and i pray

[jewel eye]

faith would be a decision or a gift. one or the other or nothing else
at all. nothing at all. everyone has faith in something. one's Self
could be used and there's lots of people under the Impress-ion that that
self is unlimited when it's come no where near such a claim. on one's
self? no. that's more the Reliance thing. we are best off relying on
our individual Selves? well, not Quite possible in most corners, and
usually not even desirable, but it's what we do,,, and i can rely on
Keanu. and i'm even allowed to have faith in him. most people aren't
even interested in the other side. perspective. particles.. enuff
difficulty lining up one's Own straight sure Sights and measuring
sticks..
is EVERYONE making movies? i'd think this was like the punk movement
plowing thru the Corporate Rock seventies, slashing things up with gobs
of independently produced records... too many choices. but can there
really be too many choices? there allways ends up being sUperStars, yet
none too many choices. /? to brush up in front of Keanu and stroke the
topside of my hand against him There, leaning into the snuggled crowd of
jewels he lugs around at the top of his legs, curving 'round to squeeze
him JUST A BIT, cuddle-cupped up under the mass of his Distinct Dangly
Things... fine fabric, (this season's fetish)(O... and the beirds
too)(oh,,, and his bace-lining) not likely enuff 'discretion' to keep
this from being a delicately 'obscene' choice. i gesture. i jest. i
see him smile. i don't want to be so funny, but if he tickles the ...
uh oh. is THAT a 'choice'? to hear him screaming? some sacred moment
the Most Serious Silent sight of him and Keanu's gaze amplifies a galaxy
of glowing, timeless Potency... gently galvanized and gushed into my
forgotten reasons and forms. my body tingles to dance and my head to
toss back and tucking down and spin and rock and twirl with him,
throbbing. laying languid and unmoving, the steadiest breath and pulse
of sleeping rhythm's beat... but Skin sought for a Sensibility to be
even further into the space and time of him. STAYing further. standing
there. i keep him by my side with my superhuman might... satellite,
signal light, appetite.
faith in the future. children are a sure Way in that. it all comes
down to lust and discipline, but family Matters. and maybe just because
of that... because Desire is at the Core, SOMEwhere at a core center.
i'm not sure you can liv without it. survive. not an artist. i've
known before that i haven't many "choices" about Keanu. in many ways
it's a process of eliminating choices. that sets up it's own kind of
whole perspective (and relative) 'relationship'. puts pancakes AND
bacon on the table. i live with him and without him and that still
manages to Add Up to half-a-choice. (like, where's the greasy hashbrowns
& catsup?) i know i Let him... but i was also enuff born In It to fall
for him, blindsided. suppose many of us were. for him to Show Me such
stuff. 'specially what doesn't Spell Out. him loving language arts.
no 'shortage' of Love, (or cupid or psyche). his voice was meant to
SpeaK to me, but didn't really mean to. even when he's mad and doing
hothed, he's not mean. he's already passed it. he's pLayed thru. he's
on into Mean-ing and it's the Thing. 'sent from beyond to entertain me;
FooL me.' and will get fooled again. weery, but spunk spawns and
shoots it so far passed silly that i sometimes manage to catch up with
some significance. the strain of my flesh stretching so to sink thru
the sqwish of me into a deeper place where i'm only That Connection with
Keanu's erupting container. i mean, it's just his body walking around
for all the cameras to take in and show him to the world and we all sit
here knowing he's so much more than his Body, or this wouldn't be what
happens, how it is, or the one you cannot run from.
Dogstar orange doesn't look so good on such honkified pastey pale skin
as mine. not likely meant to, either. so i have this very thick lycra
top and buy socks that color but still like the last layer of lingerie
either black or white. the slip... maybe it can be orange, but ... no.
blues, pink, purple, greens, browns to golds, maybe even beige before an
orange camisole. it'll look right on one of his other ladies. it would
be off anyhow, or much more than that left on. dark velvet on me. he
does a strange dance. almost on tiptoe, almost whirling. he postures
his body with his arms spred like a big bird. he's intentionally
