Distractions

"I only make jokes to distract myself
from the truth..."
-Sia, Distractions

You'll often find me distracted.  Physically, all the teeth and fat is accounted for but my mind has long since melted away.  I am not with you.  I did not hear what you just said.  I take nothing in but the swelling emptiness.  The brain is capable of only so much information.  Mine is filled to capacity with clutter.  There is the worry and the fear and the shame.  There is no room for creativity or connection.  I cannot be interested in anyone else because my mind is too far away to take in anything that was said or shown.  People talk to me.  At work, my manager gives me instructions.  And I stand there and I hear what acquaintances, family and coworkers say but it doesn't absorb.  I don't understand it.  I don't follow it.  And sometimes I just don't realize they've said anything at all. 

This is why I've gotten dumber over the years.  I've never had common sense but I was sort of book smart.  After I was done with school, the book smarts went away while the common sense continued to deteriorate.  As far as learning and growing as a person?  Well, that has regressed as well.  

I think this is why I've gotten dumber over the years.  I've been unable to absorb any new information and the old has been pushed aside by the all enveloping dark.  When I tried to go back to school, I was honestly fearful of the material.  I hadn't had to use that part of my brain in years and I was worried I wouldn't be able to understand what was being taught.  When I went back to my old job, I was worried I wouldn't pick up on anything.  Although I had been there before, they had introduced new policies, as well as new registers.  It didn't take very long for me to get back into the swing of things but it took longer than it should have.  And that worried me, disturbed me more than it should have.

I'll admit that I'm drowning in my own misery.  I'm that guy, the one who wallows in his own pain, the one who feels sorry for himself.  And how can I not?  I think sadness comes in the form of walls, planted in between where you are and where you want to be, who you want to be.  And I'm confronted with walls every day.  When I walk into my job, I'm walking into a wall.  When I talk to people, I'm talking to a wall.  When I look in the mirror, I'm looking at a wall.  These walls keep me from hearing everyone else.  These walls keep me from feeling anyone else.  It's all around me, inescapable, so naturally that's all I'll see, that's all I can focus on.  Even when I try to break down the walls, it only leads to another wall.  And at times I think I can see pinpricks of light shining through the cracks in the walls, a shining swelling that gives me small hopes for something better.  Yet, it feels like a thousand miles away.  There's walls to climb and distance to tread.  And there's just no guarantee that it's worth it in the end.  But, everyone's quick to say that happiness is worth that risk.  Is it, really?  What about the bitter disappointment when we realize that happiness is not at the end of the journey, that the steps we took, the rules we followed to get to that happiness only led to a dead end?  Another wall.

I am so inside my head, always distracted to get myself out of my situation.  I can't think about work while I'm at work because if I do, I'll blow up at someone.  I can't think about home.  I can't sit too long with too much quiet or the walls close in.  That's why I've been watching so many television shows and reading so many books.  That's why I always have the television on or music playing while I drive.  Distractions.  Glittery diversions that keep my simple mind occupied so I don't think about the bad stuff.  Instead, I try to think about the good.  I think about stories I want to write or the good future I'll have when the stories are written, published and sold.  I think about creating my own cartoon series, very underground, very gritty and homemade but with a story that forgives any flaws in technical shortcomings.  And I wonder how that might lead into other directions, how maybe one day someone will see me and recognize potential and take me away from all of this.  I just think I have to keep putting myself out there, have to keep trying.  If I'm not trying, I'm sinking, swallowed, overwhelmed.

I think about leaving everything.  When I get enough money, I'm out of here I say to myself.  Running away just like I did with college.  But, look how college turned out.  It very well killed me.  Maybe it'll be better next time.  I'll have the control.  I'll choose who I surround myself with, who I'll invite into my realm of existence.  I always think about reinventing myself.  I've been thinking about it for years now.  I always say I'll go away and come back better, thinner, more talented.  But, how does that happen?  Is there a way to get away from the world, if only for a while, to get myself reorganized and in touch with myself and my creativity?  Is there any way to boost creativity?  I always imagine starting over, realizing that I keep making messes of my lives, that I messed up high school, college and now times after college.  How do I stop messing up?  What is so wrong with me that I destroy opportunity, pilfer possibility and ignore chance after chance? 

