“When I look to the east I think of you softly waiting for the vines to abdicate their portion of your heart. So you can be chiseled out of the matrix with smooth hammer strokes from my hands. Freed of the coal, the black rot of untouched shoulders, you can open your eyes again flashing the iridescent animals, valiant vibrations of your rich spirit.” — TDK, Dec 2018
the cyber him, more than a soulmate. A twinflame. and the ‘real’ him. everything I don’t want. apart from big kok. funny.
how should she treat him? karma.
what’s wrong with my head. I have the wrong memories of cyber him, cyber us. The subpersonality imprinted real onto cyber. but they are two different people. everything I want is there, in cyber space…
story-line: when they sleep and meet in dreams, they are perfect. in life, they are not close. He pines for her and she is not into him, high on her horse.
Disney magic needed to fix the shituation.
…
Sometime later: I found a brutely honest letter which I might have sent him, and reading it nullified the pangs of sorrow above.
still the #karma remains. Take it along with out. Two bags now to carry until I’m ready to open them. #subperson…
So it’s 2013 and I’m fairly happily involved with someone. We get along well. We don’t succumb to serious drama.
Then I message Laila. I tell her she’s cute.
Laila says, “I love you so much” in one of the third or fourth messages. I served. We volley. She spikes an “I love you so much.” And I love her so much for it.
Laila is a lot like me, in very particular and unique ways; ways no one else has ever fit before. – It’s almost strange.
It IS strange.
Laila has my lamp. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen another one and will most likely ever see again said lamp.
Lulu’s on the fucken moon.
Laila and I like each other.
I like Laila. I really do.
I never thought I’d find her but I do. We find each other.
Before long we understand we’ve known each other before. Long before, for a long, long time.
Laila and I are not stupid.
We know what we’re talking about.
I, nor my lovely newfound friend Laila don’t fantasize things. We corroborate information.
We observe, we analyze, we cross-reference.
We are not psychically or spiritually impaired.
We know what we’re talking about.
This is immense in your hearts as well as our minds. There really isn’t much doubt.
We don’t find twin flames around every corner.
Not at all.
So this is us…now……over a long distance at our keyboards and
screens.
screens.
Frankly, I am in love already with Laila.
I think Laila is in love with me.
We hear one another’s thoughts; we incidentally have what are no longer coincidences after the umpteenth time.
We are always opening the app at the same time; we are on the same wavelength, quite literally.
I’m amazed.
I’m relieved.
I’m in shock.
But I’m not surprised – I’ve known all along.
Laila too.
She’s the one but I’m confused.
It’s all so confusing….so….
Much.
I’m head over heels.
I pack up and I head out.
I fly to Sweden.
My girlfriend is gone. In basically one fell swoop, musical chairs change.
I’m on way to see Laila after much ado about something.
(These days it’s much ado about nothing.)
I meet Laila. I’m beside myself.
Laila is beautiful. Laila is….Laila. My soulmate.
I had all but given up on soulmates.
I kiss Laila.
I’m stunned. Out of my body. Agog.
We drive away.
Then we’re in bed. I adore her.
She’s bleeding all over the place.
The sheets are ruined.
Why should I have cared? Why did I give it any thought?
What was I thinking anyhow?
Am I her twin to her? Is she really mine?
I don’t remember.
And besides, I’ve never seen this body she now inhabits….this face. But she’s familiar. She reminds me of myself.
She’s beautiful.
I’m tired. I’m delirious and belly-aching from the longest plane ride of my fettered life.
She’s menstruating.
I’m cramping.
We seem to both be trying; not doing.
Laila tells me to just finish.
She says I’ve had a long plane ride.
Things get strange. Thoughts invade a space they don’t belong, by both of us.
Perhaps it’s me.
Maybe it’s her.
Maybe it’s both of us.
The mood darkens.
We walk and she stops.
Laila is not happy.
I’m not me.
She’s not her.
Fuck.
But I love her.
I’m confused.
So confused has my life been I don’t even know if I’m confused. THAT’S utter confusion.
But…
I’m sad.
She’s sad.
She’s mad. I’m mad.
My twin!
I can’t think straight.
I can’t feel straight!
Suddenly I’m on the other side of the world; top of that planet,
my life instantly altered entirely.
I left everything and everyone behind.
Why?
Because I love Laila. She’s her.
She’s my twin.
I don’t fuck around when it comes to that.
I would have created one in my mind long ago, or a handful in my mind.
No.
It’s Laila.
I wouldn’t have left it all behind otherwise.
Stockholm is cold and deserted and neither of us have a sense of
direction.
direction.
Didn’t matter…..but it did.
On 22 Jan 2016, LB <@me.com> wrote:
I am Laila.
It is September 2013.
I have started a new life.
I’ve separated from husband and I have decorated and moved into my own new room.
I am minding my own business and recovering from a deep and long depression.
I’ve changed. I’m getting to feel better again.
Then I see a message in my inbox and it says that I am cute. He looks cute too.
I reply, something.., and we don’t stop talking until it is June 2014. We talk all day and all night, eastern & western hemispheres.
