A little rounding off of a most peculiar year. Perhaps this alone induces me to speak.

New Orleans. Resurgam.

How often does it cross my mind to take him? I don’t know. Often. More often than that. I’m made to kill him. His body is heated with life and juicy with blood and my own always knows it. On some level it reacts, each and every time he touches me or I him. When my mouth closes on his, I can taste it. Beneath each sweet conscious thought or impulse of mine there still lies this silent and voracious yearning. When he presses close to me in the fever of passion, I can hear his heart. I can feel the beating of his veins against my skin and my tongue. I can smell the vigor of his energy upon him. Yes, I want it. I can clearly envision what it would be to sink my teeth without regret and pull on that precious thread of life. You know as well as I that I that the more absolute our connection to a being, the more exquisite the pleasure. The measured mouthfuls I now take, these small challenges to temptation would pale before this ultimate feast. I would know him utterly! I would be able to drink up his very being to the last tremulous drop. I would take him, body and soul and consume all that rich essence into me, drop by drop; the fantasy of every lusty lover, more or less.

And there is something wicked in me which feels this longing when he cries out, when I hurt him just a little hard - accident or not - which waters my mouth when he pulls at me in anger or frustration or incomprehension. Then I truly burn for more.

Introspection and melancholy are the surest source of inspiration.

“Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named, not good.”

- Milton.

The cruelty of a beautiful and silent night should never be underestimated.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another. For the world which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

- Matthew Arnold.

Really, you'd think they only died to be inconvenient.

I have removed all those who are yet to return the complement to add me back to their list of friends. My journal is almost entirely public and adding you to it is a courtesy and a genuine expression of interest, not a necessity. Equally, do please remove me if I have not added you back in some time. After several months, it's just not going to happen, right? I will not add certain types of journals so think about it.

That said, I want very much to know you all, so if you have a personal journal, whether I am acquainted with you or no, then go right ahead. I should be delighted.