The light clicking of the keys implies words being created.

This desk is gray, the screen white.

It’s all primary.

Innate.

The computers are much like the human body.

Silent, somber, and sedated on the outside.

On the inside, vibrant, violent, and voracious.

Much like the soul, these computers contain portals to the outside world.

A simple login and you’re there.

Surrounded vastly by the floating matter of social networking and musical emphansa.

A leg shakes, and the mind breaks.

You’re the anatomical projection of your digital self.

Dear IT Manager, just as you fiddle with the insides of these computers, I need you to pull some strings in my soul and make the tick sound just right.

The clock hits 11 and its time to shut down.

Unplug from the electric and plug into the humane.

Your processor should adjust just fine.

He watched the light fall onto her shoulders with a soft glow and attempted to remember the last time he felt her scent close to him.

She felt his eyes on her and swayed the back of her neck gently looking at him through the corner of her eyes.
She was quite the sly little fox when it came to drawing him in.

“Look at her, talking to that imbecile. She thinks she’ll find another man like me. It’s actually quite amusing.” he mumbled under his breath as he approached the bar with disgust. “I need another martini, and keep them coming.”

She saw him head towards the bar and knew instantly what his plans for the night had become. He always found the curves of a bottle more enticing than the curves of her own body. She knew this scenario all too well. He would stumble vigorously toward her and murmur some irrefutable catch phrase that she’d hear for the thousandth time and then beg her to come home with him.

Tonight would be different.
She would be the one to stumble.
Right into the arms of another man.

It would ease his mind if he hated her.
It would ease his heart if she became imperfect.
And it would ease his body if she became nothing more than a memory.

“I have a studio apartment, we can have some wine over there if you’d like.”
The man plead his case, just as they all did.
The two walked past the bar as they left, and for the last time her eyes met his.

He watched the sparkles of her dress sway past him, the shadow of her spine running down her back.
He remembered her every sound, word, and touch.
Just as the alcohol in his drink had disappeared, so had she.

“One more martini for this gentleman please.”
He attempted to say something as she ordered another drink for him but she raised a finger to his lips and whispered into his right ear,
“Hush now, don’t explain.”

He stood there infuriated, but frozen.
She puckered her lips and stepped away softly, yet gallantly.
Just as the glass in front of him, she left him alone and empty.

The Proverbial Asshole

Rare are the girls who like the “nice guys”.

I am a part of the many who enjoy the other spectrum.
To us, the bad boys are more appealing than the rest.

Why is this?

Many men and women have pondered this question and tried to find the origin of this so-called attraction to the deleterious.
I would like to finally bring some clarity to myself and strip this attraction to its core. No pun intended, of course.

First, I will begin with a misconception that men often make between being the attractive bad boy, and being the arrogant asshole.

Challenging Vs. Insulting

Most of my friends know that my taste in men isn’t exactly “bring home to mom” material. But recently, I stepped out of my typical choice and began dating a good guy. Romantic, sweet, and a bit shy. As our first few dates progressed, my friends began to feed him advice. Advice of which included; “Be an asshole, dude! She likes guys who are assholes.”

Oh sweet lord.
When he told me this weeks later I felt my blood pressure rise 10 units.
I decided I had to clarify that there is a difference between being an arrogant asshole and challenging my intellect. There’s a fine line, and I find that men have trouble with this most, because they don’t know what can be stimulating and what becomes just plain rude.

Typically, women who are into these types of men have strong personalities, and therefore need a man with an equally strong personality. This helps to balance things out, because if a woman is for example into intellectual conversations and the man she is with has a more neutral personality, the conversations will not be as challenging as they would be with a man that has a strong character and conviction. This tends to cause problems, because although the two may be attracted on a physical level, the mental attraction is lacking.

Typically when a man tries to be the proverbial asshole, he begins by using insults. This is where a man makes his first mistake and goes from provocative interest, to arrogant prick. He needs to be able to find the balance. He mustn’t insult a girl, but provoke her on an intellectual level.

Yes, males. There is a difference.

If he can master that talent, the women will run to him as bees to honey.