Then, suddenly I find myself driving down to the city to face fate.
4 hours, by myself, driving without an official license in a country I am not from.
I am not excited. I am not happy.
If fate indeed is guiding me, why can’t I stop telling myself to fucken stop worrying, that I am completely going to hate him, and myself, and all will be demolished in a few hours.
I stop my car infront of the Grand Hotel, and the valet sweeps her away.
I guess that I am stupid. Because it cost me 4000 kroner for parking. or was it 2000.
The room is too small.
I know this is not going how it should be going.
Nothing feels right.
What is wrong.
I let myself have a private moment, and take a timeout from reality. I fill the huge bath and force myself to calm down and relax.
On top of everything, I have my period.
I know that this costly endeavor is not meant to be.
But faith helps me shush it away. And then I find myself outside the airport, standing still, drinking starbucks and smoking.
It was one of those moments when I knew that after a few minutes, everything will change. My life will change. I will change.
Present moment, and all the recent yesterdays, will become a chapter in the past, soon.
I was terrified. There are no alignments, there are no signs. I am on my own. Destiny is not cheering.
It’s somewhere else and far away.
I was wishing I was home. Not involved in my life.
The longest minute of life was so boring.
And inside the airport, the first passengers are already walking out. Where is he.
What will I do when I see him?
How will I handle it if he turns out to be- well, not him.
There! Oh no.. I see him.
My hearts drops and dies between my feet. His suitcase is so big.
Who does he think he is.
I don’t know him.
I step on my heart and walk to meet him.
I wish I was dead,
I fake it. I lie. I break my truth streak.
I don’t even know him. I can’t do it.
I don’t want to drive away anywhere with him.
I refuse to go on with my life, and I collapse entirely.
I overwhelm my whole being with the real emotion I feel. I accept defeat.
I cannot trust my own self.
That’s the learnt lesson.
And I really do not have any fucks to give to anyone. They’ll think, ‘Aw, lovers reunited’ so I let myself cry. I let myself really cry.
I cry on his lap and let the anguish rule me. My life as I knew it is over.
I hate who I am.
I can’t believe I Was wrong.
I was right. I knew that it’s broken or not right all along.
I did my best to fall in love with him through the last ten months. It wasn’t working.
And he knew it because I kept telling him.
Once upon a time, there were 10 months worth of a story between twin flames. Signs, and all. Not all of them lived happily after. She’s doing fine.
She’s falling in love with someone now.
She’s fighting herself, because she’s too cautious. But she knows that if it’s meant to be, it is meant to be.
“You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” -Mark Twain
Dear LB,
When am I going to sprout wings and fly us to that ashen moon. A ‘sticker in the sky’ you call it. Exactly. I adore that. I wonder what’s going on up there on that thing. Some sort of a Truman Show I think we can be certain. Do you remember when we had to construct that monstrosity in the absence of gravity as we floated like feathers in space trying to get that sucker as round as possible? That sure was a lot of plaster, sand, and play-doh we had to roll into a gargantuan ball, only to have to tow it through such a great expanse of blackness as we lugged that heap of material to it’s current fixed position. Boy, was that a task.…
Forlorn struggle; the disconsolate plight, Crestfallen angel of the techno lie, Circling abject destiny at the helm, In the hangdog adventures of a servile quest in the dark, Among the flagrant escapades of feminine impurity, Reformed to a red-blooded manner of being, Desolate concealed realities of inner and outer space, Unrevealed exotica on the lam, No longer researched in the unrequited cold light of day, Unreciprocated hours upon hours, Enchantment with horns, Unjust dissent on a roll, Merciless lack of sentiment with wings, The glowing appeal of a dark heroine, Goddess in the making, Above this forsaking ecstasy lays a claim made for the universe, And the captivation of dismay, Playing charades with god, The heavy gravity of idealism, A birthright to he who knows himself, This bright white enticement of a blackened magnetism, Courting the inclination to have it all, or nothing at all, Taking the bait of a beloved’s unstable promise, The indeterminate flux, The wavering touch & go notions of a relation presupposed, She invented presumptuous future events in her bent mind, And self-proclaimed the art of prediction. She had a solid conviction like a brick tossed through a window with an obstructed view, She knew she was jumping numbly to a pessimist’s conclusion, Alluding to a base reality – more of a bore than her current standings, She was demanding of the storied ending before diving into the thick of the plot, She was not prudent toward the effects of the future, Nor too sure of anything save the safety of her seduction.…
I am grappling with how or where I should start this. . . perhaps overthinking how not to understate it, or vice versa. Please have a seat and read without any distraction. Be fully present in this moment with me as I attempt to write you a letter proper. If you have a J, light it up before you continue (pause). If you can see the moon from where you are, let it shine in your eyes, take a few deep breaths and redirect your attention here on your screen as I bare my soul to you as purely as possible in English, god willing.…
I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t know what I ought to be doing. I don’t know why life is happening the way it is happening. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want. And above all, I don’t know why.
Feels like a transitional phase. But hasn’t our whole life felt like that.