Concrete goals have now turned into abstract dreams.  The objectives I've laid out for myself have turned from realistic  achievements to idealistic fantasies.  Happiness is no longer true or tangible.  It is still a hope, yes, but not an ambition.  Most people strive toward happiness in their lives and most know it to be attainable and some do manage to achieve it.  For me, I place happiness in the more childlike fantasies, like flying or becoming an astronaut.  The truth is, I'm withering, truly, honestly withering.  I'm trying to keep my mind off of it.  But I don't know how much longer it will last.    

Not for Me

The other day, I geeked out because I found some animation software online for super cheap.  I was getting ready to sell my blood, sperm and a kidney to be able to pay for everything I would need to start animating again.  I'm talking thousands of dollars here.  So, when I found this software for a couple of hundred dollars, I made a sperm deposit right then and there.  The website looked pretty legitimate but I tried not to get too excited.  I Facebooked my roommates from college and asked if they thought it sounded like the real deal.  They know more about that stuff than I do.  If it was legit, that would have helped me out so much.  I'm already spending so much on a Cintiq, saving up all these months to be able to purchase one and it would feel deflating to have to then start all the way over to get some programs so I can actually use the Cintiq.

Because I haven't animated in over a year, I'm basically going to have to start from scratch, which I don't mind so much.  Obviously, I won't be putting together any good material and getting a real job any time soon but at least I can get back into the swing of things and hopefully improve over the little bit of material I do have.  It feels so weird.  Not only have I not animated anything in a year but I haven't even drawn a picture in a year.  I've never got that long without drawing.  I think I was just so burned out after school and needed a break.  Plus, I wanted to "focus" on my writing.  I'm always worried that the cliche about losing it if not using it is actually true.  Heck, I worried about losing it even while I was using it.  It's also weird because I had an acquaintance from high school ask me to help her out with an art project and I had to delicately decline her offer.  I told her I had temporarily retired from art.  In actuality, I was so rusty I was worried I wouldn't do a good job and she'd be disappointed in my work.  I just hope that I can get back into art and become confident enough to take on offers from people.  It would be great if I could supplement my menial income.

Couple of days later, I heard back from my roommates.  Turns out, the cheap animation software I discovered is sketchy.  I'm not sure it's a total rip off but it's not an authorized reseller and they only send discs and an activation key.  There's no support or help if things go wonky.  I'm not entirely surprised but I am still a little deflated.  It's okay, though, because I'm just going to keep working and saving up and I'll feel better knowing I obtained the stuff through legitimate means and I can feel good about getting any kind of support in case things mess up.

With that being said, I tried to order the Cintiq last week.  It's back ordered.  I also tried to order a nice desk to draw/write on but it too was back ordered.  Both won't be available for several weeks.  If it's not a lack of money getting in my way, it's a lack of availability.  When will I catch a break?

I've been doing a lot of stuff.  I've been watching DVDs, reading and working on my book.  I'm keeping myself busy.  It's a good thing because I'm still struggling with everything, with finances and feelings and I'm always so exhausted because it takes every ounce of strength I have just to make it through the day.  I keep reaching for goals, keep thinking ahead not only to avoid thinking about the present but also so I have something to look forward to, something to give me the strength to make it through hard days.  I have a vision of what I'd like to happen, how I'd like things to work out and I'm depending entirely on myself to make it happen.  This is dangerous.  If it doesn't work out, I'll only be reinforcing the hatred I have for myself.  If it does work, then hopefully it will lift me out of my darkness, even if slightly.

You know, I never really did figure out if I was alive or not.  I sort of just let it hang there, a non existent answer to a baffling dilemma.  But I know I'm not living.  I know there's no life within me.  If there's death, I don't know.  But there's no light, no love and nothing holding me back from the brink of breaking.  It's a tad worrisome.  So, I just don't think about it.  I'm just trying to think about the next paycheck, the next week, the next month ahead when I'll hopefully have all my stuff together so I can start drawing and animating and creating new worlds with lines and colors and my hands, a world I can escape into where I can say I have control.  'Cause I realized a long time ago that this world is not for me.  I'm just afraid my creativity is just as broken as I am.

