I'd like to see you try and stop me

It seems I've got shockingly little to report. Maybe I've fallen away from introspection? Maybe I'm too much in the moment and the execution of things to even dissect them properly.

Mainly, at this moment, I'm frequently caught up in having text and email conversations with this RAD GIRL I know from somewhere around. I was explaining about it to B when we ran into each other at the Grog Shop the other day and she wanted to warn me off because of my feelings (which is weird, because she of all people suspects that (possibly rightly) that I don't even have feelings). We took it to the Wine-Cave where, half-blotto anyhow, I did the thing I like to do, which is to circle the conversation away from myself and back to her. Back to you, back to you, let's circle the conversation away from me. I'm more than half imaginary and I don't bear up well under scrutiny!

I have that thing where I don't listen to people and laugh at them when they worry - because people are huge babies that worry about nonsense like cowards so there wasn't any resolution, just something that was said, laying in the air to be remembered now, when I'm in the mood to compose but surprisingly low on material. And yesterday I got back to the Cave-du-Vin with Julie who's life is one of preternatural misadventure (it seems) and I get into it with her, who tries to coyly hide the details of her dating life from me, but people better know that I have the batman-gaze and can make you tell the truth and also tell when you're fibbing. You know, unless you're really good at lying and deception. I can't always tell - but you'd be surprised how easy it is to get to the bottom of people when you're constantly circling the conversation back onto them. Let's go back to you, let's talk about you in this specific way.

We did end up talking about the weird release of pressure that comes from having a fantasy-date off in the immaterial ether. Your unknown, unavailable match, off in the far-flung Xanadu of imagination and bare-communication. "I feel like, why am I trying to get involved with [person_x/person_y & etc...] when I have my fully realized romance with someone I don't even properly know."

She claimed that when this impulse struck her it turned her toward, well - not exactly self-destructive tendencies, but surely atavistic ones. "If I can't get what I want from that guy, I'll just sleep with whoever I can anyway" That's her reasoning. Since she can't have what she wants to have holistically, she just takes what she can get sort of physically. I can get that, it makes more sense when you factor in her refusal of pornography. Right - a lady can probably just fuck somebody whenever they care to pretty easily while a fella might just drift off into pornland.

For me, I just like to not have to think about alternative futures, you kind of have the opportunity to create a fiction starring select persons, and then it's that story, you don't have to worry about the complexities attendant to situations that are at hand -sudden changes in conditions- you live the whole romance in the beatific realm of the possible but unrealized, the magic of imagination. I'm good with that particular faculty, so I like getting to favor it.

You know I only ever really want to write books when I've got a girlfriend? The fantasy element - it pulls you away from the actual, the unpalatable actual.