Letter to the Past

With the workload that my job has put upon me at the moment, as well as Christmas and family demands my letter-writing has been sadly neglected, so much of this weekend will hopefully be dedicated to rectifying this lapse in literary diligence. On a related topic, this meme which has been recently travelling around, appearing wherever I might see, of people writing a letter to their teenage selves has stimulated my interest until I have finally decided to submit and create my own contribution.

Dear Rabbit,

Hear me out, because I know that name will mean nothing to you at the moment. You will have no idea how you, or we, will acquire it or how much it will come to mean to you. You have no idea how cynically you will come to regard it, even as you treasure and prize it as the core of your still-developing identity. Enough about your little prized nickname however, that is something you will have to discover on your own. There are other things I do want to tell you though, even if it will mean you avoid them and never learn some of the things I have.

First of all those people at school, the ones you hate and despise, and are convinced will never amount to anything. The ones that you have never let a single tear fall for, and vowed that you never will? Well, you managed it. No crying. Apparently you are nearly physically incapable of it. You never let them see anything, and that is where you screwed up on this one. It becomes so ingrained into you to hide what you are feeling that you keep doing it. Lies, deception, masking, shielding, it all becomes part of your life.

In a couple of years you will fall in love for the first time, or something close to it, and then have your heart broken. You will tell no one of this, no one will have the slightest clue what has happened except for the friends who knew you both, and them you will simply avoid. It will also be your first encounter with death. Avoid all of this. Avoid the scars it will bring you, all of them, from a handful on your arms to a mark down the centre of your tongue which is with you years later. Avoid the lot. Do not, ever, talk to a dark-haired girl that you might meet on the train. Never. Just do not do it.

A year after that you will finally escape from the hell that school has gradually been becoming, and move on to college. A few weeks later you will leave your first college having been caught accidentally by a bullet, fortunately little more than a graze, and move to a new college a short time afterwards. Avoid that, being shot hurts. Do not go to a different college simply because people from your school are not going there, the people who tormented you at school will do so anyway until certain things change, and that comes in a few months. Just go to a college where you will not be shot, and may at least have a handful of people who will talk to you.

There is no need to go into what finally happens with your tormentors, though you do not need to be quite as harsh with the first one who comes after you. That was a close call with the police, and you were nearly jailed for excessive force. You do not want to be jailed, and having something like that on your record would mess up a lot of future plans. Be careful. Stop hitting when he is down. Leave it at that. It may save you some trouble with the others as well.

Fortunately after a few more encounters like that they will start to leave you alone, though admittedly you will have added a few more scars to your collection, and ruined a perfectly good coat into the bargain. You will also begin to find it harder to concentrate on your college work, and difficult to see a point in any of it. Stick with it, and actually go to classes. You will pass anyway, as you suspect, but not quite with the marks you were hoping for.

Do not, and I cannot emphasize this enough, go with your supposed friend to meet another friend of his from the airport. She is nothing but trouble. Do not meet her. Do not speak with her. Do not date her. Do not marry her. Leave her be. You want nothing to do with her at all. The only good thing that comes out of ever having met her is your wedding ring, and she steals that when you throw her out. Just buy yourself a red gold ring instead. Marriage is not a good idea.

Once you have struggled through college you will find yourself, suprisingly, accepted into university. This is where everything pays off, all that karma owed to you comes back two-fold, maybe more. Within the first two weeks you will have discovered that relationships do not need to be painful, or even particularly romantic. There are some very friendly girls who you will be living with, and so long as you keep up your end of the bargain that is proposed at the beginning of the year, so will they. Just do not try and have sex with the blonde one, she is very dedicated to her boyfriend, no matter how affectionate and flirty she may be. The two shorter ones are fair game and will be joining you in bed shortly anyway, and there will be plenty of general physical comfort and affection in the house.

At some point in this year someone will introduce you to a hobby called live-action roleplaying. When you go to your first event do not drink that nice guy's bottle of creme de menthe. If you do you will struggle for a long time to suppress a phobia of being touched by anyone male, and for good reason. If you do, then the morning afterwards you will have to go to hospital. The hospital will tell you you have been drugged. You will keep the whole thing quiet for years, too frightened and ashamed to tell anyone and feeling sick any time anyone male so much as shakes your hand.