I pray that I'm mistaken, that I at least have that left.

I feel a bit weird doing this but I'm going to put a donate button on the right side of my page.  I don't expect anything from anyone.  Times are still tough and people can't just be handing their hard-earned money on jerks like me.  But, if anyone feels like donating a little something something, that would be fantastic.  Who knows, maybe a billionaire will stumble across my blog, see that I'm struggling, and drop a several hundred thousand dollars to help a brother out.  Oprah?  Oprah?   

Concrete

So, we all know there will always be people more attractive than us and people less attractive than us. Despite this knowledge, we can’t be satisfied with ourselves. We always strive to look like the more attractive people. We think if we can only have “his stomach” or “her boobs” then we’ll feel better about ourselves. Yet, when we do get there, we realize it’s not enough, that it doesn’t make us feel better about ourselves at all because there is still something, someone more beautiful out there to strive for. If only we can have “her teeth” or “his hair” then we’ll finally feel better about ourselves. It’s like climbing a ladder that leads to nowhere.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Beauty isn’t the way to satisfaction because beauty is fluid and constantly changing and consequently we are always searching and failing. Thin is in and so we lose weight and by the time we are skin and bones, curves are all the rage.  We dunk those donuts and by the time we've fleshed out, straight hair is what's happening.  Then curly.  Then grungy clothes.  Then prep and polish.  Big noses.  Little hands.  Change your wardrobe.  Put your plastic surgeon on speed dial.  Follow every trend to the letter.  Beauty is not concrete. The only thing concrete is confidence. Until we can relinquish everyone else's idea of beauty and start embracing our own, we will never be satisfied. We all have our own beautiful qualities and unique features that we should focus on instead of the features we think we should have or would need to feel good about ourselves. Everything we need to feel good about ourselves is already there, hidden under the fear, inadequacy and shame.

I know this.

But I just don't believe it.

Blood: Love Leaks From Her Neck

Although I was convinced vampires have no capacity to feel true love, something was definitely happening with this girl. I was wanting her, desiring her in a different way than all the rest. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I was the one spilling my guts.  I wasn't used to being on the other end of the unfurling.  Was it possible that I was simply unloading on this dumb girl, that I had held in all these feelings for so long that I had to dump them on someone, anyone?  Or was she special?  Was she somehow bringing this out in me?  Was this really happening? Was there a different kind of lust present, not just a blood lust, but a lust for love? I knew she was into me but I just couldn't figure out if that feeling was being reciprocated. It had been so long since I had felt a genuine human emotion that didn't involve negative energy. And despite my efforts to warn this girl against my kind, I hadn't managed to scare her away. Dare I say, I admired that?  Maybe she was too far gone, too far pathetic for me to get inside of her brain. No matter, that wasn't the part I was interested in getting inside, anyway. This girl had affected me in a way no other human had before in my entire existence as a vampire. And the longer I let her live, the longer I talked, confided in her, the more she intrigued me. It was almost as if she could look into my empty eyes and feel the hurt I endure daily. Although it is impossible for her to know such pain, she seemed to think she did. And that was almost comforting. I had felt as if my emotions were on the brink of...humanity. Although I strike fear into the hearts of humans, I was actually the scared one in this situation. All these new feelings and emotions were trying so hard to tear themselves out of my cold corpse. Was I becoming the impossible, a vampire capable of loving a human, of loving at all? I was going to try one final time to convince this girl that being a vampire wasn't the way to go. The fact that I even cared to tell her threw me off balance. Why should this even matter to her or anyone else? She was nothing but nourishment, yet I couldn't help but to try to warn her, couldn't help but to want to make her run away, to somehow free her from my unwilling hold over her heart.  I think I was wanting to save her.  Lesson three:

In the most basic sense, vampires are drawn to blood because blood is life. It's a drug, yes.  It's a substitute for love, sure.   But most of all, it's the representation of life that runs through the veins. We vampires are without life and so we crave it just like we crave blood. Even in death, we crave to crawl back into skin that is warm and alive. With each neck we nurse, we gain a little bit of life back. Just as you humans cannot escape death, we cannot either. We do all we can to stop it. And even when we lose to death we cannot accept it. We are greedy for life. Vampires are always in a frenzy to be free from the shackles of our shells. Becoming a vampire is the equivalent of being locked in a coffin while you are still alive. It's claustrophobic in this skin. When you're human, you want to die, but when you become a vampire, you just want to live. It's the ultimate irony. There are so many untapped desires the living have yet to explore and the dead aren’t ready to give that up just yet.

