Alternatural Thoughts: Rocket Man, Burning Up His Fuse

Just finished Planet Hulk and the action-packed first issue of World War Hulk, as well as the JLA-JSA-Legion teamup story "The Lightning Saga." Read a bunch of good Marvel Handbooks too. Maybe I’ll talk about ‘em next time.

Live for Your Smile, Die for Your Kiss

Your arms and chest hurt again after hours of using those snazzy exercise devices like the low row, the pectoral machine, the chest incline, the chest press, the vertical traction and the delts machine, but they hurt so good and make you feel that you spent your time there wisely, and you can’t help but wonder if those uber-hotties in their revealing gym-wear ever eat anything, or if they always looked that way, because, boy, they probably look good in anything and have awesome sex all the time, but it helps that you’re not the most outta shape person there, that you really don’t care about the eye candy too much, that you’re enjoying your workout, your head raised and lower lip tucked, that the nighttime view of the cityscape from the shower cubicle window makes you wanna touch yourself, and that you’re far from the confines of normalcy, albeit temporarily.

Normal would be when you do your duties like clockwork, thinking about the money you’ll be able to spend for all your needs and wants, true, but there are days when you just wanna escape the mundanity of it all, the seriousness of it all, the feeling of being constricted and trapped, and all you could think about are the times when things were unbelievably happy and you were content with just getting off and sleeping when daylight came, not caring about anything else especially the consequences and the repercussions, those dreaded four-syllable words that meant that you have to be an adult now, that you have to take responsibility, that you can’t be complacent anymore.

But that’s easier said than done, and when things aren’t normal and you’re alone, or wish to be, you just think about the quick cheap thrills, the taste of escape, the sweet freedom given by those whom you fantasized about, and you’d have died happy too because they’re your drug, those escapist souls like yourself, excited and eager to just get away from real life, unbridled by concerns and deadlines and monthly dues especially in those stolen times, getting intimate in ways that still blow your mind, and all you can process again and again are the careful thrusts and the arousing moans, the hard and the tender parts, the warm mouths that hungered, the skin that felt comfortable next to yours, the magic hands, the sweet surrender, the warm and wet essence of the climax on bare flesh that others can only imagine and dream about.

But you keep desiring and dreaming, and when you feel some of them tugging in that silly thing you call a heart, or hear their intoxicating voices in your head, you just wonder why things can’t last forever, why people can’t be more honest, so you think about escaping some more, but drowning yourself in the bottle isn’t exactly the way to do it, you learn quickly, that’s why you distract yourself with all those other things, but you end up watching more gorgeous people--you wanna be them and you wanna bed them!--and you’re curious how their clothes hide their imperfect skin, which everyone has anyway, and you wish you were as well-versed at the art of verbal communication as those with a similar propensity for adventure.

When the restlessness ends, you wonder why, even when you don’t deserve it, devotion to you remains, despite the insecurities and that pain you inadvertently caused, feelings you’re no stranger to, and you try to smile through the lies and especially when the precarious balancing act feels tedious and thankless that you just wanna jump off a cliff, metaphorically speaking, but at the end of the day, after the heartache and tears, you savor these moments, because they’re your own, and even when you don’t believe in yourself, sometimes, it’s more than enough that they do.

Sole Survivor