seductive and then not and it's easy to like that. his voice. if there
was nothing else but his voice... \ or hers;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see.
insanity, madness. patience.
blasted with ecstasy. (hold me Keanu. can i hold you? nope. would only
try for a second. don't wanna hold you down, 'cept to kiss you.)
madnesses. insanities. pluralism. we're in the very science fictions
days once foreseen, and tho it's a lot digital and plastic which cleans
up, it's still, and for yet some time, more who aren't gunna see
Keanu. but by the time 'the matrix' sequels come out, we are well into
the century turned and how much he endures and even those quiet chinese
villages and quiet-er dunes of arabian babylon may be as sure as japan.
french tapes and a very funky edition of 'hamlet' are not traveling
without rosary beads and crossing myself. not quite the crossroads, cuz
that always entails a move, but flight...? yep, all up in the air about
him again. not as in implying 'unsure'... only ever unsure of how to
express it.
san francisco should be a great gig. sunday with Mr. Reeves in such as
beautiful as american cities get. near the sea in my favourite season.
and the 'spirit' of the day too. my never-before-Keanu go-go regret.
but the 25th of september will dawn, as will likely the 26th. and how
very far passed the opening of his next film i went and oh yeah, them
doing some crazy show in chicago right after the opening of his
griffin...isn't that gunna be packed like sardines and just not the
same, to be done in broad daylight, SOBER?!!! 'course, they could be
playing in daylight in san francisco too, but if Keanu's working in
chicago right now, that has him playing on a school night and adding to
the whole weird 'event' of their free concert at the house of blues.
wonder if they really thought this one thru. wonder if it will rain. i
always like it when they put rain in movies. i like to see weather have
a 'role'... but many-a-time, i'm liking clear skies to prevail. the
rain is for fucking, making love, sex,,, but not necessarily the best
time for insemination. better to fuck or write or paint or cook or
storytell or gameplay or sleep thru storms. not to fly. not to plug
into a billion watt soundsystem or stand in downpours for hours. clear
sailing. and smooth is nice too. i hear a mideastern torch song. he
lures me and i how can i want to be anywhere but next to him, alert and
able.
i just passed one possibility and didn't even see it going by. was
listening to the pretty sad sounding song that touched me right on up to
yet another obstacle. obstinate customer service and Keanu selling
himself for 'fun' is bad on the budget. to be sure, he's 'bad boy'
enuff. (?the ugly engine dragon?) plowing onward. somewhere in his
fame, i am given an Allowance but i don't know that i will 'survive' him
with so much expense. so much Extreme Keanu. for shame.
at once i would not go so far because we are all Here and Now, but now
motion is faith. faith in molecular collisions and distances.
"anti-matter" has to workout here. it'is individuals who change the
world or historically intervene. hop-hipping. bunny boys. but some guys
get famous too and it's something bigger than that word contains
anymore. celebrities. glossies. glamour-grunge and power. there's
lots-a-kinds of 'poWer'. men and money. welp,... THAT one seems to go
back quite a-ways. and the sex stuff. the Last Lap of Keanu. the lap
of the gods... the electric slide and slather and slurp all the way
under and thru and up his sweet spine. my mouth goes dry. i
wallflower. my bag of tricks would treat him to more than those
trinkets in a sack or pathetically gathered ornaments. i'm at the wall
with him... or railing... sqwished, but he's as in touch with his body
as any he touches. he's smashing. ... but always seems to be looking
for the Balance, the open end, the orifice __then upsets the cart, the
cunt. shake it up. the deserted desert with no desserts only ever last
'so long' and then Keanu's fluid and flooding forth. reticent Reeves.
rowdy, real, revved, then recoiled. it woulda been much easier if
there wasn't so much of him. just stands there, just utters a word, and
fills Everything Up. that time i actually knew how very strong he is
and can't get unclutched. there's so much clutter to contend with this
weekend, but that's the best place to start. the stacks of papers and
heeps of who knows what. two feet of Keanu paper.
