Triggers

You know how music can invoke very strong memories? Yesterday I decided to put on some music after we had bottled our beer. I suddenly remembered this one instrumental track off The Great Beauty film OST called “More than Scarlet.” Immediately when I put it on, a very specific memory rushed up to the surface of my mind:

It was sometime in the middle of May, nighttime. We were on my bed, and all I can remember is the blue hue from my speakers illuminating the space. We must have been a little bit high; he put on the song, “More than Scarlet,” and immediately, as if we were human magnets, our bodies collided in unison as our hands desperately searched each other’s skin– we kissed so deeply, so insatiably, over and over… It was in that moment when I finally understood what it meant to be infinite. We both had uncovered an unending fountain of passion within ourselves, triggered by a simple song.

An imprint of transcendental ecstasy.

The Loneliest Monday (a shit poem/daily recap)

today was the loneliest monday.
it rained.
loneliness drove me to the pub.
the best part of this monday
was the two dollar mac and cheese,
with the sriracha on top.

five minutes left of the game,
i didn’t care. but my eyes kept wandering
to the screen like they were meant to.
truckers came and went.
i made eye contact with a chef with turquoise hair.

maybe they all stared while
i had my head in a book of short stories.
talked to a bored waitress about nothing.
it was all small-talk, anyway.

then, that foo fighters song you used to sing
came on, and i heard your voice in my head.
i cried when i got home;

curled up on the bed (i made the sheets)
in my pajamas,
in the dark,
and my cat, he curled up beside me too.
sometimes i wonder if he can recognize the sound
of a human sobbing, and what it means.

at the end of my nap in the grey afternoon
i wake from erotic dreams
psychology text books, and my best friend’s hands
running south along my body
and me sighing
writhing.

But this doesn’t happen in the real world
when mondays are sad.
in this world there is nothing but the rain
and empty bottles.

Wonderment in a Dish Room

I’ve arrived home at the time some are just waking up and warming up their cars. No, I didn’t go out binge drinking, nor was I having a one-night stand. I simply accepted the invitation to have tea with a stranger and thus, my night unfolded. Honestly, I have not been interested in sex or physical intimacy as much as I used to. I am more interested in friendly, genuine, human connection. Starved of any real friendships in this town as of yet, I had to resort to other, more convenient means to meet people. I met Andrew on the Tinder App. But I told him straight away what my intentions were, and drew my boundaries. He invited me over for tea at midnight, so I impulsively accepted the invitation.

Fast forward one hour and we are bundled up in separate sleeping bags, on a picnic blanket, in the darkness of his backyard, slowly coming up on MDMA, our bodies sprawled beneath the arm of the milky way. Conversation flowed like water into a dry river bed. The satiation of connecting my mind with another person filled me with such wonder. We shared our pasts, our dreams, our bizarre fantasies, our faults. We illustrated to each other the journey we were each on and what we’ve learned. We were like pulsars; two bodies, never touching, but revolving around each other brightly and endlessly in one, long moment. How spectacular it felt to illuminate my thoughts with the light of another’s perspective!

Wonderment in a Dish Room
It’s all of the details that make up a person
No matter what you do in life, no matter if you are in the lowest position, working the shittiest job: it’s all in the perspective. There is always something new you can contribute, another way to see things, more effective ways to do your job. Things aren’t just what they are on the surface. It’s the details that make something unique.

I am now in bed, in the dark. Mu is laying to the right of me. He’s happy i’m home.

It is 5:24 A.M.

The song of the night is: Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars. The music ended just as I pulled up to the front of my house. That’s when you know it was right.

Sexual Famine: An Introduction

sex·u·al   fam·ine

ˈsekSH(əw)əl/      ˈfamən/

Would you like to hear a story brimming with hedonism, romantic disillusionment, adventure and a disappointed, sexually-frustrated narrator? No? Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway.

Once upon an autumn in May, a boy returned from the vineyard to the second largest city in Australia with the intent to live with his best girl-friend. They shared the same room, but slept in separate beds. What she thought at first to be a relaxing, platonic month with her visitor, turned out instead to be a rather significant and impactful period of time for her. And only her (she found out later.)

Night after night, the boy and the girl indulged in life’s sweetest, most elegant vices. The two of them drank classy Australian wines (sometimes imports) and craft beer. They smoked perfectly rolled joints and surrounded themselves in sound-scapes of music, smiling, stoned out of their minds. They relived myriad realities through many great films, and of course, filled their bellies with delicious food. Time did not exist when they were together. It merely dwindled.

On the night that changed everything, the boy had prepared a steak dinner with grilled potatoes, and mushrooms sauteed in chives on the side. The girl was ecstatic to come home each night, as he often cooked for them. They sat on her bedroom floor per usual, and drank a rich Malbec with their steak. It was perfect. After a joint or two, they put on the film, True Romance. As per usual, they sat up against the wall by her bed, and talked in the half-darkness. He told her about his best friend from home, and how he slept with her. How his friendships seem enriched after intimacy. The girl thought for a second, and realized that she was also his best friend. And she was feeling quite horny, as she had earlier contemplated to invite her English friend to her home just to fuck. She decided against it.

The girl then asked: So, technically I could just take advantage of you?
He said,
Well, yeah.

So it happened. Easy, right? They had sex on that chilly, autumn night after their succulent steak dinner, red wine, a joint and a good film.And they continued to have sex. Days upon days of pure hedonism. They got lost in each other’s bodies. The girl was pummeled with orgasms, multiplying hour by hour; him above her grinning and laughing as her body writhed in ultimate pleasure, her mind transcending their plane of existence; oxytocin feeding the brain like cocaine, hit after hit of endless pleasure. The girl made one mistake, however. She allowed herself to trust him wholly and completely. For some strange reason, she entrusted her body and her heart to him. Perhaps because she was so reminded of her previous relationship, that she let her guard down. Soon enough, her emotions became her weakness. She had fallen in love, and she knew it was going to be painful. But she did not anticipate how painful it would be.

Everything was on fast-forward then, and remained that way until the boy got on his plane back to America.
…To be continued…