Oh, a year and nine months later you will discover that you have been part of what could be a bad sitcom plot. Those two, you know the ones, are actually switching around on you. You will discover this when you encounter them both at once. Enjoy it, it will only last a few months but you can get free drinks with those stories for years. Learn to co-ordinate yourself carefully though, otherwise you will just get confused.

I would love to recommend that you do not leave university the first time, and maybe if you have not married then you will not have to, but it may also be that university is not for you. Look into psychology and save yourself a few years of desperately trying to find yourself, meaningless or meaningful relationships, struggling to make ends meet, always falling slightly below expectations and constantly feeling yourself as a dissappointment. Computing is definitely not your field, as you have always suspected, but without a degree you are most likely to end up stuck in it anyway.

Save money, enjoy life, avoid the biggest mistakes I have warned you about if you can but throw yourself into the little ones. You will come to realise that little screw-ups are almost as enjoyable as getting things right. Try not to let your school years destroy all of your confidence, it will save you time in building it up again later, something I have still not managed, your veneer of arrogance will come in useful though so practice that. Do not start smoking, and when driving stay well away from anyone in a business suit and a BMW.

Have fun,
Mr R Rabbit

So there you go. Interesting exercise. I am not quite sure whether I feel better, worse, no different or anything else. It is done now though.

More Red Letter

Just a quick post as I have to get a shower and changed quickly before driving off down to see Essex. Work, as usual, was incredibly boring. The only entertainment is the fact that I have decided, since I do not care about the job, that I no longer have to be particularly polite or dedicated. I am instead experimenting with how far I can push the limits of courtesy and sarcasm as a mix. So far no one has made a complaint, or taken offense. If anything I am a little dissappointed. I was hoping to get a little more reaction. I am also planning to try to earn myself a little more income by submitting some freelance articles wherever I can.

And on the topic of writing, the Red Letter Club is going nicely. Lots of letters sent, and some received. Anyone else who wants to join simply give me a yell, and anyone who wants to say that they are a member, whether it is just that you want to steal the idea yourself or not, is welcome to use the pretty little image from up above. Anyone who does want to start doing a similar thing themselves, inspired by my little project, let me know, I am curious whether I can actually start something.

Anyway, shower time now, have fun kiddies.

Love, Hate and My Inability to Have Casual Sex

Casual sex is supposed to be a fun and entertaining thing for all involved, and in a way I regret that I find it impossible to have it. The idea of essentially using another person as a masturbatory aid, having no feelings whatsoever for them, no emotional connection, no little spark, nothing is a huge turn-off for me. In fact it makes me feel sick.

Angel's to blame for this post in a way, since she made a costume suggestion and I always like to fully research a costume. I found the character, at least the more modern one, stunningly appealing. I felt I had a lot in common with him. I am not arrogant enough to consider myself the greatest lover in the world, probably simply somewhere in the top ten, but the modern, romanticised version definitely has habits I can sympathise with.

To clarify for anyone who may not know, Don Juan deMarco is a semi-mythological figure and has been changed over the years. He started out as a callous heartbreaker, uncaring about the women he seduced, simply trying to prove his worth through the sheer quantity of his lovers. In more modern versions of the tale though he has changed somewhat, to become something of a fool who simply falls in love with great ease. It is arguable whether his conquests are people he has seduced, or simply people he is unable to refuse. There was what is supposed to be a good film starring Johnny Depp released, but I have yet to see the film.

This is the bit where I feel sympathy for him. I know that I fall for people very easily, not necessarily love, but something. I find it impossible not to form some sort of emotional attachment to most people, whether that attachment is affectionate or repulsion, there is almost always something. One of the things that most offends me is being referred to as a 'player'. I am not, in any way, a player. At least not as I see it. A player is the original form of Don Juan, a heartbreaker who only cares for their own pleasure and is simply trying to rack up their score. On the other hand I am quite happy being referred to as a slut. It seems fair, I find it very difficult to say no to people, particularly people I like. In fact I have slept with people who I could be considered to hate before, but that is a long and complicated story for another time.

And now some other news. I have apparently achieved two things in almost the same day. Firstly I have inspired Twin Pistols to start her own creative writing blog to showcase their work, and I have also won an award from Nosjunkie. I was grinning for about an hour after finding out, since this is a first for me. I particularly appreciated the comment that reading my blog had apparently improved her sex life, though I must admit I am curious as to how. I will have to throw in a few more tips on sex in the future I suppose, considering the google searches that bring people here and this particular comment.

Beautiful, Pretty, Gorgeous, Stunning, Cute and More

I have a theory.