Vampires are still human in some respects. We walk and talk and put on the appearances of normality. The frustration is that we can cover up our curse as much as we'd like, but we can never be who we were. We can pass for human, yet we never will be. We don't breathe, so our chests don't ebb and flow in our sleep. We don't cast a reflection. I don't even remember what I look like anymore. I was turned before cameras were invented, so I don't even have a picture to remind me of my features. I don't know what color my hair is, what my lips looks like, even the hue of my eyes. Although vampires gain sustenance from blood, we can eat, yet eating isn’t necessarily recommended. Since our bodies cease to function upon death, the food isn’t digested and it just sits in our stomachs until we throw it back up. And perhaps the biggest disappointment, the thing I miss the most about being human, is the fact that vampires cannot participate in sex. Sex is destroyed in death. We have been compensated in other ways, although they pale in comparison to climaxing. We are granted new eyes, eyes that can see everything. Our eyes can pierce souls, can hypnotize and paralyze, eyes that draw the living to us. Upon our death, time dies as well. We are preserved in tight, youthful skin that holds our attractiveness. We are forever young and forever beautiful. We are given an insatiable lust, a lust that lingers on the flesh of our victims, an intoxication that dizzies and leaves them vulnerable. We smell of sex and seduction. It seeps from our skin. Our lips are full of flavor.  Yet, what's it all good for if we can't indulge in our own attractiveness, if we can't use it for sexual gain?  Yes, it gets us the blood but what about the other parts?  Oh, how I miss those other parts.

As I spoke, I became fixated on the tightness of her body, the tightness of her dress and realized this would be the point where my pants would become tight, if only my organ was functional. Just because I cannot become physically aroused anymore does not mean I don't get hot in other ways. My hard on comes from my head. It's a mental stimulation, a memory of what once was. And I could tell as I spoke of sex, she became hot as well. She crossed her legs and I noticed she wasn't wearing any panties.  She licked her already wet lips. The leather let out a dull squeak as she inched closer to me, as she looked into my eyes. Although I was the vampire, it seemed as if she was hypnotizing me. She reached out and touched my jaw, her warm fingers running down my face, a warmth I haven't felt in so long. I'm always cold, so cold, and her fingers were like fire. She pressed to continue, to go on with all the ways in which I could make up for my vampiric impotence.

Oh, and to bite someone is to make love to them. It’s almost as good as the real thing. There are so many similarities between sucking necks and having intercourse. The neck is smooth and warm, the blood just under the surface of the skin provides the heat to initiate action . The neck throbs in ecstasy. It’s wet and delicious. And when we reach the point of penetration, after our teeth elongate and become firm, we sink into a state that is solidly sublime. Once I’m inside of her, our bodies are joined.

She began to get really turned on, her chest heaving out, close enough so that her breasts brushed against my chest. Both of her hands were on my face as she pulled me in for another kiss. This one felt so different, so much warmer, so much more tender. My lips tingled as our mouths mingled. She tore off my shirt and I ripped her dress off in one quick motion. We stood there, both topless, my stomach rock hard and her breasts like two perfect planets orbiting her torso.  Our hands attacked each others bodies in a throbbing fever. I continued to talk in between kisses.

And for as long as I’m sucking the sweet sustenance from her, our veins pulse at the same time. She breathes life and love into my body and I finally feel I am alive once again. And I am human again for as long as I'm sucking, for as long as we both share this blood, this crimson creator of life. We are as one, hovering over a perfect harmony of pleasure and pain.  God, don't you want to feel it?  Don't you want to climax from the inside out, to feel the millions of nerves being tingled, to shudder from such ecstasy, to feel it flowing in and out of you, to feel me touching you from inside your skin? 