he shows me his buddha face. round. his buddha belly. round. i love
him.
i'll hide and hope. i retire to the temple where it's fine to scribe
and even sub-scribe. i will not pray for rain, but hydration. not for
fearlessness, but peace and clarity. he would slide a finger or two
into me to fill and find me so wet and still be impressed with his own
effects. puzzled perhaps. <what a laff. he knows. why-zen-heimmer.
retiring bachelor-ism. i will never forget him. his delight, him
devastating. his dick, The Cock... THE cock. the way he's the center of
the universe and his hardon SituateS with him, then me. fat in the
sand. petting strokes of his hand. fucking in soil. on granules, on
linen, on waves, on concrete and grass... the splintered scars from me
still against the wall. whatever debree happens. whatever he wants and
might not know he wants. 'harder, harder''; i don't request it, i just
describe it... subscribe. easy, baby. foreseen, yet completely
baffled. green leather, green velvet. that dick skin feels like a
velvet un-invented but with only him. as naked as he can be. should i
be blonde again? above the waist? in the same room, empty, i would
hike up my skirt and ask him with the gesture. but at this point, i'm
really back to the wall and only ever expect to see him at a late
gallery, club he never scheduled or the beach. he may like his women
tuff enuff, but he can cherry pic from beauties, brains or not. only
attempts at his orgasmic expressions, failed. he's too beautiful when
he comes, and even when he goes... (swooshing off as 'neo', in the taxi,
leaving italy in 'my own private idaho', down the stairs in 'devil's
advocate', walking the shoreline at the end of 'point break',and
more______...his kiss at the door.) you just want him to come again,
but that feels greedy. lots feels greedy and wanton and insatiable, cuz
i just want him so much. girls know about wanting so deep there is
Nothing Else but Knowing Him Inside you. the bulbing burst of pearls.
the sounds of slurping hunger and bawling groans lost leaving and
arriving in mists of movements he defines. steady, sturdy, stud. now
stalker and slime-time stud dudes. bet i still like him... even still a
LOT. Keanu can do me no wrong. i mean, he's JUST a movie star. (
hardy har har ) hard. hardly a moment passes. men think about sex more
than i do ? the peasants road. detachment too dispassionate. must
invests in Passion. be Willing, if you can. dance or paint or at least
abuse chocolate and technology. Keanu and chocolate have always had an
affinity. and the melting part too. no more neglect is really allowed
yet there's always a full calendar. the sun shining thru and me dodging
a tan.
i'll ignore him. i'll thrill him. i will have to re-invent the Blow
Job to fIt him. ...my clasping fingers and yielding pussy all
redefined, reFormed, rez-erected. the heart of fire. the ancient fuck
found all anew, reformed. he's in hiding some hours of this darknite...
for some moments sunk shoved and seeking into my aching wish. the
Pleasure sPred. Keanu hung with heaven's branching trunk up thru my
tRee of liFe... covered in my box. in the rain. in wet wonders of why
his flesh is grace and surrendered to. like love is militant to Matter
More. more than his mouth sucking hard then soft and licking then again
sucking until he nips, cuz he bites on breasts and you pretty much want
him to... but it's not ever gunna be important or even tHere,as words.
i already know he's too big for me. like a teepee. like an erector set
slung meaty and magnetic... too subtle, too solid. the field of Keanu's
sexuality bolts a thundering presence that keeps arousing and roaring
his purr. he means not to mean so much. his tangled hair and flying
hands. retiring bachelor. his sugar is too sweet sometimes. i get
qweezy. dizzy. so much is unnecessary. in fact... Only Keanu would be
required... but he hasn't had to 'answer' to many people in his life.
yeah, Keanu's all in the whole wide world i'd ever 'need'. he's kinda
busy tho. being beautiful. don't know how much he's eliminated
choices, but i know he's practiced many things in private... naturally
'talented', but he's refined from there and ruff and fucks like the
finest, wildest, most perfectly perceived art. fall asleep my sweetest
angelboy. Keanu's eyes closed. catnapping. cuntlapping. what's that
that keeps his hair sticking up again? electricity? he talks to the
wind. he glides and blunders. he is so sexy and beautiful it is often