This theory relates to words and the way they taste, or feel, or smell.

Some people tell me that I can use words well, and I suppose that is fairly true.

For example I know that if I happen to write out a sentence in a certain way, even if it does not make sense, say 'fingers stroking, touching, tickling, lips pressing, kissing, sucking, tongue tasting, licking, flicking, explosion of white, bursting over mouth and hands, ouring down skin, dripping, sliding, oozing', that there are certain people who will find it a little more powerful than simple words should be. They will sit, squirming in their seats, wanting to bring their hands down, to touch themselves, tease themselves. The bit that I enjoy is that they will probably be reading this at or just before work. It gives me a certain little feeling of power.

Anyway this is more about words that carry a certain feel to them, particularly the more abstract or descriptive words.

The ones I really want to focus on are the compliments. Each one describes something different to me, kind of like foods, each delicious in its own way but with its own distinct, delicious taste. Like the difference between meringue and ice cream.

Alluring - You can try to ignore them, as you can try to ignore that faint, pleasant smell that you can just catch as you breathe in, the light scent of perfume in the air. But it will drag you to it, you just have to know exactly what it smells like, what it tastes like, how it feels. Even if you know that you will not be interested in it after you have tested it, that you will find it wanting, you still have to find out for yourself and you will do anything to do so.

Beautiful - This one always feels slightly odd to me, highly rare to actually find and seems to have as much in my mind to do with personality and the way people act as anything else. It is not even always a good thing. Usually I would say that beautiful is a word to describe someone who would be commonly found attractive, to both men and women. Not necessarily inspiring lust but definitely drawing forth some form of open-mouthed awe. The sound, the smell, the colour, all something slightly elusive and difficult to describe outside my own head.

Cute - Try and deny that cute is a pink word. A challenge for you. Cute definitely feels pink in my head, and it smells of strawberries and melting sweets. It also suggests innocence, though not necessarily an incorruptible innocence, more of a naiveity. Younger women and smaller women can be best described as 'cute', though anyone with some sort of childlike aspect whether behaviour or looks could justifiably be described with this particular term. While cute is always fun I find that it either tends not to last long around me, or becomes a little grating after too long a time. It is a little like eating candyfloss, and trying to tell yourself that you are still enjoying it when your hands are sticky and the light cotton is dissolving into a thick, sickly mess.

Foxy - Generally this would probably be considered fiery and sexual, but to be honest someone that I would describe as foxy tends to be someone that I think of as sexual in a very plain way. It is hard to work out exactly how to put what I mean, but someone I would describe as foxy would be unlikely to be someone I would consider adventurous in bed. Possibly a little cinammon flavour, interesting for a while but without much variety.

Gorgeous - This has to be my favourite. You can almost taste the word as you say it. This is not a word to describe frail, fragile, whispy little beings with their square, flat bodies that belong better flitting through forests with wings than in my bedroom (not that I will turn them away). This word is rich, filling, it rolls across the tongue as it is said and clings tightly to the person described by it, their curves must be anything but girl-like. A generous, smooth roundness must be obvious in them. When this sort of person wears a figure-hugging dress you can see it clinging to every spare line of them, any you can see the knowledge in their eyes that they know exactly what you and every other man ( or potentially woman) is thinking as they look at them. It tastes of bitter chocolate, rich and almost too thick to eat, with a heady scent of fresh-spilled sweet wine and dry, burning flower petals.

Pretty - I would prefer to use pink again for this, but cute is definitely a pinker term than pretty. Pretty is so much more innocent. With cute there can be the implication of mischief, of first, fumbling, clumsy sex, or of a fake innocence that melts away along with clothes. Pretty though is exactly that, the innocence it implies is fixed. This is someone who is nice to look at, but they will not learn, they will not willingly fumble, it is hard even to picture them in such a way. There is no taste with this word, and the only scent is fresh, clean air, maybe cut grass.

Stunning - Shocking, as it should be. An electric term, the type of person who can be described as stunning is exactly that. This is the one who, whether they are your type or not, make you stop thinking for a moment and just look. It is like the shower suddenly spraying cold for a moment, taking your breath away and tearing your mind from your thoughts. They are not necessarily attractive, but there is just something about them, whether it be how they act, how they look, anything, it just drags your attention to them and holds you there for a few seconds. The taste is metal, heated metal in the air with its sharp bite at the tip of the tongue.