I stood upon this ledge looking over the layout of a place rather foreign to me, and I could only ponder on the meaning that didn�t mean much anyway. Was I forced here by my own inner fears of the consequences that lurked in my homeland? Was there a lure that bated me here beyond just the basic need to experience more than everyday life? It�s hard to continue to break into this matter without naming my homeland something that represents it. (I can�t write this with a clear head and use real names). So we�ll call it Neverleave. Yes, the town of Neverleave is its descriptive name. Why, you ask? Because if you are born there, benevolent forces will prevent you from ever successfully leaving. How did I end up making it out? I didn�t really, I�m just in temporary exile. A few other factors pushed me out than what will be clear by reading this passage, but that�s for the overlords to ponder over.

As I sat on the rock overlooking the layout of this new and foreign place, I found myself entranced by the various pits and grooves on the rock�s face. Then I sunk deeper into the pits and writhed around in the grooves. I shut myself off to the strange world below with all of its purposeful going-ons and confusions. In my mind, all of the negative things melted and hardened, melted and hardened, forming a new layer on the face of the rock every five minutes. The rock began to take on a new shape - that of all of the women that I had ever made love to, all clumped together into an awry of shapes and curves and contours that still had the original pits and grooves of the rock� s surface. I kept a part of each of them inside my soul somewhere, lost with the endless amounts of knowledge, emotions, fears, anxieties, and karma settings that are also trapped in that floorless room. It wasn�t locked, but the door was too hard to reach and always seemed like it was getting further and further away as a reaching hand was getting closer and closer to the doorknob. But what should you care? You�ll probably never see, touch, smell, taste, or hear any part of me. So many women tried to become that rock only to just become another couple of curves and shapes with the same pits and grooves. I don�t know why I don�t want to love and to be loved. It just doesn�t fit into the cacophony of broken dreams that is my existence.

The rock slowly got to the point of distorted shapes to where no single shape could be truly identified or recognized, so I looked away. A strange thing happened - the pits and grooves of the rock stuck to my retina and imbedded themselves into the landscape below. I couldn�t focus in on any particular depression as a single unit, but was forced to see everything through the eyes of the rock. Just looking through its eyes wasn�t enough for the forces that wanted to torment me: I had to feel all of the emotions of the rock as well. Not one at a time, in any particular order of importance or chronology, but all of them at once. Randomly, some emotions would be stronger than others, coming to the surface more, creating pits and grooves in buildings, trees, cars, benches, sidewalks, and even on strangers� faces.

I had to quiet the emotions the only way my creator gave me facilities to do: by masturbating them into submission. As I did this, I could hear the passionate cries of every lover I ever had. I could see all of their nakedness - all at once. I could re-live all of the highest moments of pleasure I ever experienced with each of them - individually and at the same time as a whole. It was mesmerizing, exhilarating and pleasurefull. It was also confusing, disturbing and un-sexy. Even though every stroke felt orgasmic, I couldn�t climax. Even as every image was sexually pleasing, each had emotional disturbances tied into it that created an unappealing atmosphere.