I wrote another thing about you. The point of it was I wouldn’t be jealous anymore. Jealous of your stupid friend who comes in my comments, hooting about how much he tears up your ass. You fuck men for cash and prizes. Some of them are famous. Inventors. Spies. I don’t care about any of them. But this guy got to me. He has what I want with you. Come over a few nights a week and party. I can’t party anymore. Too old. Have to get up early. Write. Then I can’t write. I feel like less than a man. Fucking another girl didn’t take it away. Maybe liking another girl would. I want to like a girl like I like you.
Thinking through this piece, I got over it. You’re a sick person. I’m a sick person. It’s not good for anyone, for me to feel this way. And besides– jealous over a drunken coke whore. What then is my spiritual growth for.
I made you into more than what you are. Really you’re an (REDACTED) (REDACTED) with (REDACTED and a (REDACTED). But then, there’s a reason men fall for you. And there’s another reason deeper than that, where we connected. I don’t want anyone else to have that with you. Because I don’t have that with anyone.
Wrote after meditating in the park. High wind in the sunrise and the tassels of the tall grass tossing and hissing. The pines creaking. Long yellow magic hour sun rays over all of it. A raven croaking somewhere in his language. I remember from my fifth step that they have words. Somehow I thought it through. I forgave you. Forgave myself. Loved you for who you are instead of what you are to me. And let you go.
I looked back on the material. Thought: this is a good stopping point for the schtick I’ve been dragging out for years. It’s dishonest now. Or at least, not always the way I feel. I have hope for things. People can change. The purpose of this hobby web site is to help other people feel less alone. You can feel less alone about good things too. Hopeful things.
Anyway I figured that out. Hit save and closed the laptop. Went to the duck pond to watch the coots. Back from migration. Opened the laptop to write more. The eight pages were gone. Only one sentence left. It said: I should buy an Xbox and play Witcher 3. There was no backup. I called a data recovery place. Irrecoverable.
So I guess you’re back to being a cunt.
delicioustacos 
Aaaaah. The lamentations of a 17 year old High School kid. Oh, hang on, you’re a 40 year old man!
I hope you’re over this skanky trashwhore. Sick of reading about this slut and her softcock faux writer boyfriend. Move on and start again. Start writing about other stuff. That trip you went on should have generated a large amount of great writing.
Get out of LA man. The dream of being famous has faded there, and all you’re writing now is mediocre merry go round stuff about trashy skanks.
There were some nice flourishes in this piece, however.
Now i want to meet this Angela and have her devastate me as well.
Being attracted to beautiful women is not so bad when you are in your twenties with a lot of free time but dude you know better than this. Mexican Girl/Angela is just a butterfly in the wind man, there is no rhyme or reason to what she is going to do she just is. She will come have sex with you or she won’t , pouring your heart out will not change anything. I have dated enough women to know the beautiful ones are going to do what they are going to do. If you were Delicous Tacos circa 2012 with the drug habit and party all night unemployed, let’s just do this thing attitude she would problely be down to party a little longer but she would still eventually leave. This poet dude she is currently with will soon be without her as well, then mabey his poetry will suck less because he will have a hole in his life where she used to be. You cannot control who you have feelings for, but it is easier to fall for the beautiful ones. Fucking Angela/Mexican girl is not a cunt she is a butterfly, if she was a cunt you could hate her and this would all be so much easier. Cunts are easy to hate, butterflies are easy to love and hard to catch. I am not going to lie , I really want to see what this chick looks like, to see if she has” the face that launched 1000 ships” so to speak.
oscarchambers is stepping up the comment game around here. He makes all excellent points. But we also all know that DT knows all this already. She is not really a cunt. She would have left eventually anyway. She is broken, maybe in many of the same ways as DT. Etc etc. But please don’t listen to Anal Trauma, exorcise the demons as much as you need to, the writing is good.
I offer no wisdom except to say that love is a complicated game. Sex is much easier to navigate. Blending the two is the most difficult task I’ve ever encountered.
If you ceased writing & went full Recluse
This one would be the place.
Dignified, peaceful, and with a bit of Finger at the end.
That was good
As my mother always said, “Nikolai: never date someone more fucked up than you are.” It is advice that has served me well and has not limited me in the slightest.
Never love a woman more than she loves you.
Good advice from your uncle Anal T,
Mother also said, “Nikolai: never take advice from that mongrel cunt what calls himself Anal Trauma. The selfish little prick never finishes me off; he just picks up and leaves and I’m left cleaning the bloodstains off the sheets.”
In the hard light of day, I can’t believe someone liked that comment. Ah, vodka and internet.
I like any comment that disparages Anal Trauma.
