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Posted by: Captain Forehead
karma: 33 [+/-]
It is not an easy task to stand behind a counter extracting espresso from coffee grounds and feel as if life matters. The charade is necessary, having learned that those without are excluded from the whole of society — and how active can the pursuit of goodness be when one is removed from the giant cesspool of citizenry? At least behind the counter, doing what a vending machine could do more precisely, I can observe those who wish to belong.

In the corner, sharing a sofa with a friend, a woman who was referred to as Claudia complained about her missing husband, whom she referred to as Dan. If the Captain had fully returned as the man once captained, it sounded like a perfect role of good purpose. The Captain would become Dan while Dan copulated with women who did not bear him three...four...five children. But that seemed too gentle and sweet a cause for the darkness that visited the man who once was. Nevertheless, listening to Claudia’s story of abandonment by her well educated and successful doctor husband caused smirk behind the espresso machine.

How fortunate man is to have woman. It if were not their desire, their necessity to see more than our true calling, civilization would not exist. Unfortunately, the base needs of the noble male cause much misery amongst those who love those strong with desire — good and evil. To be a gentleman, it would be kind to set this sweet Claudia straight about missing Dan’s most probable desires.

Remembering that she was drinking a triple shot skinny vanilla latte, one was delivered as a means of bringing the voice of truth.

“I’m sorry, but I think I made a mistake. I think the one you are drinking is a double, not the triple you ordered. I made you another.” I lied, offering her the fresh cup.

“Thank you,” she said, surprised.

“You’re welcome,” I replied as we politely exchanged cups. Lowering the voice of reason so only she could hear, wisdom was offered: “Also, I just wanted you to know that Dan is fine. As soon as he is done with his freak festival, he will return.”

“You know Dan?! Where is he?”

“Dan? Your Dan, I don’t know, but really, all men are Dan.”

“What? So you don’t know Dan?”

“Oh, I know Dan, and I know your Dan, I just can’t attest to meeting him personally, if that is your query.”

“What the...,” she began, before being pulled away by her friend.

“Claudia, let’s go,” the friend with child bearing hips so rudely interrupted as the kind words of compassion were comforting her worry.

Looking with an expression of disbelief, Claudia could be nothing but grateful as she left, knowing Dan was well. She can now await his triumphant return in peace.

We think we do not understand why people around us do what they do, but that is only because we lie about who we are, who they are. The truth is they are who they are and not who we want them to be, and we are who we are, not who we want to be seen as. To embrace such simple truth takes one dedicated to...the obvious.
Posted by: Captain Forehead
karma: 61 [+/-]
“You bitch,” the returning heard whispered into his ear in squealing tone.

What does one do when threatened by a fragile effeminate man in the work environment? Laughing at the insignificance of his purpose would be considered mean, and there is no need to be mean to someone who is harmless to others and cruel to himself; so a simple ignoring was appropriate. Of course, that simple inaction invites his escalation as I worked the espresso machine.

“You are such a bitch,” he whispered, coming behind me and affectionately slapping my arm. “You know someone else here really likes you, and that slut was just using you.”

Slut? Slut! Slut. “I did not know she was a slut,” the returning politely answered.

“Such a big slut. She’s always talking about getting pregnant, trying to find the right guy. I hope you covered that little bad boy with some protection,” the femme whispered, brushing his hand gently against the apron draping the returning’s crotch.

The returning grabbed the toucher’s flimsy wrist, squeezing tightly, and pulled his gentle co-worker close. “You don’t get to touch me! Anywhere, ever. Do you understand?”

The frightened flame nodded in agreement.

The returning let him go to continue work at his assigned station.

“Aren’t we a tough guy,” the small, squeaky voice gleefully giggled.

After a while, the returning’s new friend approached, “What was that about? And, uh...thank you for last night.”

“I think he’s jealous of you.”

“Does he think...does he know you’re not gay?”

“Gay? I have been as happy as they come and I will get there again. I will be gay again!”

“No...no. I mean, does he know...”

“I don’t care what he knows. But you should know that I think I am shooting blanks.”

“Blanks? What do you mean?”

“In an earlier incarnation, I think I had a vasectomy.”

“A man like you without kids? What a shame.”

“I have dozens of kids. I just cannot claim them to all be from my loins.”

“Well, you can fix that, because I would not mind some of that special seed of yours.”

“Fixed?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Get it reversed and I can grow someone quite special.”

“Me? I thought you were a slut?”

