Excommunicated

** This is a letter I wrote to Brittany a few days ago and I am posting it here with her blessing. This is an old story told here with far too much poetry and far too little truth but I do hope somebody gets something out of my rambling style.**

"I seem to be addicted to something that doesn't really exist.
I have embarked upon withdrawal
and I am very fearful of what the withdrawal symptoms will be."

This has been the mantra since I left high school. Religion is a powerful thing and a powerful thing to be with out. Religion is a natural absence a void. Religion ushers creation into being. This is why I am the way I am here. I lack nothing. I, precisely and there is no over stating this, lack nothing. I lack this void, this view that there holes that need filling, or at least I have lost most of the things that used to remind me. Now I have the ideal that we should all be able to know each other (or at least a few of us could know each other). I seem to have lost hope in it, maybe not completely but the meat of it is gone and the bones are brittle. I falsely remember what was. I remember studying film and books and the night. I remember actually being forced a few times a day to be social, though I'm not sure I remember it fondly. And I remember talking, really talking, frequently. That frequency is no longer frequent, it is some static value and, as such, holds no value. I seem to be drawn towards what was (or what I convince my self what was). I'm too obsessive about such things and I fear how these obsessions make me look. I often fear you'll be jealous because she is in my dreams more often. Though I've known you to be stronger and more understanding then that, I still fear it to be true. It's a real shock being here now. Gross's mom said once that all I have ever done was talk and I guess thats strange but thats how I lived for years. Then after grade school I didn't get enough so I turned to books, movies and Andrew to fill the void. . . the Religion I had been all but excommunicated from. Of course this is after being gloriously depressed and starting the cultivation of my (self-reliant/anti-social) tendencies. I learned to wait in jr. high. I found that I could destroy my self with thought, that enough of it would make me ill and that I still preferred it to some people. . . they made me ill too. And after high school it all happened again. It was her again the high-priestess herself excommunicated me this time by handgun and by bloodshed was I excommunicated. Despite my will I could no longer pray in that church. I had no time to, and no willing brothers and sisters. And I can't look back for fear of losing what little of me is normal and turning completely to salt. Not to say I don't dream of it, half (and only half) unwillingly. But that is how we got to talking it was her again. It's always her that knocks me so fantastically off guard and who has convinced me to drop my guard entirely. . . Not that I've managed to implement that conviction. And all my work has done me so little good. It allows me to be wounded by those would-be brothers and sisters who I would give everything for and who seem to have no more then a passing interest in me. And so be it! 'So be it!' I chant again and again. Excommunicated and shattered what else is there to chant? Somewhere I have a brother and I have you. But I still lack that void, I need to be reminded of my Religion and those reminders are few. Sex is one and I hope that doesn't sound crass. But like all too many things there is more in it then there seems to be for other people. The future it rolled up into it and there is something tantric in it. A slightly false religion to be sure but not completely without merit. So forgive me my masculine transgressions because they are few to begin with. Most people have a hard time thinking of me as anything but sexless. Sex is nothing, precisely nothing, and conveys want almost without target for me. So forgive me if I seem depressed or distant. I am void-less and drifting and without Religion. But I am OK I have you, my love who will read my rantings and hopefully understand the sentiment among all the misleading words.