Recently in ain't nothin' but mammals Category

tonight i will go to sleep (well eventually) with dreams already live & in technicolor in my periphery, delightful unreality into which i propel my self willfully into whatever this is, & whatever it will or will not be, in spite of what it was meant to &/or should have been.

i have faced the past and found it mostly forgotten, those bits retained turned out to be less than i'd hoped they'd be anyway so fuck the past. fuck it. seriously.

i am more alone now than i have maybe ever been but you know? i forget stuff. so forget that, i am most likely wrong about the memories of aloneness, probably they were worse than this, as if that matters? because, you know, no. it doesn't. matter, that is. my point is, that this now, which may or may not be the most, is still ... now, & therefore this is it.

it is. it *so* is.

so my son loses all his jackets at school. so i picked up an inside out blue sweatshirt in the lost & found thinking it was his. well, turn it rightside out turns out it's a school sweatshirt, his was plain. so i tell him here, wear it & then when it gets warm out, put it back in the lost & found (or just lose it again like all the others, ya know?)

i toss him the sweatshirt. he won't wear it. he says it's kimberly's. well there are hundreds of these identical school sweatshirts, they sell 'em to raise funds & such, how does he know it's kimberly's?

he tells me, because "it smells like kimberly"

it smells like kimberly.

because it would be impractical, at this distance, to do it with my teeth.

biscuits and gravy. real, hole-in-the-wall diner biscuits and gravy. it's a little bit like having sex for breakfast.

25 miles cruised through the country (both ways) (each way i mean) (oh hell it was 50 miles) (in opposite directions) (taxis call it 10-6, 10-19) (it was not nearly long enough) (and yet it was perfect)

and there was a shoe sale in the middle and then the 99� rack at goodwill at the end and sometimes i'm such a girl. sheesh.

there are certain combinations of patterned sunshadows and 75 degree wind in the hair and all the windows down and robert plant and pink floyd played loud on the buick's concert sound IIs (which are perfectly capable of creating a resonance within the well-worn leather seats) and this clears away all the usual existential angst i mean seriously, give me one of those dour-faced sourpuss nihilists for an afternoon and there would be a change in philosophy, i guarantee it. c'mon, jean paul, climb on in, frederich, ima gonna take you for a leeetle ride ...

however i never need company on this drive. highway 118 is a straight curvy flat rolling ribbon of two lane unwinding sixty-five seventy dangerously sexy daytime headlights type of trip, strictly business this was, i don't cruise around unregistrated for pleasure, no sir. it was all about practicality and necessity and responsibility and there are certain air temperatures at which it should be illegal to remain clothed, and by this i mean i believe i might be regretting the whole deciding - not - to - spontaneously - take - my - shirt - off - i - mean - why - not - there - are - way - skimpier - bathing - suits. not complaining, merely mentioning that so i could slip in the fact i seriously might have done that, but my hands were kinda busy. and when it comes down to the windblown seduction of patterned sunshadows skimming the skin intimate and mirrored in the scintillating rushing oncoming traffic intimate i mean between us we've got a hundred twenty miles an hour and not eight feet separating us and i take the thirty five mile an hour curves at fifty right around the time will you listen to those tires screaming [insert name being screamed here] i mean what are the chances?

[do not i repeat do not try this yourself. i am the best driver i know. and i do this all the time so i have plenty of ... um. what? no, no, that's not what i meant to say at all ... wait. yes it was. ]

in a universe such as this where all possible histories exist, is it any wonder my mind wanders? i am aching in waveforms in eleven dimensions, exactly, most of which (as hawking tells it) are just very, very tiny, which is why we only see the four.

we being a generalization, and as we know all generalizations are false. as for myself, i have been aware of anywhere from five to seven dimensions for at least as long and probably longer than i can remember. this awareness is written in the same cryptic runes as all the things i fail to explain in fullness, the best i can express is just the extent of what's lost in the translation.

if you sense any futility in my struggles with these words, this is why. if you sense this process is almost effortless, this is also why. if you think these things are contradictory, think again.

