Day 22: the lonely masturbator


bitch

peel an onion in front of me and i will rip your scrotum

like you ripped my heart the day you said

i am not as beautiful as she is.

i am

me – your bitch –

lounging between your idiotic remarks, your flare for vanity,
your righteousness and your religious beliefs –
so silently worshipping you
(loving your stupidity and silly head)
at your best like you always say, much more at your worst
like i think.

so please tell her,
for me,
that the onion, once peeled, will enrage tears that will speak

regretfully yours

as i am – your bitch –

who was never yours.

–  Jon Verzosa

Suprisingly sunny Wednesday

2:09 PM

One of the perks of working in training is quality control.

As part of my agenda, I visit our warehouse at least twice a month to do random inventory and to make sure that the shelves are working in FIFO (first in first out) and no expiry products are being kept.  I like it.  It removes about an hour and a half on my rigid, overly-verbal work load to get lost in the walk in freezers and dry stores in silence.  With only the rows of boxes and the hiss of industrial frigidarium as company.  So peaceful.  It is a nice escape from the story of the lonely masturbator.  My story that somehow voodooed my personal life – my love life for that matter – my work life – since 2007, when I decided not to have anybody in my life.  Yes, it was a life decision.

And it was the right choice.

See, there comes a time when you think that your life is being handled by a far more indignant force other than yours.  It is so tricky.  There was a time when I absolutely surrendered myself to the laws of marriage – not that I was ever legally married and hopefully, never would – wondrously diligent in monogamy and bounded by the conjugality of situations.  It has consumed me.  But I loved it.  The other face of marriage, the face that we all love and yearn for, is belonging to someone. Being with someone.  Working through the labyrinth of life with someone.  It is sublime.  Consuming and beautiful.  Until you screw it up with its other face that craves for that overwhelming need to be you.  To stand on your grounds, under your own terms.  Others will call that selfishness.  Fine.  But honoring your selfhood repairs your way of dealing with the bigger love.  I hope you will agree with me when I say that intimate partnerships convert you into somebody else other than you.  And then you call it for the better.  Wrong.  You just deceived yourself ten-folds.  Imagine being robbed off of your own ideas, your control of things, your OWN beliefs?

So, the lonely masturbator leaned on shifting gears and called his life wicked singlehood. 

Somehow, inside the walk-in freezer, where everything is white, I left my old self and indulged in my little Getsamani, like Jesus Christ.  Spiritually deformed in such a way that I let go of all hypocrisy that rule my days to dwell among these godly cartons and below zero temperature.  Unbecoming and becoming.  Enchanting all the same.  There is simply something peaceful being among non-living things as it gives you room to get to know yourself all over again.  And yes, sometimes, we forget about who we are.  There is something about the self that likes to get lost momentarily but we refuse to do so because it feels like it is a waste of time.  Again, self-deceit.  Why can’t we realize that the biggest love, the greatest love of all, is loving yourself?  If Whitney Houston (before she became a crack head) can articulate that, why can’t we?  So, I say, get lost and feel weary if you need to.  And then walk.  Move on.

After 2007, after the love of my life left, I went about looking for substitutes.  I mean, don’t we all?  After four years of marriage, who would not want to explore the Kama Sutras available to ease the peripheral hurt?  Irresponsible sex is the best cure to a heartache and I jumped into the night wagon and kicked asses out of my bed even before the condom gets off.  A few months later, I got tired of loveless sex and drank my way to orgasm instead. This was the party period.  The time of the lonely masturbator’s birth.  I made love with Stella (Artois) and Jack (Daniels) alternately, sometimes, on a threesome.  It was visceral hedonism and I loved it.  Walking towards work have never felt so bird-like after that relationship.  Breathing became easier too.

“I am good at sex; I practice a lot when I am alone”

– Woody Allen

The lonely masturbator touches two immortalities:  friendship and compassion.

Friends become plenty and old friends suddenly become reachable.  It is entertaining and at the same time, it bridges towards compassion.  Hitherto, the mind opens to possibilities and more importantly, the heart speaks in favor of the mind – all geared for spirituality and maybe, true love.  These two things are completely masturbatory in a sense that all are self-induced.  You touch yourself.  You touch your spiritually.  You invite the caress of orbital bigotry.  YOU BECOME adherent to the core of self-indulgence which is appreciation.

Cheers, then.  This is, in fact, a write up full of love and I am writing this with all my love.

If you are with someone right now, be grateful.  Remember that loving someone means inspiring your dominion together.  And celebrating your individual magic together.

If you are on you own, masturbate!  Be grateful of what you have:  yourself.  Be grateful that you have hope and that you have that journey to your middle Earth.  Explore it.  Until then, you will know when it is time to love again.  Trust me, it will happen all over again.

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