Who will disconnect first (part 1/2)

Online chat is something I have used throughout my life. Not on a regular basis, but I've always used them at one time or another. It used to be AOL instant messenger when I was a teenager and now I've progressed to a website called Omegle. You can chat with anyone from any country on this website.

I get on Omegle to feel a connection to someone, to share my thoughts and interests with a person I cannot see. It is extremely hard to find a person that you can have a conversation with. If you get on Omegle with the intent of having a legitimate conversation with someone, you're going to have to spend time getting through the bullshit. Kind of like real life. On Omegle, there are so many people online that will disconnect you once you tell them your age or sex, and there are even more people that just spam the chat with links to webcams. The bullshit is what keeps this site running unfortunately. Kind of like real life too, isn't it?

In these chats, it's a one on one text conversation. There is no video cam (unless you choose the option), like Skype. It's not a chatroom. It's just you and one other person. Before I talk to you about the person I talked to recently, whose conversation I consider one of the best I've had on Omegle, I'm going to tell you about another previous one.

I was chatting with this guy around 6 months ago. His name is Marcos. He is a really nice guy, and we both felt better after talking to each other. He is from Maine, which is a state in the northeast United States. After a pretty basic but enjoyable conversation, we started to talk about our families. Before I tell you anything more about Marcos, I want to mention the thing I like most about him. He likes to do most of the talking, or I guess typing/chatting. I prefer these conversations because I enjoy listening (reading.. whatever, fuck it) to others on Omegle more than talking.   

Marcos lived in a foster care center for 8 years with his sister, Princess Leia, before being adopted by a church organist and his wife. He lived with this couple for 3 years. When I initially talked to Marcos 6 months ago, he was 19 and living together with Princess Leia, who he would later tell me wasn't his sister by blood.

This couple that adopted Marcos sexually and mentally abused him for years. Marcos, this honest 19 year old Portuguese American, told me about all this on Omegle. After we talked for about 3 hours he told me he really wanted to see me. I didn't have a Skype account until that moment. I downloaded it, made an account, and accepted his Skype video chat invitation. I had never used Omegle video chat or Skype before meeting Marcos. I already felt connected to Marcos and we trusted each other. On Skype I was able to see him and later on, his much younger sister, Princess Leia.

Through Skype, he told me that he discovered he was gay about a year ago. He was comfortable with the fact that he was, but just not in public. In the back of my mind, before we started the Skype session, I sort of thought he was going to tell me something about his sexuality and possibly make an advance on me. He told me something like (I'm paraphrasing here) "I wish people would just understand that I want to hold my boyfriend's hand in public and not be looked at strangely." I didn't save the chat log with Marcos. I wish I had. Marcos did not appear gay to me when I first saw him and he didn't talk or act like any gay person I've ever known. He explained to me that he thought what happened with his adopted parents had influenced him to be gay. I told him it didn't matter to me that he was. He said this and I'll never forget it because I felt the exact same way. "The connection I feel towards you is the same as my gay friends. The physical part is what gets in the way." The physical part is what gets in the way. I told him how much I appreciated his honesty and he thanked me for listening and not judging him. He told me he felt an emotional release after talking with and seeing me, which I also felt and told him so.

We went on to talk about different things. He asked a few times and I made sure to convince him that I didn't want to participate in any sort of sexual act with him. He explained the feeling he had. He felt like he had to please me somehow, that he thought I needed it, but I continually reassured him that I didn't. The more I smiled, the more he seemed to believe me. I could relate to him so much somehow, and I'd only known him for a few short hours. I told him that I've wanted to please a man before too, but that it didn't mean I wanted to suck his dick or do anything sexual. I have never felt sexually attracted to any man before and still don't.

I hadn't told Marcos about my blog until I decided I wanted to write about him. When I asked him if I could write about him, he said it was cool and that I could use his actual name. His sister's name is Princess Leia, but I don't know Marcos, I think she looks more like Snow White :)

A little poker

Before I lost all of my money and then stopped playing, I was good. Is that even fair to say? Not sure, but it's true. I'm good.

