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Fuck Love
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One should count each day a separate life.”
Seneca .
I sometimes feel it is a single woman, sometimes in multiples that make man complete.A woman is more than a prehistoric primal force, a woman is the power behind mans existence on earth,take my words in any context.A woman is mysterious element, a surprise factor , who keeps on surprising you,here in Mumbai , falling in love can be dangerous too, specially if the love springs from the source of an illusory internet.A couple met on Orkut, a few love bytes, vibes and all, the next , they are in a live in relationship, he an already married man, she an eligible single woman.
What happened next is bizarre, he shoots her down in a seedy hotel, absconds , is caught, he would have been caught anyway, the Mumbai police is a step ahead of the criminal, in its investigative prowess.In romantic matters crime of passion.
This is love that self destructs, yes it destroys the man, including the two women, his estranged wife and his now dead girlfriend.
Online love is very dangerous, most of the persons in masks, some with corrupting hate for men, or eliminating hate for women.Guys who take on the personna of women are the worst, you know the rest.Online love has no rules, its a Russian Roulette .
Online love is dangerous timepass, you tell her only in snippets, she knows nothing about the criminality of your mind, you warped intentions, you are demanding, you want her as close to the net connection all 24/7..I have gone that path, one and a half times.
She holds on to you, she who is covered from head to toe , a veil of deceit , the one finger clitoralless love making, her mindlessness giving you head, its a scary cybernetic Kamasutra, thank God you do all but dont make babies.
I prefer Word Press the silence, the soliloquy of silence.
Buzznet I was hot fractionalised emotions, like a rainbow of varying indepth feelings , cybernetic love, new to me, reinvigorating my marital enslaved domesticated languishing libido.
But the way I wrote at Buzznet I cannot write here at Word Press, I write so strangers will read me as they pass this cybernetic wound of a watering hole.
At Buzznet I wrote to a single woman, she eternalised herself embalmed her presence , in my words.Word Pressed too as pillow talk, feathered swirling whirlingness in outer space.
Yes I wrote for My Muse.American Muse.
She is there entombed in my posts on my homesite as a section I call Buzznet Memories.
Her scathing comments, in the earlier stages were like a stab of a rapier, or a poisoned arrow..to drug decieve , not kill.
She wanted me alive.This was Internet love.Unreachable, it could have survived, but I got entangled to her goddess like human physicalty.
Masturbating mindlessness.
I miss her, she knows it, I hope she knows it.
This is the Indianess of America , that lures me in its trap.
A she wolf among distempered kittens.
Buzznet is not Buzznet anymore.
A chemical romance
clicking the mouse fuck hose chores
Fuck Love odds evens no score
the blistering feeling of homlessness
outside her trembling door.
I will never fall in love
on the Internet I swore
one finger fucked no more
a leopard farting a lions roar .
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