Why?

Because most women don’t even know what they want from a man, so if a man can find the balance between all the different things she wants, he is obviously capable of mastering her desires more than even she is. This, to women, is impressive and makes them instantly attracted.

Nonetheless, he must know exactly when to be the challenging wit filled boyfriend, and when to be the romantic prince every girl dreams of.

Its a perfect balance.

And typically when men lean too much towards one spectrum, the relationship either becomes boring, or too overbearing.

Because yes, women are versatile and confused creatures when it comes to what they want.

One day they want a man to challenge them, and the next they want one to worship them.

So in attempting to uncover the origins of this attraction, we must first allow men to understand the difference between being insulting and being challenging.

We do not need a man to be an asshole and tell us we’re fat.

We need a man to challenge us intellectually and allow us to be the strong-witted creatures we truly are.

That’s all.

In Part 2 I will discuss whether or not this attraction can be influenced by the numerous media images of the proverbial asshole that women are exposed to throughout their lives, and decipher if perhaps this can be a contributing factor to a woman’s innate desire to be with the “bad boy” instead of the sweet guy.

To be continued.

They fill me with desire.

The need to be somewhere else.

To live life to the edge of the cliffs and back.

The exhibition of something greater than four walls and a couch.

I want to feel the suffocation of true nature.

To feel my heart crumble in awe.

Starting with the beauty of fall leaves descending onto Earth and ending with the ember shine of  night skies.

You’ve got your hands tied and your schedules set, but as the world spins,
I despair.

Postcards, no longer suffice.

Imagination screams for a taste of reality.

Lets touch the candle’s flame and hold in our hands the burning coals.

Delicate skin needs awakening.

The tree of life breathes at your feet, and you must grasp its buried roots.

Feel the smell of the forest.

Follow the unknown path.

Disconnect the conventional and scream at the top of your lungs:

I am free goddammit!

Lust contemplated her answer as she listened to the sound of the food crushing in her mouth.

“I think its a contemporary lack of self control. We refuse to deny our true beings. We realize that we are animals, and that the predator will always seek its prey. Murder is a feeling, and so is rage and happiness. You and I do not separate the three among them. You see just as much beauty in a painting as you see in a dry corpse. I see just as much beauty in the first breath of a child, as I see in the last breath of a victim. It’s in all of us, we are just the ones who choose to unleash it.”

Vinnie took a deep breath. He had to control himself from ravishing her right then and there.

“You’re somethin’ else you know.”, he spoke in a muffled tone so she would not hear the desire in his voice.

She smirked as he turned his back and remembered that one night where his self control was not as ingrained as it was today.

The sound of the gloves snapping on his hands awoke her from the entrancing day dream. She watched as he dug his hands into the bubble of fat that laid on the examination table and thought,
“Those same hands have been all over me.”

He threw the over-sized liver into the weighing bin and began humming an old french song as if he was in a welcoming cafe, not a cold and sinister morgue.

This is what Lust enjoyed about him.
He too saw the beauty and the macabre elegance of being elbow deep in things most people fainted only thinking of.

They were both the anomalies.

The rejected elite.

She continued to elaborate her theory. Knowing full well that she would reel him in with her every word.

“You see my dear, it is like a beast. Most choose to contain this beast, deep into the cages of the soul. We choose to let it breathe. We choose to let it roam free. A calm creature that feeds only ever so often. The others harness it, and just as any encased beast does, it tears at the walls of its confinement. The struggle translates into curiosity and soon the people find it harder and harder to deny the fervor. That is when you hear the bimbos on TV say:

“A middle aged man was arrested today and is being investigated in the murders of three women. Friends of the suspect say that the event was completely out of character and that they would have never expected a good man like him to commit such horrendous crimes.”

And so you see my sweet pea, they burn the candle at both ends until the cage no longer holds and the beast no longer folds.
We are the lucky ones. We are made of flesh and the omnipresent talent to allow ourselves to be the creatures we truly are. The predator will always seek its prey.”

He unbuckled his belt and she knew her words had reached their goal.

The predator will always seek its prey.