(they intersect in surrender)

and i don't remember was it dreamt awake or otherwise just i was in the midst of it and the thought hit i have never known pure surrender always obeyed these externalized fears, never brought them flowing free through me so that they do not limit me but rather become catalysts for different levels of pleasure like more surfaces exposed to sensation. but unless there is trust perfect trust the fears are still separate and still in control. and control is the balancing element in this give and take, control can be taken but unless it is also given, as in relinquished as in completely, the fears are still in control and still separate from the experience, and the experience is incomplete without them. and i want i need to know no control. and i know, i know it's mostly only just a dream.

starting to feel just a little selfconscious about the thousands
of people who have gotten a first impression that i am a sex-starved, pottymouthed freak -- no that's not the problem, accurate first impressions are important, i just wanted to clarify things a bit.

you see, the pre-coital agreement occurred to me as i was remembering years ago, when my then-future-ex-boyfriend-to-be and i were involved in one of those heavily passionate makeout sessions, in the midst of which he stopped and said, "you don't date small men, do you?" and i said, "no, not really, why?" and he replied, "because you might break them."

now that's always stuck with me, because there was some very real concern in his voice.

either that or he was in pain.

so i worry.

there are things i have frightened myself writing. perhaps frightened is the wrong word, unless it is; i am referring to intense intimate things that happen in the text box of a weblog entry screen, and since i have private places to keep private things, it means these things mean to be public things, which makes me an exhibitionist, in a fluffy, pretentious sort of way.

i was going to go on a rambling tangent about other fluffier more pretentious aspects of this tendency of mine, not sure whether i was going to intellectualize it or go for the touchy-feely fundamental interconnectedness of all things vibe, might have tried to do both, but why?

i also find it curious that i am attaching this babbling preamble so full of self-conscious apology, i suppose there's still something resembling shame that i get this delightful dizzy thrill doing it, that i find the vulnerability exhilarating, like swinging the swing up so high there's an instant of weightlessness at the top.

ever do it in a buick?

as i get stronger and healthier my levels of frustration have gotten worse, not better, and i'm beginning to worry that, in the remotely possible eventuality that i ever manage get laid again, that i might actually hurt somebody. at this point i'm thinking i really ought to come with a warning label and some terms and conditions, and so i've drafted the following pre-coital agreement. virgins, clergypersons, and those under the age of 18 are strongly admonished not to click the more text link.

three circuits 1.7 1.7 1.7 three times the mountain cannot explain this i've only ever done three once before, once and then i went right back to two i remember thinking ahh i see three, no, two yes. seven years ago twenty pounds ago god knows how many packs of cigarettes ago i thought that.

there were two resons one was the inexplicable fact of the matter of needing oh so very much less air my lungs were the same it was the rest of me changed and changed almost overnight? almost. other one was the song, the one i put at the end of the cd at the time where two circuits end a slow song an old song also it is the song that i've always allowed myself to feel and to each his own it's plain to see to walk alone you have to be and in feeling the allowable feelings i found not sadness but some searing energy to power the escape on and up and fast, i go up faster each time, there's no sense to this i'm old i'm wrecked i never expected this never expected it to be ... easy. it's easy.

and the third time 'round and down it is dusky purple ocean mist breeze the light the air the music pink floyd art is everything i see and physics within, matter into energy i am feeling this molecularly and it is almost almost too much i slow to a wander entranced in rapture there are nearly tears it is too beautiful it is way way too beautiful it is innocent beautiful a miracle it is explosive beautiful ignition liftoff earth falling away it is beautiful like birth and death and the aftermath the starlight and all other things long dead which live.

i almost couldn't stop at the car forced myself fell into the seat literally bathed in sweat i mean soaking soaking wet and as the interior lights faded in the silence it was perfect and i was already mostly an orgasm and it seemed the thing to do ease the seat back unbutton the buttons slide my hand down i mean i was already completely engaged in the process of arousal it was sex before i started it and by the time i finished it oh right out loud and bursts of color convulsing pulsing energy it was fission it was fusion it was blinding it was birth and death and the aftermath, it is an hour later now and still i am less a physical thing with mass and density than i am say the gilttering notes of a soft guitar spilling into the night sky.