Holding her body in my arms, something came over me, something so strong I was compelled to complete the task my body had ordered upon me. It was stronger than a sexual drive, more intense than any arousal I had ever felt. My lips made their way from her mouth to her neck. And she was lost in my arms again, just like all those hours ago on my couch. I ran my hand through the softness of her hair and gently pushed her head to one side. A line of translucent blue emerged from her satin skin. My canines carved themselves into points again and I lowered my sights onto that blue. In an instant, I had pierced her soft neck, my teeth passing the skin and flesh and landing in that line of blood. A small whimper passed her puckered lips and then an undecipherable moan filled my apartment. I couldn't tell if it was from the pleasure or the pain. Where was she on this journey? Where was I?  My teeth retracted as the punctured vein produced that sweet substance from her neck. It bubbled up like oil, thick and dark and revolting yet irresistible.  The coppery crimson liquid flowed like a waterfall from her body and I sucked it down in satisfaction.

"Yes, yes," she said. "You're doing it. You're turning me. And we'll be together forever." 

I could feel the smile on her face injected into those disgusting words. Yes, I was going to change her, to keep her with me, explore her further.  I was going to tear her apart and piece her back together, make her follow me, make her lick my feet and wash my hair.  Oh, God, the blood was going to my head.  Sweet, delicious, disgusting blood.  My eyes rolled back from behind closed lids.  It was all happening so fast, my brain buoyant in the red stuff.  I was getting close, coming to the brink of her burning.  I had to stop.  Wet, sloppy noises took over her moaning.  She grew silent, her breath easy and fluid.  

"I love you," she whispered in an exhalation of breath. 

My blue or brown or black eyes shot open.  My tongue ran over the puncture wounds like a vacuum.  This girl had done something to me, something I wanted to learn more about. But, her words reminded me of her incessant ignorance and her vapid shallowness. If only she would have kept her mouth shut, just like most girls should. It seems every time they open their lips for anything other than insertion, they ruin everything.  I continued sucking, let the moment overtake me as I was overtaking her. I would not turn her. I would not let her survive. I was reaching nirvana with every drop.  And as the blood slowly drained from her body, the pain and the emptiness set in. And she knew it. She screamed but I muffled her mouth with my perfectly manicured hand. She bit my fingers in desperation, but the pain was insignificant and not enough to let me go. I was no where near hurting as much as she was.  I began to bleed from her bite, my blood smearing all over her mouth.  Choking.  Wheezing.  Muffled excruciation.

"How's it taste?" I asked her. 

When I first bit into this idiot child, I was reminded of the time I was the one on the receiving end of the puncture. And I realized I was just repeating history, doing the exact same thing that was done to me. This girl had fallen in love with me and I had strung her along, having made up my mind from the start that I would kill her. But, to my credit, some reservations did manage to seep into my thoughts.  I played with the idea of turning her.  I guess I forgot to tell her vampires are fickle as hell.  She should have known it was coming.  After explaining all that blood does, all that it means to us, how could she not understand our insane lust over the flow of red? And I knew that I would no longer string her along. I knew I could not turn her and then abandon her like was done to me. No, this girl was too pathetic. She only deserved to die. I felt a responsibility to end her sick sadness. I was doing her a favor.  Letting her down not so gently.  Community service.

I realized there was a lesson to be learned from my exchange with this empty, lonely girl. There was a clarity in the crimson. I had tried to change, had tried to love this bag of blood, but my carnal cravings had conquered this crush I had developed for her. I learned that you are who you are and there is nothing that can do to rearrange or interrupt the natural cycle of your existence. It is the blood, not love, that keeps me going, that preserves my pale skin, that maintains my sexual magnetism. I learned that love is found in a heart that beats and not a vampire that eats. I granted her a gift alright, just not the gift she wanted, not the gift that only I can give. I did not grant her the gift of eternal life, but that of death, a gift anyone could have granted her. It’s unfortunate she sought me out. Her mission for immortality was wasted. And so was her time. But, not mine. I benefited from our erotic encounter.