unbearable. so the dude's gunna push the xtreme button. rub it around
and make it eager. waste it. smother me. change keys. it's 'enough'
to visit, isn't it love? make him appear on the isolated dirtbike trail
in the field behind one of those lake houses. a very grinding, almost
ugly engine. i've already been put to the tEst about loving Keanu 'no
matter what'. i don't think of faith, i KNOW. & knowing is at least one
step passed Thought. it's physical... at least. nothing gets passed the
organism except what sinks in further than sensation. it will
'survive'. the memory of his penetration. the sunsets, eternally. his
path would wind away and up thru meadow mounds and splash me with his
come and a hesitantly huffed, soft grunt puff thru his mouth's plush
steaming sounds. i'm not surprised if he's silent and staring, watching
for his wisdom to walk into and waken in me. spellbound. captive.
paralyzed. this is hardly a fair exchange of power until my spines
knows he's cockhard into my deepest holdings - my belly quivering in
some spot only Keanu hints at. all the way. august, autumn... and the
abstract alarm. allowed to alter. on the altar. on his ordained brow
and unchained melody. humping my head again, thumping my heart. out and
in. the pumping hump. fluids form and focus warms. blurrier, but
clearer. more contradicksion. sex is good at zen-ning in to here and
now and timeless energies. it's a prayer. sex=prayer. for my pussy
and his prick thickly placed up into me, chanting a million mighty tones
and trusted thrusts. i have to like him sinister, cuz i'll do anything
with Keanu. anything. it's right where the apple dislodged, but not so
purely fallen. just to climb across his neck, traverse his tung... beg
for more? hmmm? couldn't do it, of course. he's made me as weak as
anything else he's done. couldn't 'stand' for it. my legs would
buckle. i'd faint. up against the wall. flowering. buckled up for
safety. can i see him from there? from everywhere everyone sees him?
how exceedingly gallant or vain or humble of him to share his body and
many of it's manners. some enuff of his -ism's to catch the very large
nicely engorged deliberate drift of him.
don't stop fucking me until i've come close to unconscious. or is that
what Keanu just HAS to do. even a 'quickie' qualifies as his floating
and fiercely devastating craft. i can drink one glass of wine, if the
food is up to it and lay back in a hotel room. i'm not uncomfortable
there. first class all the way to roadside with recent extermination
visit. i can tramp and was completely taught etiquette's. japanese tea
ceremonies. the last night on earth. comp kimono bathrobes. laid out
fresh from a perfectly lingered in bath. if he'd let me pick, i'd get
in the water with him. start in the water. rinse every taste but each
other off and start over with sloppy kisses everywhere... with precise
kisses. i've been lost there before but changed nothing for him to
linger. -- for him to inform me of his beauty happens to someone new
everyday. i'm a humble lover for the unexpected measure. for how much
women 'control' so much of sex... he's quite a commanding structure.
can't help it, yet of course, got his 'gentle soul' slopped all over him
and it doesn't quit. i'll spend my time working and my money's passed
spent. he will work too.
Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
i will go on with him this way, tonight. maybe Keanu is something else
this sunday. a different sonnet. all of 'em. a piano concerto. all of
him. church. in the chapel with him. head-banging. i understand a
lot of why lots of people opt out of praying. it's a choice.
definitely feels like a more independent 'choice' than the men i've
love. and it translates. i can't pray without loving or visa versa. i
use to not put it anywhere. i think it has someplace else to go. i know
i love him. he can't know. i was starting to reed "intellectuals don't
need god" or pope jp2's encyclical "faith and reason" when there came
the uncalled-for saving ceremony, all about Keanu fucking me. amen.
back to god-head.

~elle

[tess]

jewel eye wrote:

>

>
>

and this is why I will never have a message filter for long post, damn girl
damn
tess

> he can't know. i was starting to reed "intellectuals don't
> need god" or pope jp2's encyclical "faith and reason" when there came
> the uncalled-for saving ceremony, all about Keanu fucking me. amen.
> back to god-head.
>
> ~elle

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