I don't know why, but part of the car ride alone to the casino I consider half the experience. It's like layup lines before a basketball game. I like that drive. On the drive home it's of course different, when you go home a loser it sucks. I know every exit, every gas station and which ones typically have the cheapest gas. I also know how many porn stores, or, excuse me, adult video stores there are on the way to the casino. I know where the cheapest hotels are. I know that 1 hour drive like the back of my hand. Poker is similar to the drive in some ways. I know certain things after hours of observation. I know when some people are going to make certain plays. I know when some people are letting a bad beat control their play, and I can tell who has taken too much adderall or coke.

I can read your facial expressions, observe your betting patterns, your attempts at casual eye contact. You have no idea, but I know. 

They call this guy Coach. I've played with him a couple times. He coached tennis at some private school I heard. He's a 2/5 regular. He always wears one of those fucking huge gold rings on his left hand. Probably a college championship ring or something. He has an above average game, but can be exploited because he doesn't respect other players. 

Oh, whats that Coach? You think I have top pair on the flop and you think you're going to represent a flush draw or overpair with that flop reraise of yours? That flop raise you made is too big sir, I'll call you. Then, unfortunately for you, that flush card comes on the turn. "That 3 of clubs, I knew I'd spike it. I'm going to get this kid off the hand now!" Your probably thinking merrily to yourself. You're excited because you think you're gonna bluff my punkass out of the hand this time. I'm almost positive that flush card didn't make your hand on the turn, but I'm excited because I'm thinking you think I think you did. 

Still following me?

Judging by the pre flop play, it seems very likely to me that you have either two overcards or a mid pocket pair and are trying to get me out of the hand, which is the reason I didn't reraise you on the flop with my set of 6's. That turn bet you made is again too big. I'll give you some credit here though, you tried to make a turn bet that would make it seem a little bit more like you made your flush. However, in your hastiness to get me to fold, you still made that bet too big, which reveals that you don't have the only few hands I'm worried about which are AK-AJ on suit. I wouldn't dare raise you on the turn. If the river blanks, you're of course going to bet too much again and I'll get more of your money. Easy game. An innocent offsuit 9 comes on the river, and I look up at you and you're already looking down and getting your chips together for that big bet that I knew was coming. I couldn't call fast enough. I call and you flip over 99 and have hit your set of 9's on the river.

Fuck it, I never liked most of my coaches anyway.

In the back of some minds

You would rather not think it. But, it's absolutely true. Before I go any further try and ask yourself this question: "What do I offer this world? In what way can I calm down the people I consider close in my life?"

If you have to either, as you might think, over think this issue, or idealize that it has some sort of meaning that you cannot place, then I promise you, you are destined for my company. This is company both you and I need, I assure you.

Don't worry my good friend, I'll show you. Even in the most unpredictable of times, you will find yourself needing my expression, my casual glance and laugh. The primary problem, which we can't deny, is that it fits us. We are connected like long lost brothers. And why is this so? Do we really want to believe that the people closest in our lives have dwarfed us to this point of social ineptitude? We are crippled as we try to normally relate to others. We are a strange breed, my friend, but it suits us well.

In one of our worst moments, you will believe that I'm trying to assert my dominance over you, to show you how much more of a "man" I am. The opposite could not be more true. What does it mean to be a man? This is something I wonder about, as do you.

I irritate you and you can't understand why. You are irritated at yourself because of it. You don't feel normal. I feel the same my friend, but we are different people with different minds. My anxiety is a part of my mind that is never ending and no matter how many sedatives I take, I will never know what it is like to feel blissfully still in relaxation. There's a certain pain that we can inadvertently trigger in each other, though we wish we didn't. These pains we feel are a kind of madness that has always connected us.

