Walking into the wind down a tiny side street, I suck the final drag from my cigarette and tighten the collar of my coat around my chin to try to keep out the chill in the air. I take myself on walks when I can’t write and I can’t write at the moment because it seems no matter where I go I can’t get away from the feeling that every move I make is being sized up and picked apart by some freakish peeping omniscient entity. Could just be my own paranoia but it feels like I’m being watched and watched much too closely which makes it hard to think which makes it impossible to write any kind of cohesive thing. This is probably why I keep my distance from most people most often. You get too close, you fall in, and it’s really hard to crawl back out. It can take days, months, and I don’t have that kind of time let alone patience. Stopping for coffee in a nearby cafe, I take a seat at a small table by the window and open my notebook. It feels good to get away from the laptop and the phone for a while, I suspect because we actually are all being watched, tracked, and monitored all the time through our devices so it’s no wonder we crave solitude, time away to fall into our own arms and breathe. But I’m starting to think taking respite inside myself is not in the cards today. Today all I can do is pick at my arms, chew on my fingers, and the fuck if I can breathe. Pen in hand but still unable to think straight enough to write, I look up and notice a tall woman who comes in to order some kind of exotic tea, and as she swings her hips ever so slightly and walks back out into the wind, her long honey colored hair whips around in the sunlight and I notice she is very beautiful. Toned and glowing in her skin tight workout clothes. A woman like that will always be watched. She will always be looked at and fantasized about, by strangers she will never know. It can feel like an odd way of living in the world, to be a woman who is looked at, because the hungry, wandering eyes never leave you even when you are alone with yourself. Somewhere, perhaps beginning very young, deep within we become aware of being observed. It both frightens and intrigues us. We want it and we do not want it, and we are not even consciously aware of why, or why not. There is something about being taken in by another being whom you do not know. What are they doing with you in the privacy of their minds? Is it sick and twisted? Or is it perhaps beautiful, luminous, poetic? What pieces do they take away and keep for themselves? Is that why you feel so depleted sometimes after being out in the world too long? But we are brought up this way, we are used to it. And because we are used to it, we do it, too. We the watched also become the stranger. Watching. Maybe that’s why so few of us ever write one goddamn thing.

32 Replies to “Spit”

    1. Oh Dave, what a gorgeous thing to say. Thank you, I’m so very flattered, I’m blushing. And you made me lol about ‘not in a weird way’ πŸ™‚ We humans are always watching each other aren’t we…, especially the writers…watch out for those buggers haha ❀

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Haha, Allison.. I am more than included in the writer’s watch circle. I watch everybody and record everything in my mind or on paper. Much like you, I imagine. To be honest, Allison, since writing romance, I have watched women differently. Now I wonder, what’s her story? Is she in love? Has she had her heart broken? Is she thinking about someone right now? And I begin to feel for her. Really feel. And hope for her. And then… a story idea may blossom. 😊😊🌹🌹

        Liked by 1 person

        1. How beautiful and fascinating, thank you so much for sharing that with me. I know what you mean, I have been so awakened in unexpected ways by writing erotica/romance (that is a whole other conversation, probably). Humans are endlessly mysterious….

          Liked by 1 person

            1. Mmm oh my I wouldn’t know where to begin, so much in my head. But I will say that nothing is as electric for me as writing erotica, and it is a much deeper challenge, I feel, than people may expect. They think writing about sexuality is so easy, that ‘anyone can do it’, that you could almost throw it all away, but it requires much bravery, much soul, much energy, and intelligence, to do it well… that is what I cherish, to do it well…

              Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh heavens, no, not the only reason. Just another of my ever evolving observations, little bits of my perception, that’s all. I’m a terribly observant person and that has served me well, I do so hope. πŸ™‚


  1. Im going through this right now. Love how beautifully you explain your emotions and thoughts! πŸ’™
    Also it may seem like I have missed the point but I will write it anyway,
    Keep writing πŸ’™

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Allison, I read the post if I understood correctly with the translation your article is current reflects the society we live in. A synthetic, liquid, virtual society. Where to appear is more than being.
    Best regards, xo Soul.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Dear Soul, yes, you understood perfectly, our culture, our society. “A synthetic, liquid, virtual society.” Yes, this is it, you say it beautifully. Thank you so much for taking the time to connect with this piece, and to write to me. Wishing you a most beautiful afternoon, my kind friend. xx

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Dear Allison, I read with pleasure you are so light and profound with your articles as last. I wish you a good Monday and thanks to you for your precious time. Love to you❀️🌹


        Liked by 1 person

          1. It is mutual dear friend.
            And then I really like this dark garden thing you make me think of Dante, Giordano Bruno, John Milton. I have to water my garden in search of new emotions. Wishing you wellβ€οΈπŸ’œπŸ–€

            Liked by 1 person

          1. Hi Allison, now I understand I thought it was my iPhone that was making problems that’s why I commented several times, sorry good day and love foou❀️

            Liked by 1 person

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