

Alas, where was I, oh yes,

December 31st, 2024; minutes gathering three quarters past noon, and every fiber is telling me to skulk into an all-terrain living space, as my safe and sound bus ticket to the promise land.

But then, I remembered, my community is finally waiting for me, just over the hill. The first time in ages since I've felt joy with people, truly laughing with the absurd and whimsical.

Additionally, I was gathering, whether this hesitancy of the majesty of kink I'm complexly experiencing gratitude, honor, and desire all at once in passing, was merely overthinking or reading more to corroborate the bliss I'm feeling from everything from days then through today and days then.

Then I remember, extinction bursts are a sign that gnawing is usually more than not another form of apprehension trying to portray itself.

I need to write about, you.

------- Inspired by the mires and musings of a fictitious character translating to parts or part being seen warmly by me.