When you were young

Life has always been a sort of game to me. When I was young I always loved to play it. I loved playing before it mattered how many points you scored, what results came about from your performance, or before anyone decided how skilled you were. It was just a game.

When you start to get older, different things start to "matter". Your individual skill set, what makes you, you, becomes put to a test. A sort of benchmark to judge yourself against your peers. The game you were once naturally drawn to and loved becomes a sort of way for you to classify yourself. A way to fit in to the society you live in.

There are certain things that can make a man cry and they are different for every man. I could be standing in a line at a grocery story and observe a man and his wife exchange honest harmonious acts of affection and feel nothing. To me, that just isn't a powerful feeling. It's not to say that the act between the two of them isn't filled with less love, I just wouldn't describe it as a powerful feeling that maybe another man might.

I was at a basketball game earlier and I felt something. An innocent, energetic boy of about twelve won the attention of a cheerleader that was cheering for her team during a timeout at the game. During this timeout, all the cheerleaders were supposed to go and pass out pizzas to overly excited fans. This young boy was desperately seeking the attention of this one cheerleader. He finally got it, and the girl smiled candidly at him and brought him the pizza. I was 4 rows back. The boy didn't seem to care much about the pizza, in fact, I never saw him open it. His dad was confused at first. His dad had no idea what his son was doing because he was flipping through the pages of the sports program. His son had garnered the attention of this cheerleader and he had no idea.

The exchange between the cheerleader and that boy and between that boy and his father were so powerful to me that I couldn't help but start to cry. Not a loud fit of tears, of course, but just this little release of emotion that couldn't wait to be poured out. It's times like these when I love to be alone.

The father smiled to his son in a way that struck me deeply. I so badly wanted to feel a part of that somehow, to somehow capture that boy's feelings. To have that father, a complete stranger to me, beam down at me and put his hand on my shoulder as if saying, "I love you son, way to go!"

I started to think about how silly I was acting. "Get it together," I told myself. And I eventually did, you know. But for that instance, for whatever brief of time, I wanted that middle aged man to give me the reaction that he had just given to his son. I didn't care what I needed to do. For some reason I needed that exchange from him, I thought tearfully. It's maybe like I imagined it might be... when I was young.

Trying to make a connection

What will follow is not a story of two people that you could label. You just couldn't be able to, the story would lack development. There's no established plot here, but a twisted account of fixation and a furious recollection of emotion. These are the problems, my problems. I can't stop living with the problems I see as incurable. For some time now, I've been viewing the outside around me as mostly blank and the inside of me subsequently feels empty. The ability to feel a connection to others feels like so much more of a struggle for me.

She'll hesitantly stammer, "You're more comfortable now, right?" This question ignites a certain sadness in me. It hurts so bad to hear her say it.

To me, my response is an affirming perfect truth, but her reaction will dispel everything. She doesn't believe me and there's seemingly nothing I can do. I'm away from my friends, my environment at last, and she is the only thing on my mind. Am I comfortable or infatuated? In either case I'm connected to her and am relieved by her presence. Her touch, eye contact, and words that follow mine will desperately try and convince me that my answer isn't revealing to her, but, in truth, her inability to understand me the way she wants to will eat away at her. The real truth is that it can't be so, me and her. It's so true and for me to already know this after just meeting her is sick. I could comfortably shed a tear after she asks her question because I know I'm doomed. It's already over.

I know it's over, that she'll never believe my honesty. She is an expert on body language, on tone, on any kind of human reaction. She can't avoid becoming confused with me. Her uncertainty is simply too much for her to handle, and the power of the next series of sequences is impossible to describe. It breaks me down to see her hesitate, to see her unsure about me. It makes me want to die...be someone else...to somehow possess a different quality in order to comfort her. My thoughts become more erratic.

Her beauty and charisma are without question. She possesses this ability to captivate me. You can tell she's never been torn apart by anyone else, but, been a force unattainable, yet undeniable, to the men she admits in her life.

