My mind races with obscene thoughts and wishes. Not all are obscene, some are just, well, forbidden. Unwanted. Unrequited.

I'm restless. I'm happy, but unable to be fulfilled. Always, I want more, ... to give more, to receive more. To love more, to learn to let go easier. The two are always tied... loving and letting go.

To realize polyamoury as a way of thinking and living, you must first realize that you will never own anything but yourself. You only have control over what you think, what you feel, and how to alter them as well.

To be loved in a poly relationship is to know the potential we all have. To separate ourselves from the limited ideas of what a lover is and embrace all what love can be. Love, like life, is boundless, and unfathomable by our minds, which is why we must simplify it. Bring it to a level we can understand it at. We all do this, even those of us who think we are enlightened enough to get past this. By letting feelings of jealousy, incompetence, or inferiority take over. It's not something I've learned to get over, yet; and I don't really know anyone who has. Just a few who profess it. ... But, I can say I am more readily able to deal with those emotions and not let them control my life or relationships.

To be polyamorous and have connections, (deep,meaningful connections!) with people who are monogamous,... well, for me it's like a trap. I'm drawn to monogamous types (mostly males, though there had been the sparse and unique female...) like 100 year old balsamic vinegar, and it's just pathetic how much it affects me. Not even a platonic friendship will make things better if I start to feel strongly. I realize that it's wrong to want everyone who I fancy to see my way of life and want it... though many do. It's not for everyone, though. People are possessive. Unnecessarily so, because you cannot own a person. There are a ton of other reasons why not every person can be polyamorous. But it's not stopping me from wanting it to happen.

Those of you in my life enough know how pathetic I've become. How I'm trying to let go, but irrevocably my thoughts turn to those forbidden fruits.

I'm now beseeching to universe to show me a way to let go, to embrace the love I have and to search in the right places for the love that can be returned in the same way. To Aphrodite to lighten the hearts and minds of others, to Diana to light my path, to Artemis to guide my hunt. Praise to my Lord Dionysus, that he shows me the path to a joyous union. Praise to my Lady Persephone, that her patience and understanding shine upon me as she awaits the embrace of her Mother.

To my Lord Venom, if I've shunned you in any way, or been ungrateful, I want to tell you now I've never been more grateful to you. Your boundless love and understanding has been the sun in my skies recently. Gods know I've annoyed you enough in recent days, and I know you forgive me.

I'm still writing letters, and I should be actually sending them out by Friday, if I don't get too distracted.

Also, look forward to a book review of long awaited and much orgasming over in Powells,...  Mr. B. Gone of the mind and pen of Clive Barker.

First day tomorrow, need sleep. Maybe, now, my mind will stop returning to pointless conquests.

In the spirit of long awaited masterpiece, Opeth's "The Roundhouse Tapes" came out last month (unbeknownst to be until just now... ) ....

"When

Red sun rising somewhere through the dense fog.
The portrait of the jaded dawn
Who had seen it all before.
This day wept on my shoulders.

Still the same as yesterday.
This path seems endless, body is numb.
The soul has lost its flame.
Walking in familiar traces to find my way back home.

So there I was.
Within the sobriety of the immortals.
A semblance of supernatural winds passing through,
The garden sighs, flowers die.

The gate was closed that day,
But I was bound to carry on.
She could not see me through the windows.
In dismay, strangest twist upon her lips.

Graven face, she said my name.
Once inside I heard whispers in the parlour.
The gilded faces grin, aware of my final demise.
And I cried, I knew she had lied.

Her obsession had died, it had died.
When can I take you from this place?
When is the word but a sigh?
When is death our lone beholder?

When do we walk the final steps?
When can we scream instead of whisper?
When is the new beginning, the end of this sad Madrigal."

"When", Opeth, org. My Arms, Your Hearse, re-released on The Roundhouse Tapes.

Twilight and Beauty,
Salome

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