Instinctively, she wanted to slap his rudeness into respect, but did not want to get fired. “That was really rude. Because we were together doesn’t make me a slut! Maybe you’re a slut? Fuck you anyway!”

“I’m sorry, that’s what heshe told me.”

“He’s such a little bitch.”

“I guess we’re all bitches,” the returning answered, but she was too angry to hear his attempt at humor.

“Uh huh. I am looking for a special seed. I think you might have the manliness it takes. If not, I still like being with you, and I am not seeing anyone else, so... And I am not a slut.”

“Of course not,” the returning reassured.

She walked away to confront her smaller adversary, while the returning continued to make drinks at the espresso station, considering his new place in life, longing for the peace he was once able to find in a place he called “the compound”.

There was a lot for the returning to consider. His muscles, flesh and mind were more vibrant since his gorging on candy. He knew he was coming to life again, and who was returning. He also knew he was returning to a darker place. And now he had to consider unraveling the severed ties that withhold the seeds of goodness from the free world.

Decisions: part of choosing to live. Purpose: byproduct of choosing to live. Combat: a willingness to not be a pawn in someone else’s plan. Violence: a natural part of living. Ecstasy: an exclamation point on living.

Bathroom break.

Walking past the treat of the prior night, a question had to be asked. Pausing as the bodies passed, a simple question was asked: “Do you think of me?”

She looked at him, smiled and nodded.

“Then I must exist.”
Posted by: Captain Forehead
karma: 62 [+/-]
The anxiety of being alone with a vibrant young woman in a welcoming position of a compromising nature caused my heart to flutter. Not romantic flutter, but an “I am having heart failure!” flutter. But to turn down the sweet candiness of life would be tantamount to committing seppuku. Performance anxiety can be dealt with, especially when considering performing.

When arriving at the small cottage hidden under trees and behind bushes, I thought she was living in a child’s playhouse. The building was such a bright, clean yellow, you did not want to touch the door. But there was candy on the other side, so a rapid, powerful knock was in order.

She was a perfect hostess. The possibility that this was a sympathy dinner had to be considered; I was immediately seated and served a home cooked meal. A home cooked meal! It all came rushing back, the hours spent in kitchens cooking with loved ones. The food, festivity and passion warmed the heart. Again, an action taken for granted until gone. An orgy of color, taste, texture and smell presented as perfectly prepared pork chops, asparagus and potatoes. And a glass of wine, or course.

When drinking alcohol while living under the abandonment of residence under the stars, it is not to savor flavor. You drink for the kick of the alcohol, and the stronger the better. With this elegant meal was a small glass of wine perfectly paired with the food. The wine was to be sipped and had flavor that added to the meal. The kick was not the purpose, it was a message of the mind to drown any remaining tension. Having done nothing more than share a simple meal, it was more passion than I had dared to hope to experience again when sleeping in the stench of the great outdoor life of a vagabond.

When the meal was complete, the fresh, glowing hostess placed a rich chocolate dessert before my drooling eyes. There is nothing greater in the candied universe than to submit to chocolate desires. Unfortunately, if I were to succumb to the chocolate, my body would be lost to ecstatic gluttony and the fresh young woman who had been so deviously ramping up my arousal for the evening would be unable to experience the fullness of my great desire. Perhaps later, as — if I recall correctly — I am hungry after expending sexual energies. Perhaps one bite...

“I can die now,” I whispered in shame. It was the most perfect desert, bringing my mouth to the full of its unspoken purpose.

“Excuse me?” she laughed.

“I can die now.”

“It’s just a dessert, but thank you.”

“I have not lived in your world for some time. I long ago dismissed all enjoyment of the senses. To taste this meal is to live, not just be alive.”

“Wow, you really know how to flatter a chef.”

“I’m just being honest, and my words are feeble. There is no way I can speak words that would properly thank you for this meal.”

“Maybe you should not use words?”

“I...” began, then understood.

She came to me and pressed her full, soft body against me while running her hand through what little hair still found itself loyal to my head.

There was hesitation, the heart fluttering with failure, but when she lifted her bare leg and placed her knee gently into my crotch, I knew this was not just about the meal. I touched. I placed my hand on her tight, smooth thigh, feeling its soft perfection. Instinctively, I moved my hand up her leg and...my head has more hair, but now I know what it would feel like bald.

Awkward and heart racing, flirting with over-acceleration and the disaster which accompanies, we managed to get to her small bed. Our clothes disappeared. My hands, the whole of my body wrapped the sweet candy. There is nothing more pleasurable to the mouth than the licking and caressing of sweet, fresh candy. It felt so warm, so fresh, sticky, moist with momentum.