I don’t have any answers for you. I’m more confused within myself- completely more so than the situation itself is confusing me. And it’s not just our situation, darling. But every other situation in my life right now. Confusion and tiredness and a dumb-luck faith which drives me to look forward to another day.
What can I tell you that I could tell myself.
I don’t know why your life is like this or why my life is like that. I don’t know why. Why didn’t we meet in the middle and go from there on together, like we promised eachother we will. I don’t know why our dream future did not manifest, not even a little. I don’t know how today a year ago is not like today right now tonight. Why all my ‘writings’ didn’t manifest. It might be something else that I’ve written ages ago. Weave of stories. Seemingly randomly joining. But we know that everything happens because it should. Supposed to. Right? It’s happening in all kinds of different ways in other realities. Parallel weaves of stories.
LB:
Something happened when I came.. I couldn’t stop coming.. I could see behind the veil, and it was exactly like I imagined it.. The twin energy.. The O which strips the soul to bare truth.
I had mini waves of higher bigger better o’s in a row, but more importantly, the feeling my heart and chest opening up and releasing.
I felt as big as the universe for a moment….…
There was once a situation where I couldn’t resolve my immediate desire, no matter what. The only thing I had left to do was- to give up. And because, there was no any-other there with me,
I had to give myself up to god. Not to the Gods, Ever since, a safe moment is a prayer I chant to myself, ‘My higher self saved my life.’
I don’t know what the situation was. I also feel that the situation doesn’t matter, in the end. What’s interesting most, is this: for one reason, or the other, my mind etches my spiritual monologues on its walls- at moments of clarity.
And why, does it do that instead of paint the emotion? Because emotions are scarce?–
I am quite sure the situation didn’t happen. But I also accept this fact that I hereby have evidence to prove it did.
At the very least I label it ‘memory’, and post it on my wall. It is beautiful. It will make perfect sense. What’s next..
Presence
With your presence- I labour to define, to grab a ghost, faint in form. I know exactly how you feel like, My shadow.. & where there’s no light, you are inside And your space interflows within mine, shines through me- Embraces my mute form— a form perfect to yours, Two from one mould.
My mind releases traces of movements coming by, The air around me enhanced, explicit, My ancient- insistent vibrations, Of memories, premonitions, wishful thinkings-
Of your presence moving, along side of mine.
Through a worn-out film, I almost see your ghost, Feel you stand there, behind me, In front.. Following me like the air, If I lay down, you lay,..
on top of me, or under my body, Longing for me, where ever I am.
To define a moment, as my body responds, To my invisible thoughts, in the back of my mind,…… I almost see you move, near my skin, almost touching me. I expect more, I pray more..
** *
Piano
I struggle to make the piano awaken and rise. A momentary fluctuation- I feel. I let it in.. I feel it here.. & there, Under my skin. I give it life,
Eroticism awakens, and nudges my sleeping soul, Senses heighten, My body slightly quivers. It feels like a slight touch, I say to me.
…I imagine your hand. I hear something, I look to my side,
And I see you in my mind, on the divine, cosmic screen.. You’re giving me the inspiration. I play the right notes.. And the piano unfolds a grand thought,..
Of your gentle thrusts.. Yes..
The energy you give me- guides my fingers, I try to make sound to the love we are making- Together,..
You guide me.. And I ride you.. Shhh.. It’s so slow …and always, All the way,
In & out— and deep, & Time is obsolete.
I can almost feel you. I can almost see..
As your warm hands, press my skin Holding me up, You are firm with me.. You gently grab my Life..
Raising me up, energising my coiled— thread You hold by my waste, I animate.. As I go up, .. And you,
pull me down, as you tenderly thrust.. Shhh..
The Presence, an aspect of you that I know.. – 10/25/13 11:59 PM / 4
It’s slow and we’re delirious. It’s dark and the stars are watching their own reflections. And they hear the piano rising with the coming rapture of light.. — And one moment, we succumb- Pausing the emotion.
We’re over the threshold,
We yield to sensation. Overcome by one another’s soliloquy, Entranced by our own sonatas.. My fingers leave the piano, As you hear it gasp it’s last note.. And as I hear the echo roll, Away then back unto me. I invite it in, The Energy, my gift to you. The moment of giving is the moment of receiving, As I come down As you thrust up, and we collide You’ll lock the key …. … .. Bringing paradise down to the ground, We slowly come down. And we sit still. Pushing our forms, inside one body.
Hard.. And deep So sweet.. The ecstasy!
..As I now rest my body and lean back on you, Disappearing into you. As both our hands, unchained from life,
Made the piano awaken and arise..
Eroticism (from the Greek ἔρως, eros—”desire”) is a quality that causes sexual feelings,1 as well as a philosophical contemplation concerning the aesthetics of sexual desire, sensuality and romantic love. That quality may be found in any form of artwork, including painting, sculpture, photography, drama, film, music or literature. It may also be found in advertising. The term may also refer to a state of sexual arousal1 or anticipation of such – an insistent sexual impulse, desire, or pattern of thoughts.…
