it was nineteen seventy whatever, the album animals had just been purchased & unwrapped, does anyone remember the smell of new vinyl? i don’t, and i consider this a loss. maybe there wasn’t even a smell? anyway.

i was over at my high school sweetheart’s parents’ condo, they were, as usual, out of town, and, teenagers will be teenagers. for a point of reference, the class of 1979 smoked more weed than any other graduating class before, or since.

anyway the absent parents of my HSS were audiophiles, yes, yes they were. there was a newish Marantz quadrophonic amp, and four speakers (two Marantz, two hand-built by the HSS’s grandfather). the hand-built ones were huge – four feet high and two or three in depth and/or width. i remember the phrase “80 pound magnets”. at around 1/2 volume, you could stand in the middle of the room, scream at the top of your lungs, and not be able to hear yourself.

this stereo would shake pictures off walls & lamps off tables. no idea why the neighbors didn’t call the cops, none at all.

so we had animals, and some serious bud. and everyone fell asleep but me (plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, n’est ce pas?) high school french: you recover, but you’re never cured.

so everyone fell asleep, & i sat crosslegged in front of the stereo as the music & i bonded on what i can only describe as a cellular level. reading the lyrics raptly, tripping hard on the trippyness of them. instead of the old-style bar-graph type of lit-up balance indicator, the quad had a 1″ green CRT, which expressed the distribution of sound waves with squiggly lines dancing erratically towards the four corners. which was , as i recall, really trippy. i can’t even describe it, it was that trippy. and profound. oh, damn, it was profoundly trippy.

and the HSS fell asleep on the couch. typical, me wide awake while people slept, no one available for me to tell them how trippy it was, so i’m telling you now. so there i was. tripping. and these lyrics which remain profound to me to this day, even unstoned, well… i sat in front of the stereo and read along with the lyrics and when it got to that bit with the lord’s prayer from a sheep’s perspective, it BLEW. MY. FUCKING. MIND.

and while i ache to once again be that young, that unworldly, that wasted, and that mindblown, it comforts me just to remember such wonder.

Pigs on the Wing 1/2 | Dogs 1 | Dogs 2 |Pigs (3 Different Ones) | Sheep

there’s a whole ‘nother story from that night, far far less transcendent. not that i’m claiming this one possesses all that much transcendence. it’s just that the other one has so much less of whatever that is.

you fucked up old hag, aha, charade you are.

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 99cent 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 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]

* * *
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.

* * *
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 …
* * *

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.
by signing below, fuckee certifies that he/she has read and understands this document and agrees to be bound by it, and other things up to but not to exceed lingerie or scarves. fuckee acknowledges receiept of the warning regarding the ridiculous length of fucker’s abstinence from fucking, and is aware that fucker has been involved in a rather fanatical fitness program during the long long dry spell and understands fully that the fucker was a freak to begin with and now is a freak with a dangerous combination of frustration, strength, and stamina. the fuckee agrees to indemnify and hold harmless the fucker for any injuries suffered during fucking, including but not limited to rugburns, sunburns, wax burns, heat stroke, frostbite, regular bite, hernias, sprains, strains, contusions, abrasions, chafing, hickeys, hair loss, and trampoline-related mishaps; furthermore fucker will in no way be held responsible for broken light fixtures, plumbing fixtures, or structural damages, whether in a residential, commercial, or automotive setting. any items inserted anywhere which cannot be retrieved automatically become the property of the insertee, however any jewelry or other small objects accidentally ingested should be returned to the rightful owner after the appropriate interval. fuckee has been advised to put in for vacation time in advance of the fucking and waives any right to be compensated for lost work time due to an inability to walk. additionally, fuckee is aware that the potential aftereffects may include loss of concentration, fine motor skills, verbal abilities and visual acuity, and will under no circumstances make any claims for these or other symptoms of PTFS, or post traumatic fucking syndrome. fuckee agrees to submit copies of a recent physical, two forms of id and an organ donor card. good luck and may god have mercy on your soul.

***
for the record, i did have the best intentions in writing this.

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.