When her body was fully drained, before her last breath, she let out a scream reminiscent of ecstasy.  Her body shuddered and I savored her death throes. And I realized that this was better than sex any day. To have a belly full of blood and a girl's life climaxing in my arms is more enjoyable than any orgasm I've ever had in humanity. I wondered if it was as good for her as it was for me.  I allowed her emptied and lifeless body to slip from my well defined arms and fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, her warm, wet juices dripping down my chin. And I thought of how it reminded me of old times...

I thought I had loved her but I realized I had mistaken love for hunger pains.

The End.

Blood: I Only Love You For Your Body

This tender and all too trusting young girl still wasn’t convinced. Yet, I was completely convinced of her utter incompetence.  Sitting there, nothing more than a doggy bag of blood to me.  Perky breasts.  Glitter in her eyes.  Wonder.  Amazement.  Idiocy.  I guess my monologue on my mammoth obsession for blood wasn’t enough to turn her away from being turned. There she was, gripping the couch, her lacquered fingernails pressing hard into the leather.  She was licking her lips, hanging on every word I said.  My talk of addiction didn't sway her, send her screaming for the door that she wouldn't be able to escape.  I suppose she has an addictive personality. Perhaps I had only reinforced her idea of being undead. Perhaps I only stoked the fire for her hopes of fangs. Perhaps her stupidity was only out-shined by her curiosity, a curiosity that fought against logic and fear. This girl had balls. I was a vampire who had brought her back to my place solely to suck on her neck yet she showed no signs of fear on her feather light features. And she was interested in me, in my lifestyle. And I couldn’t help but to feel something among all of this madness. Among this shroud of sheer absurdity over this situation, I saw something shining in her eyes. My powerful perception told me it was more than a curiosity. It was more than a yearning to be something else. It was an interest in the man behind the pale skin and seductive stare. And what was even more bizarre was the fact that I might have been feeling the same way about her. I wanted to know more about this girl, this empty headed and entirely fake girl. I wanted to see what was beyond all the plasticine and perfume. I wanted to see the girl’s insides. And for the first time in a long time, I meant it metaphorically. I was drowning out her droning on about becoming one of my kind, when I heard the word "love" bubble up from her plumped lips. My attention snapped back and I asked her to repeat herself. She said she would absolutely love to become a vampire. I told her that would be the last thing she'd ever love.  Lesson two:

The problem with love is that vampires can't. We are simply incapable of doing so. When the body dies, love is left to rot. The body is preserved, but the heart decays. You claim my condition is a gift you want me to give you. In fact, it’s no gift at all. It’s a curse. This curse of the vampire is that we are removed from love. Love originates from the heart and since our hearts don’t work anymore, neither does our capacity to care. I have feelings that are limited to anger and frustration. I've never felt warmth since turning. I have never felt happiness on my own, only that empty kind of happiness that seeps from strangers, the kind I lavishly lap up.  Ultimately, though, it's unsatisfying, like drinking chalk.

Although I am no longer human, I still carry some human attributes. Mainly, all the negative ones. It seems as if my emotions have been filtered, only leaving the offensive ones behind, bitterness being the biggest one. I'm bitter that I'm not alive, yet I'm not dead. I'm trapped.  It's like being stuck upside down in a hole.  Your spine cramps and the bulk of your body weighs down your lungs.  Breathing becomes labored.  Your existence becomes miserable.  I'm bitter that I have to hunt my food like an animal. I'm bitter that I have become something more, something powerful and wise, something superior to you humans yet I have to hide away like a lower class creature.  It's like discovering you can fly but you have to keep your feet glued to the ground.  I'm bitter that I can feel what everyone else feels but I have no genuine feelings of my own, except those of rage and regret.

We seek out love but it is impossible. You see, love leaks into the veins. It’s pumped throughout the body by the heart. And for vampires to find love, we must seek it through sucking. Not to tarnish my image or display my weaknesses to you but we vampires are lonely creatures, too. This is another one of our human-like characteristics. What humans don’t understand is that death does not diminish the need to connect. We seek out victims, not with malicious intent, but with the need to feel close to someone. We are always so cold, always so ice cold. We can’t feel the sun and we can’t feel the skin of the living, not unless we are tearing it off.  The only way to feel warm is to smear that blood on ourselves, to ingest it and feel that sickening syrup slowly slide through our bodies.  God, doesn't that sound pathetic? Another reason I hate myself.  There's this inner conflict, this tangle of superiority and human-like weakness that spins inside me like nails in a blender. 

