Dropping out.

Breakup breakdown.

Slavery. Self-induced. Here are two levels. One is the level to which a man needs a woman. The other is the level to which a woman needs a man.

The levels, they aren't level.

Have you ever been left by a woman? Ever lived with one and seen it end in her mind, in her eyes? A jet run dry of fuel doesn't drop as fast. The cold air coming from a woman could crystallize a raging forest fire in .5 seconds once she's decided you are no longer for her.

To get money from a woman, a man has to take her to court. To get money from a man, a woman needs only to take her clothes off. Scratch that, a woman only needs to smile.

Men are slaves by choice. If you are simplay 'playing the game', then the goal is sex. The goal of sex is the orgasm. Something everyone can achieve much more easily when flying solo. And if you need the act of sex, Steve Jones of the Sex Pistols used to slide his member in a hot sandwich until he came, leaving it for the original bassist, Glen Matlock. There are always other things to have sex with.

None of you have ever been in love. You have only been a dopesick junkie. I'm no better. I'm probably far worse.

A girlfriend has become almost the same as a job. Both lose their appeal after three months. Even that was years ago. Lately I find myself 'unemployed' by women within a month.

The easy way out, the coward's way out. Blame it on them. Get bitter. They changed. Today's different than yesterday. But not every man's experiences are mine.

They haven't changed. I've changed. Dry-rotted and twisted like an ancient oak. If companionship is impossible and the sexual release is less mess [emotionally] when it's solitary? What's the point?

The point is there is no point.

Dropping out. Without anger. Without bitterness. Without regret.

I'm not off the shelf. What has existed in my mind is no different than dreaming of being chased by dinosaurs.

Not a person. An ideal. I don't want you, I want a situational construct.

Fantasy.

Dropping out.

Thank me later.