Myriad

The Universe speaks in many languages, but only one voice.
The language is not of any nation or race or world.

It speaks in the language of hope. It speaks in the language of trust.
It speaks in the language of strength, and the language of compassion.
It is the language of the heart and the language of the soul.
But always it is the same voice.

It is the voice of our ancestors speaking through us.
And the voice of our inheritors waiting to be born.
It is the small, still voice that says we are One.

No matter the blood, no matter the skin,
No matter the world, no matter the star,
We are One.
No matter the pain, no matter the darkness,
No matter the loss, no matter the fear.
We are One.

Here, gathered together in common cause
We agree to recognize this singular truth and this singular rule:
That we must be kind to one another.

Because each voice enriches us and ennobles us,
And each voice lost diminishes us.
We are the voice of the universe, the soul of creation,
The fire that will light the way to a better future.

We are One.

- J. Michael Straczynski

He has your number. He has your email. He knows the address of your homepage.

Your phone rings. It's not him. But apparently it would be good idea to get a new credit card.

Your inbox is full. Nothing from him. But you should be able to extend your penis length by inches.

Your homepage has new messages, new comments. Not a one from him. But every unsigned band from here to Tijuana wants to be your friend.

Did I do something? Did I scare him off? Is he okay? Maybe i should write him a letter? Just like in the olden days. But will that freak him out? Too personal? Too much? Too soon? You don't even remember if you have any stationary. Do people even write proper letters anymore?

Why won't he call? Anxiety.

Did I misinterpret something? Panic.

Could I be that blind? Fear.

Your mobile phone beeps.

Could it be? Anticipation.

You snatch at your purse. Where is it? Impatient.

Finally, it's him.

Hey hows it goin? Feel like grabbing a coffee today?

Relief. Smile. Peace.

Sure. De Franco's. 6pm

He will be mine.

What to wear? Makeup, shower, preen. How long do I make him wait?

My brain releases chemicals that trigger my fear/panic response.

I have detected a threat. Or a possible threat. Possible false-positive.

Earlier, through regular contact, my brain made the connection, grew the links, stimulated the pleasure centres, released the pheromones.
And it was good.

But now I feel sick. Tormented. Twisted.

Now I want the world to die. Just so the pain can end.

But is the threat real? Could my perception be flawed?

Yes it can, and I understand that, but it’s too late.

My brain has a mind of its own and it’s too late to change that.

Bloodstained fingerprints on your pillow.

How did those get there?

Fog. Haze. Dim.

What the fuck did I do?

Run to the mirror. Inspection.

No sores, no scars, no red. What the fuck?

You walk back to the bed and stare down at wher your head was a few minutes ago.

Fingerprints? Handprints? Who's hands?

You look down at your palms. Clean.

You measure your hands against the pattern on the pillow. Too small. Way too small.

Relief. Not my hands.

If not mine, who's?

Panic.

Fresh inspection. Hand mirror. You check. No bruises. No damage.

No rape.

You hope.

So, what the fuck?

Your mind races now. Where was I? Who was I with? What's the last thing I remember? Was I drunk? High? Sedated?

Stop. Calm down. Relax and breath.

You're alive and unscarred. You're at home.

Are you alone? Shit.

Where's that cricket bat?

Ok, bedroom is clear. Bathroom, same.

Step into the lounge. No-one. No signs of... anything. Kitchen is clear.

Front door is locked. No damage anywhere, no sign of anything.

Just some bloody prints on your pillow?

What the fuck?

Last night is... hazy.

Work 'til five. Drinks with friends. More drinks.

Pills?

Yes, pills. Definitely pills. You remember at least two, taken in the toilets. Maybe more.

You remember dancing. Throwing up at one point.

But then what?

Who can I call? Who was there? Who can I trust?

So you call the first name on your list. No luck. Doesn't remember a thing. Great minds think alike.

Second name. Saw you leave after midnight. Alone. To where? Who knows?

Third name. Dumped you in a cab at 4am with directions to the driver to take you home.


Shit.

Need clues. Need something. This is just too weird.

Alright. Bedroom. Fine-toothed-comb. Go.

Blood on pillow. Right. No-shit.

Anything else? On top, no. Underneath?

Is that a hair?

Yes. But who's is it? Mine?

No! I am definitely not a blonde.

We now have a mysterious blonde.

Not enough. Need to keep looking.

Sheets are clean. Floor is clean.

Fuck I can't do this CSI bullshit.

Ok. I know I was wasted. I know there is blood. I know at least one place I was last night.

Memory... she was wearing blue. SHE! Blonde. Blue dress.

She was wasted too. Just the way I like em. Oh fuck and she was ugly too.

And fat... fuck.

So where’d the blood come from?

You run into the bathroom. Open the bin… and there it is. Staring up at you.

Ever have that not so fresh feeling?

You see her and she's smiling
And the frown's gone from her face.
You taste the joy within her
As she puts you in your place.

She makes you wanna do it
Makes you wanna try.
She needs your hands to guide her
You want to make her high.

Take your place beside her
Take your place inside.
Take whatever she gives you
There's no reason to hide

I wanna be inside you baby
And thank you for your time.
I wanna make you pant and scream
I wanna make you mine.

It's not so much her, rather the idea of her.

But at the same time it is her.

It's her and every other her that there every was or ever will be.

Anticipation.

It's her unique and individual genetic code that marks her as one to watch. One to touch. One to be a part of.

In my mind I guess there's a an ideal image of a distant idea. It draws me near. Partly because of what's in my head but mostly because of what's in hers.

I know at some level its absurd. I know its not really real, in the way that a blade through the heart is real. But I know that I really want the thing that lies outside my grasp.

I imagine, in my mind, what it would be like to feel her skin against mine. I wonder how I would react to her embrace. What reply do you give to questions that aren't spoken?

Is it the idea that I desire, or the person? What is it exactly that drags my thoughts from the mundane to her?

I want to touch, to feel, to kiss, to hold, to lick, to suck. I want to do all the things that have played out in the theatre of my mind.

" I wish to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived… I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner…"

I want you, because to not want you would be unacceptable.

Considering that women are the only sex that has them, it seems to me that they don't really understand the tit. Well most of them.

You see tits are an amazing evolutionary development.

Beyond their more functional aspect, i.e. the suckling of young, they are tools of world domination.

Yes ladies, you have the tools at your disposal.

Some would argue that the vagina is the key, and true the vagina is vital, but the tits are key. They are what you present to the world. The simple hypnotic effect of their presence is enough to launch a thousand ships and bring them back home again.

Those two lumps of fatty tissue hanging from your chest are your gateway to ultimate power. Capped as they are by dark round points that focus the eye (and the mouth) where it needs to be.

Men are mesmerised by them. We can't help it. We've evolved as they've evolved. We just want to hold them and squeeze them and lick them and be near them.

Ladies. You can use them to rule the world because you can use them to rule men. And since men rule the world, once you control us you'd control everything.

So get 'em out girls. Don't get mad when you catch us staring. Just take control. You know you can do it. Even ugly girls can do it, such is our weakness.


Long live boobies.