Filibuster Thruster: Ridiculous, Held Hostage by Spastic Word Vomit.

Now, before you take a part in the following ramblings with me, let me introduce myself. I am Triple Lexxx. That is a legitimate nickname that other humans call me, thanks to the adoration of my boyfriend, who bestowed upon me a nickname that can either be for a porn star or a wrestler. I am neither.

I love my boyfriend.

I really, truly love my boyfriend.

Sounds cliche, sappy, gross, romantic, and all of that jazz, but I tell myself this multiple times a day.

Sometimes, I say it because I look at him and my pupils dilate, my heart rate increases, he told a joke that made me snort out an energy drink through my nostrils.

Sometimes, I say it because he woke up early to water my plant that I had forgotten about and he is essentially saving a life.

Sometimes, I say it because I need the reminder in case he is annoying me, which happens when he decides to play his own version of Mad Libs out loud, where he rhymes at me for hours.

He is a unique character. He is one of the most intuitive people I've ever met. Intelligent, communicative, and creative. He is a special soul and I am lucky to be able to call him mine. He is also lucky, as well. We fit very well together and I doubt that anybody else would put up with either of us since we're both chaotic, confusing messes, doing nothing yet everything all at once.

When we are together, time moves at an incredibly quick rate. Our first date, was for 12 hours and we talked the entire time. He'd also met my best friends inadvertently when we wound up at the same bar and they loved him. I don't date and when I do, my friends are not usually fans. I suppose it was what initially caught my attention.

Every moment after that was the same.

Time skipped hours, it did not make sense how it could move so quickly, how we never ran out of words to say, conversations never dulled. One minute, it was 7 pm on a Friday. The next, it was 8 pm on a Sunday, but it felt like it was still Friday night and all we did was talk.

He is a creative type, a musician. He's got musician hands. And believe me, they play more than instruments.

His voice is a melody, his words are a song, and I am his muse.

He has a Kalimba, my favorite instrument. Upon him having a depressive episode, I had wrote for him a short song to be played on the Kalimba in an attempt to bring light to his dark days. He still plays it when he thinks I am not around. I like that my song is his guilty pleasure.

I am also a creative type, a writer. I see words and emotions come alive in the air.

He listens to my spiel and ideas on how books and literature are the most important tool in a person's arsenal, especially against a tyrannical government. My ramblings do not bother him like the guys who came before him. His ramblings do not bother me, either. In fact, I enjoy his wit, humor, engagement, and ability to fit in effortlessly with my close-knit group of friends.

I love my boyfriend.

I really, truly love my boyfriend.

We like to send silly and quickly thought out poems and rhymes back and forth to one another. He likes to play with words. I like to play with words. It is our own version of banter, I suppose. These are shared moments for no one else and that makes me smile.

I love my boyfriend.

I really, truly love my boyfriend.

And I say this because I feel the need to reiterate this as I highlight his innate ability to rhyme at people...for hours. Essentially, he filibusters me and sometimes others. I don't know what he is blocking or debating, but I would like to concede when this happens. He has rhymed at me for 2, 4, and even 6 hours at random periods of time. There is no rhyme or reason. It simply...happens. A train of random rhymes and a thought process that just wants to say words. I want to strangle him when this happens. Or, at the very least, muzzle him.

Do you know what it's like to be rhymed at for hours on end, with no understanding as to why it started and with no ending in sight?

I often find myself ensnared in a filibuster of rhymes, nonsensical, no sense made, and by the time I realize that he has started on this weird tirade, I cannot turn him off. There is no off-switch. He is not voice activated. I cannot change his channel. It often feels as though he is stalling for time, but neither one of us knows exactly why or what is happening. It's as if he diffusing a bomb.

But he does not sing these rhymes. They begin as a normal conversation. You're engaged in a conversation until you realize...none of that made sense...why is he not stopping? Imagine Dr. Seuss if none of his books ever ended.

It's often an abrupt ending, with no satisfying conclusion, like a cliffhanger for a canceled series. I've brought up the filibustering, the weird stall tactic with no real goal before,

"Why do you rhyme at me for hours?"

"I don't know. I tell myself to stop, but I can't, and you just stare at me."

"When I try to talk, you get louder. Soooo, yeah, I just stare."

This must have been his "ON" phrase because the next thing I know,

I hear,

"Ya know,

my only memories involve my enemies...

because I took my enemies and I made the memories...

Made them history.

They told me no one would remember me, ya know?

I'm making history when they told me no one would remember me..."

I sighed. I heard babbling, knowing he was rhyming at me, as if we were engaged in an actual conversation. But this time, it was going to be weird. I was going to make it weird to try to stop this. It was midnight. We were laying side-by-side, legs wrapped around one another, staring at the changing colors of the LED lights, but I had work in the morning. I did not have hours upon hours to be weirdly rhymed at. I started to babble back, engaging in a weird battle that was not rap, not spoken word, non-existent outside of this room with the too bright yellow walls,

"They'll remember me,

Making HERstory,

Wide eyes,

Mind in the skies,

Head in the clouds,

The time is now.

They remember those who step out of line."

We both stopped and laughed. Words in any order were still sentences, after all, whether they made sense to the rest of the world or not. To us, enclosed in the 4 walls of our own little world, these nonsensical scrambling of words in any order made all of the sense in the world, even with no sense to be made, if that makes any sense.

He stared at me with his green eyes, got out of bed, picked up his guitar, and I knew this time, the filibustering would be in song. He laid his head on my stomach, guitar still in hand, looking oddly comfortable.

"This next 4 hour long song goes out to Triple Lexxx."

I groaned as it began.

But...I smiled because I realized,

I love my boyfriend.

I really, truly love my boyfriend.