there are things i have frightened myself writing. perhaps frightened is the wrong word, unless it isn’t; 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?
[just some things i had sitting around in draft status, they got restless]
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breeze cools sweat on skin but cannot touch the relentless heat of her energy not a measure of degree but a wavelength, a frequency, you could perhaps trace the sine wave of one of her curves with the tip of a finger or a tongue and understand this intensity, and absorb the salt of her and sense her hunger and know her by taste, the same way her will compels her to know you. understand there will be no undiscovered territory on you anywhere and she will never be through with you and yes, technically you will be consumed, but why fight? feels perfect. trust, and let go.
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the day behind me blurry mostly wasted the panic has risen the panic has fallen and yet and yet it scarcely broke the surface tension it was weightless panic even at its worst. and panic wasn’t what wasted me today no, that would be the desire, the desire was my undoing it held my hands my mind it did not guide them it forced them there was no choice there was nothing i could do it was as involuntary as a last drowning gasp, the reflex that fills the lungs with water when it doesn’t matter anymore and this brings the release, the body freed of its need floats drifts the consciousness departs and all is peace …
but the desire resurfaces again and again revived wild again only to go down again and even as i sit writing these words it seems i am sinking again …
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