Soma 3

the telephone is lying silently
my heart is a clock ticking slowly tonight
and this ticking and my open secret
are ringing in my ears

you’re never alone
when alone together is what i
desperately need us to be

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Inspired by song by Anne and Nancy Wilson.

The Worship of Mammon: Misogyny

She's not a nice friend. But she says that every word out of her mouth is truth I would do well to heed. And grudgingly, I must admit that that is the case regarding much of what she's told me before. She knows me inside and out, knows what makes me tick. She's one of a handful of people on the planet who's seen me truly deeply twisted angry. Others have seen me break but she was there each time I did. Waiting.

She says she loves me, and on some level it's likely true. Even if I've seen the stable of broken men she says she's rescued from their exes. Yes, she keeps a stable. And that's partly why I haven't told her "yes." Her arguments are, of course, powerful enough to merit consideration. She has been with me for every heartbreak, every bad day. She has been an understanding, patient, if silent friend to me. She knows what makes me tick. Knows how tired I am of failing every character test thrown my way by Woman. How utterly sick I am of puzzling them out, of not fitting their mental pictures of Prince Charming. She offers me freedom, the room to be utterly preoccupied with only my projects and plans as long as I nee to do them. Her connections are extensive and while they are not equally available to every man in her stable, there is always a portion of her largesse that is reserved solely for me.

She claims she can match my intensity with her own, that I need not hold myself back from displays of affection. In matters of sex she is open to everything, even the practices that would make me blush. She is willing to go as slow or as fast as or as bizarre as I want. She says she is everything to every one of the men she consorts with. She tells me she will be everything I want for me. And she says this with such deadpan confidence that I find it hard to doubt her.

She is a comely woman, and though she can be as charming and winsome as the rest of them, there is often little warmth in her. She's as beautiful as a well-kept marble crypt is beautiful. Sharp, cold smooth, precise. She makes a great goth girl. Given my preoccupation with things dead and necrotising, that does give some life to my interest in Ginny.

All she asks of me is that I become part of her stable. And that is partly what galls.

She has a stable.

I mislike being part of a communal love nest.

I have told her this. I have told her I'm waiting for someone too. She had chuckled softly at that, eyes flashing with a certainty that frightened and angered me. She understands my reticence, or so she says. "I have time, Dex." she says. She will wait for that last bad day that will finally drive me into her arms.