She can read people, like me, except different. We are both heavily invested in each other's emotions, and maybe we each have a gift necessary to save the other, but we are somehow unable to give it. Throughout the night there is no save face, no recovery time, and no time for shortness of breathe. I can't be swayed by even the most convincing of exaggerations from most girls, but strangely, a few expressions from her make me feel in some way already connected to her. With her, it appears to be what I've always wanted- it's a dream world. She'll paint it in cool colors for me, something of an elaborate fantasy. It's a world that is so consuming I would give up everything to live in it with her.

X

“I want to live in a world free from fleeting happiness,” Caleb said. “I’m so scared. The bullshit that is me is impossible to dismiss from my mind. I can’t help but think about how fucked up I am. Don’t you find it hard to feel good about life when you know that you are doomed?”

“Come on.” Damien said with disgust. “You do good deeds for others. You donate to the less fortunate. People respect you. You are the most honest person I know. Don’t you see the worth in these things? Think of all the drug dealers, pimps, and murderers out there. You are separate from them.”

“Yes, but, am I really doing the less fortunate any genuine good? Maybe I’m just enabling them. I have thought about the drug dealers, pimps, and murderers.” Caleb said to Damien, clearly troubled. “So, what of them? Who is to say that my life is any more upstanding than theirs? And who cares if I have what they don’t.. Perhaps the opposite is just as true.

“You’ll feel bad one day, Caleb, and you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself!”

“I feel bad already, but listen. Imagine this. A world where nothing matters. A world where there are no real rules and that’s because no objective rules or truths can be reached. In this world, the realization of this fact is the most holy thing that man can achieve. A person doesn’t reach everlasting happiness, Nirvana, Buddhahood, because they can’t. That’s the most unfortunate thing about man if you ask me, everyone is looking, but never finding. Every human is far too morally fallible to achieve some fictitious desirable state of mind.”

“You think too much, Caleb. You are a good man, do not forget this. You’re envisioning a fantasy world. A world without any peace of mind.”

“I do think a lot, you’re right. I have struggles that I will never overcome and how am I supposed to cope with the fact that I never will? I want to know how I can get to the world that I just described.”

“You need to think about other things. You have some soul searching to do, my friend,” Damien finally said as he got up from his chair and walked out the room away from Caleb.

Caleb wished his friend wouldn’t leave. He remained seated, unhappy. He sighed and 

leaned back in his chair.

_________________

Such a world exists, you fool, but you do have to get there. No, it’s not on Mars or some distant planet. It’s death.

That’s right, Caleb. You have to get to the one place which you cannot stop thinking about. Death. There is world like the one you just described. Crazy thought? No. Despite what you might think, your actions on Earth do determine your eligibility to join the world.

But who am I to tell you this you may ask? Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. Keep thinking about how messed up your moral senses are. You’re right about that and that is what might save you. Don’t entertain the thoughts of this other man. This other man believes you are a “good man”, and according to societal standards that were cleverly invented around you, you are that. However, to your great fortune, you are dissatisfied with this and that is good.

Here is what you are to do. Go and commit sin and live off every impulse in your mind. The only sensible life to live is one without a single rule. And why is this? Because, like you said, every man is morally fallible. He cannot and will not ever be morally infallible. You are on the right track, Caleb. There is no savior in this world of yours. There is no quest, no enlightenment. You are the instrument that your mind needs only to play with.

This is not difficult, Caleb, you just need to go and live it. Adopt “madness”. Release yourself from the cruel restrictions that your world has placed upon you. Every repressive thought you have had about yourself and your surroundings is not your fault, you poor soul. You will find a different sort of happiness in my world.

You could start with murdering her. Her pretty, ignorant self must go. If you look deep inside yourself you know you believe it’s true. You know those dreams you have had about fucking her and then strangling her to death? You need only to act. You need to simply admit to yourself that you believe in the satisfaction you would receive from it. You are willed to do it, Caleb. Your demons are the door for you and the honesty about yourself is the key. Do not forget this. Now get up and go.