As much as I believe otherwise, vampires are viewed by the majority of you humans as a subspecies.  I guess there are those like you who realize we are exceptional but by most we are unneeded and unwanted. No one would ever choose to love a vampire. And even if they did, we can’t love back. Since they don’t choose us, present company excluded, we must choose them, love them against their will, and force a love out of them that is empty and unsatisfying. It seems cruel but it is a means for survival. It's no different from you humans. When I'm at that club, I see men stalking their prey just like I do. And at the end of the night, you are used up in very much the same way, just used for sex instead of blood.  Except, with them, you live to tell about it. But, really, am I all that different? We are forced to feed on blood, not only for nourishment, but a little connection.  Isn't that all you men and women are looking for, a little connection, a little contact to make you feel less alone in this great red world?  Without that connection, we are loveless. And without love, we are nothing.  And nobody wants to be nothing, not the highest ranking creatures or the scum of the earth.  Love, all consuming, all negating love is still at the center of everything.  As much as I hate it, love does transcend death.  Love still matters to every living, dying and dead thing.  Although vampires have been ushered into the underworld, we still retain the knowledge of what is important in life, a life that has been robbed of us, a life we still yearn for. Although we cannot obtain love, it is still a goal of ours. We still want it just as much as we did when we were alive. And perhaps that is our ultimate punishment. Not only are we locked away from the light, but from love as well. And we seek that love, very much in vain, through the veins. But, don't get so uppity. You humans do it, too. You all look for love in all the wrong places. Usually the wet ones.

I fell in love only once before I became a vampire. It was with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Even after all these hundreds of years, I have never met anyone as beautiful as her. You don't even come close. I was immediately smitten with this beauty. It wasn't only her face, or her breasts, but it was her grace, her charm, her love that pulled me in to her. Unfortunately, the joke was on me. Turns out, she was a just another vampire and all those qualities of her character were a facade. She reeled me in just like I did to you.  Do you get it yet?  Are you paying attention, you twit?  Don't think I am interested in you.  Don't think my eyes shine for you.  For as I said, vampires just don't exhibit those kind of warm characteristics. It was just the mechanics of a vampire, those fake feelings that force unsuspecting victims to fall into their fangs. I wanted to give her my heart, but all she wanted was my blood. She strung me along for a few weeks before she bit me. Sometimes, I feel the greatest pain she plunged into me was not her teeth, but the hopes for some great love, a promise of something more than myself. She kept me around just long enough for me to fall in love with her. She had fooled me, had betrayed me into thinking I had found something real for the first time in my existence. I suppose my only consolation was the fact that she turned me and didn't just kill me. Hm, some consolation.  She even kept me around for a little while after I became a vampire. But, it was only long enough to teach me how to survive being a blood sucker. She soon left me and I was left so bitter. For the longest time I questioned her motives for turning me into a vampire. At first, I thought she was doing it so we'd be together forever. Then, I thought maybe she did it out of pity, that the time we had spent together maybe actually meant something to her and she didn't have the..."heart" to just kill me. I'll never know her true intentions. But, it couldn't have been love. I am convinced of that.  Love does not hurt.  Love does not transform.  Love does not kill.

But, it doesn't stop me from seeking it. And the closest thing I've come to feeling love is feeding on lovers. I like to search out the most vulnerable, most desperate girls I can find. Those are the tastiest. They have so much love within them and no one to give it to. Their blood is spiked with it.  So, I gladly take it. All that blood infused with so much love just tastes so sweet. It's just like red sugar. And that drug effect takes place once again, lined with love. That bitterness inside, the remnants of humanity, dissipates for as long as the blood coats my cuspids. You see, I don't just crave blood for the numbing properties, but for the bits of love that linger in the lining of the veins. It retards my regression into madness. Without that love located in the blood, I would disappear into the darkness.

To be continued...