sans changer

Not much has changed really.

She is still as obscurely indifferent as ever.

I’ve gotten used to her leaving for a gig here and there and me being left in on my own.

She’s given me free reign to scoot off after whatever broad fits my fancy, but then I find women overly ridiculous at the moment and all the men I meet are too camp to be taken seriously.

So what else is there but to look to the past?

Tonight I got talking to an old flame who is reigniting my past life maxims.

I used to drink whenever I felt like it, eat when I felt I needed it and fuck pretty much all the time (because I felt like I should want it that frequently).

I look back on that time, the time when my major drive was simply desire, and I feel grief at the loss of it. I desired drink most of all and now that, thankfully is behind me.

But I have lost that attitude that saw me walk up to women in the street and tell them that I thought they were beautiful. Lost what it was in me that needed to conquer each woman, the more disinterested the better. Lost what it took to walk into a gay bar and take home a guy because I hadn’t tried it. I have lost the drive to fill my black book. Now it lays in the attic, like a telltale heart, each pulse bleeding out my courage.

I used to explain all that away as ‘research’. I used to write it all out of me, like I was absorbing each demon only to scribble it out of me again. Triple distilled? Not one bit. Hardly altered, it would be ink on page within the day.

Now I find myself as tame as a kitten.

What is it about these damned cat images?