Where have I been?

After tasting every nook and cranny of the sweet, cooing goodness, she whispered an invitation: “I want you in me.”

The heart skipped. The slightest touch would cause an uncontrollable eruption of finality. Protection would solve the sensitivity problem, and protect the Cap...me from...not sure what, anymore.

“I should wrap this candy,” I answered, embarrassed.

“I want you in me,” she whispered more forcefully, pulling me toward her.

“But it’s been a while, and the slightest touch...”

“That’s okay. I want you in me.”

With her request, I granted the mixing of sweet and sour. I dipped hard candy into warm sticky sweetness and felt...and felt...and...felt. There are no words to describe the meaning of life for a man.

To be truly alive you must live. Existence is for those afraid of being alive. It is good to be living again...okay, sooooooo goooooood!
Posted by: Captain Forehead
karma: 68 [+/-]
The trivialization of another day is the only way to describe the routine of head down day-in day-out work, but I must retain my footing within civilized society to be visible and viable again. I want to be visible. I want to taste the sweetness of glory when good trumps evil. I want to seize the opportunity...I want to seize.

While going through the motions behind the counter of coffee bitterness, a young man whose dreams were tattooed on his body walked into the shop. People tried not to stare, as he was human, but he was clearly different, and the body ink advertized he wanted all to know.

The young man — let’s call him Stu (short for toilet stew) — entered the establishment of overpriced lattes and gave everyone who looked him in the eyes a challenging, rabid mutt stare until they sheepishly looked away as he walked to the cash register, where he picked up the tip jar. This was not acceptable. Something stirred within as I tried to make eye contact.

Knowing this could not be allowed to happen without good intervening, I prepared...to do...something...pausing...not sure what...he...I...something.

“I know that dude,” a voice said from behind.

Everyone looked to the young man who uttered those simple insightful words with indifference.

“Huh?” the gathering asked in stare.

“I went to school with that guy. He’s a total douche. What a ‘tard.” the young man proclaimed, resuming his work.

The manager called the city’s badged and uniformed clean-up crew. The police came, took a report and said it was a “done deal”, thanks to the young man who could positively identify Stu. A nice tender cut of juicy justice, on the surface, but the fact that Stu and his Stuish friends exist gives pause. The fact that I gave pause, gives pause.

Standing behind the counter I watched, saying nothing. That did not, does not feel good — let alone great, and greatness shares a page with grandness and glory. I cannot accept inaction while the Stus are on the move, acting! How much justice can be done behind the bar of a coffee house?! Especially when one is so unprepared...

NOTE: Chemical agents of decency should be available as drink additives at all times.

“Do you know where he lies?” I forced myself to ask the young inadvertent doer of good.

“Lies? Huh?”

“Rest his ugly ignorant skull? Sleeps? Lives?”

“Oh. Yeah, kinda.”

Having seen the car, “kinda” is sufficient. I thank the young man and return to the espresso machine. A thick, young, fleshy co-working candy offers another promising smile.

Here. In a box. Wearing an apron. I do justice for only me. But that must be enough right now. I must regain my strength, my footing. I am still visiting the dark side by stealing a house. Who am I to judge?

Judge? Judge! I must judge! Even if erroneous, I along with the rest who perceive the possibility of goodness must cast stones, even upon ourselves, in pursuit of something viable; goodness. To not judge is to excuse one’s own cowardice.

“Want to come by for dinner tonight?”

“Huh?” I responded coyly to the oozing honey.

“Dinner? Tonight? My place?”

At a loss for substantive words to succumb to this youthful insurrection, I nod my head in agreement.

“Okay,” she answers, again turning her lips up in invitation.

Candy! Sweet, sticky film of goodness! Daddy issues, shmabby issues, the Cap...I am going to taste the sweet goodness of being alive...or at least a good meal...or at least not being in a stolen house...or...it’s all good.

Purpose courses through the veins. Coming to life awakens the soul, the passion of many purposes. The black box of existence has cracked and the color of life is seeping in...slowly...beautifully...perfectly.

Stu will die and I will be reborn. Stu gives me life. Each day, the heart beats stronger, and a dose of sticky sweetness will pound the chest into purposeful serenitized existence!

Wait...candy...do I know how to enjoy such dark, sweet treats...can’t...shhhhh...enjoy...you are alive.

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