Tag Archives: addiction

High: Pure Being


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The blood stops short trapped before a hair tie, until I release the bun of tension:  post exercise of body-induced drama.  This is the captivating magic of night.

*

The mind works itself into heavy persuasion.  The body labors with intense urging.  The heart never questions what the goals are or what state of peak condition or overwhelmed fatness I stand in.  A sober thought I do entertain is how someone can not understand the significance of body awareness and its dynamism.

I have a passionate addiction to adrenaline and to the exclusive kick of the way my muscles drum within its act of compulsion.  The heart skips, skips and skips uninhibited.  It beats obsessively and storms out my mouth like an aggressive bird.  It ignites the fight and frenzy over the psyche and tissue land of freedom.

I’ve failed many times and am more successful because of every stoppage.  And now every weakness is formed into substantial strength and what strength has already been established has now constructed itself into marble and stone.

The focus is better determined than years previous.  The focus is better established than the last set and the mind-muscle connection tastes stronger than the last seething rep.  I’ve been sucked into a craving that’s unaware of its bounds.  I throw my fists into the air to battle and enter new coordination and balance ground.

My chest hovers over the floor, shoulders and triceps contract, hum and weep pushing up 200lbs plus over and over again.  The brace of my abdominals is my body’s endless support and savior.  Now there’s a surge spreading like a wild forest fire burning each of my hamstring fibers and into every angle and groove of my glutes with a various amount of hip thrust and single-leg pelvic bridges I can muster under time and tension.  The inner thigh screams by its own distress signals and fleshly vulnerability.  The burn degrees increase and I pull my center deeply to the spine to further the accuracy of the focal point along with the present.

I grimace in pain and drill my teeth into my own mouth.  I start to elevate and disappear like smoke.  I’m high now and there’s an exit.  I’m high and there are no thoughts struggling its way to birth other thoughts.  I’m high and suddenly there are no problems in the world.  There is no suffering.  There is only bliss and light.  There is only presence and heaven.  There is only the state of pure being.

-Pennington

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Artificial Verve


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I wanted to believe in your words the way people believe in the terms of fiction.

Now I look at you like a fraud, same as fiction. It’s why I rarely read into fantasy addiction, why I believe they’re unoriginal, imitating the channels of life sucking the masses dry of an artificial verve jacketing a world of hurt.

Except there’s a reality between you and I.

I think it might have died.

-Pennington©

DOMS & Addiction Stirrings



Emotional pain is an addiction.

When I think of this fact,  my mind goes into a line I read somewhere, “When a person is continuously stress by emotional pain, there are subtle changes in the body that creates a dependency on stress-related chemistry.”

Is the key word in this line: Dependency or Chemistry?
Or did you find another?

This reminds me of other crying out forms of fixations like depression, food, sex, porn, drugs, alcohol, exercise, justification of the Self and giving way to Ego.  Everything’s an addiction if you wish it to be.  And in my life I’ve went through different types of addictions.  But physical affliction in some form has always been treasured in my beating heart.  Where my mind would crave a razor to skin, my fist to fracture a wall or pills to induce an attention whore suicide:  LOOK AT ME!  I know what it’s like to want to rob your life away because cleaning up your existence in a blink of a rep feels like sweet freedom is right on the other side.

Oh, wait, you  never thought like this? 😉
Well then.  Excuse me.

DOMS feels like a dangerous phenomenon to me.  One I absolutely am obsessed to play with in the pits of violent fire.  I’m completely in love with the euphoria from an endorphins rush.  I’m addicted to the pain I can cause within my muscle bellies and dare I say it?  Sadly my joints.  It’s beyond the rising blood of a bold pump or the voluminous cells and formidable twitching of slow or haste fibers.  I take great pride in the immense pleasure or brutal tenderness of muscle soreness.  At this point in the game, I work like a crazy horse to build a forceful, grinding teeth, overloading rich sore stimulus.  I’m thirsty to hurt!

I’ve yet to grasp the full scope of excitement and arousal levels.  Or even why I hide my smile behind a hood or distract myself by biting down on my bottom lip (something new) in public as if I’m keeping a harassing secret?  All I know is I want no end and I always pine for the beginning, for the straightforward permanence of destruction.  To me, it’s dark, crazy beautiful and downright disgusting!  With a bundle of these emotions and forces I’m drawn deeply in an entanglement of glory, devotion of pain, sufferer of pleasure.

Now, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking on:  BDSM?   To best honest, I’ve never dabbled in nothing more but the occasional whipping, candle wax drippings, tying hands/feet with rope, which was typically seen coming (this doesn’t count, right?).   But nothing where I’m submitting to a partner as a master while I howl at the moon because nipple clamps are about to make me bleed and beatings leave me paralyzed in humiliation.

Mostly because I don’t necessarily enjoy the thought of men abusing me with domination.  I like the Illusion of Control just as much as the next person.  However now I’m wondering if perhaps I must enter an unfamiliar territory in order to understand the different doors within that may be locked?  Maybe this will lead to clues as to where this premeditated arousal affliction to muscle soreness comes from despite the emotional pain on the surface?

Perhaps I’m performing small acts of Light Bondage, Slight Discipline and Sadomasochism without truly giving it conscious thought?  I do enjoy a hard tightening of the grip around my wrists to the point of turning the skin around white as circulation begins to trip itself out and cut blood.  Or the insistence pressure of weight pinning my body down on a cushion of sorts or against a wall.  Or even when my legs, hips or shoulders are being used for thrusting/leverage purposes.  Still my definitive preference is the act of sensual love making.  Pardon me.  *nervous laughter*  I digress.

There are things I’ve yet to discover about myself.  But the growing need for poking, prodding, stretching, tensing, flexing, lengthening, contracting, massaging and drilling my sore muscles as I become invincibly aroused is obsessive compulsive for longer than what I could remember.  Only difference is now I embraced the pain and addiction a good deal.

To end this, there are some folks who believe I train for muscle endurance and  this couldn’t be further from the truth.  Things seem one way always when they really are screaming another.  I train with moderate weights and high reps or collectively with exercise combinations to build extreme muscle soreness.  With sustaining injuries and injuries forever waiting to happen I could only go so heavy all the time.

And this is where I stop. 🙂

-Penn