I’m in the middle of saying my own goodbye to someone, and I’m doing it alone, like you, where they can’t hear. In writing, letting the farewell take place on the page, so I don’t have to hear the words either. They sound disgusting and pathetic when spoken.
Unrequited love is a high-wire act, with a wasted life waiting below. Either I give in to depression and fall, or I find some way across. Just hoping I can keep my balance and endure the slow creep back to sanity.
Rob/DT:
read some Nietzsche.
get a decent hotel room in the grungy part of town. ~$60/night.
and go FTOW. for more of an adventure, go to a state you’ve never been before. AZ is always good for some action.
did it myself. still do it. therapeutic.
palace station hotel in vegas. $25/night.
plenty of local skanks around that area. visit the dive bars, off strip.
easy steps. gets rid of that unrequited loverboy mentality that gnaws at you and turns you soft. doing this turns you into a cold, pussy-slaying man. you’ll still feel pleasure from sex if you can do it sober or slight-drunk, but little to no “care” for the chicks. which is what’s expected nowadays. moment you care is the moment she starts seeing you as a pussy. pussy doesn’t want pussy, it wants hard, masculine nonchalant uncaring dick.
http://freedompowerandwealth.com
Must be an “interesting” person this Angela.
it’s saddening that with all the women DT has fucked he still hasn’t learned anything about them.
which is crazy as i was linked to this blog from krauser.
dude, you had a filthy hot mexican whore in your bed and she gave it you for free. awesome job, give yourself a pat on the back, man!
anyway, the end was good.
What kind of fool would waste his time plunging the psyche of a beautiful fool? Which is what women are–the best of them, at least.
Delicious Twatjuices’ recent travails with Le Whore reminded me of the lyrics of a lesser known U2 song – Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses.
Annoyingly, I will post the lyrics here. Check out the track – great for when you’ve had 2 litres of red wine and are in a reminiscing mood.
You’re dangerous ’cause you’re honest
You’re dangerous, you don’t know what you want
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt
Hey hey sha la la
Hey hey
You’re an accident waiting to happen
You’re a piece of glass left there on the beach
Well you tell me things I know you’re not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach
Hey hey sha la la
Hey hey sha la la
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses
Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses
Who’s gonna fall at the foot of thee
Well you stole it ’cause I needed the cash
And you killed it ’cause I wanted revenge
Well you lied to me ’cause I asked you to
Baby, can we still be friends
Hey hey sha la la
Hey hey sha la la
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses
Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses
Who’s gonna fall at the foot of thee
Oh, the deeper I spin
Oh, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin
Took a drive in the dirty rain
To a place where the wind calls your name
Under the trees the river laughing at you and me
Hallelujah, heavens white rose
The doors you open
I just can’t close
Don’t turn around, don’t turn around again
Don’t turn around, your gypsy heart
Don’t turn around, don’t turn around again
Don’t turn around, and don’t look back
Come on now love, don’t you look back
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses
Who’s gonna drown in your blue sea
Who’s gonna taste your salt water kisses
Who’s gonna take the place of me
Who’s gonna ride your wild horses
Who’s gonna tame the heart of thee
AT, I will pay you up front
with one (1) Malbec Enema
if you deliver my eulogy.
Aaaand I shtiiiiiilll haven’t found what I’m loooking fooooor
Well if we’re bringing up music, when I was reading this I couldn’t help but think of Dylan’s Farewell, Angelina. I know it’s Angela but it’s not her real name to begin with so she’s Angelina to me.
“There’s no need for anger
There’s no need for blame
There’s nothing to prove
Ev’rything’s still the same
Just a table standing empty
By the edge of the sea
Farewell Angelina
The sky is trembling
And I must leave”
but then Angela became a cunt again at the end so then I heard Joe Purdy’s Angelina
don’t you just love angelina
in the sun with her hair long and brown
and don’t you just wish you could have her
she’s the best looking girl in the town
and you talk and you try not to stutter
and you look but you try not to stare
and she walks by you wish you could touch her
but she don’t even know that your there
and don’t you just love angelina
….
revolver now lies in the backseat
angelina now lies in the trunk
tell me why did you think you would do it
when you shot down the one that you loved
Now we’re talking. How about some Ray Lamontagne (Jolene, Rock and Roll and Radio) or the entire Del Amitri back catalogue? Let’s put some emotion on the table.
Let’s make it hurt, and….you know……just feel that pain.
And then move on to another sycophantic, troubled/tortured writer worshipping skank/slut/whore.
Chicks with Personality Disorders are the best. Until you can’t stand their shit and just need to forget. And then it all becomes clear that what you thought was there never was. Just an empty shell that was really, really good at reflecting what you wanted to see.