082018 oh man, i shoulda brought my headphones. i want to listen to some sexy asmr chick giving me a subtly sultry run-down with her treacle voice. sometimes you just want to be in places that have people in them, but not really be interacting overtly with the people. You want them to be there, and to be there with them, as one of them but only to a certain extent. i’m basically lost without my headphones. i don’t even know what i’m doing here. i thought i was good and baked but that stupid pen didn’t really do much. so i’m just kind of sitting here wasting time like a dull potato chip. i guess i could put this shit away and go do some exercise or something. or i could sit here and eat bridge mix for no reason. or some of both, maybe? man, i tell you one thing though. if i were twenty years younger i’d be so horny i’d be definitely going downtown. now, i’m just as horny but the physical urgency just isn’t the same. it’s more of a longing, with a bit of wistfulness to it. that must be what jack was talking about. jack that i never called back. i really liked him. we really could have maybe had something. we could have learned from each other. think about the things you try to convince yourself about. what are you trying to convince yourself to do or not do or think or not think or feel or not feel right now? what would happen if you stopped trying to convince yourself? just, you know, let it go? could be a big thing, like doing your job or saving some of your damn money. could be a small thing like instantly going to work on a quick-reference catalog of their faults, any time you see someone walking around looking nice and suburban. if self-loathing presages the urge to give up, what does distant superiority presage? how do you meet more bisexual people without it being all weird? #meerkat 082018 pickfromhere a pigeon, and expand on whatever it says. truth, fiction, blend, whatever. plain recall is fine too. only thing you can’t do is pass. who let her in here? she’s nappy where we’re smooth, and furry where we’re sleek. she has a funny accent. she smells like... there’s something about her that... her hair is like speckled eggshells in fresh sun and clean straw. she has exactly enough freckles to be mischeivous. she’s tough. a little scary, even. but sometimes her face tilts down a little when she speaks, and her eyes look up, and she looks like she probably used to look, maybe ten years ago max... when the neighbor’s pool was still a frog pond... when stars and barbed wire were all you could see, lying on your back in meyer’s field... when she bought now-and-laters from the nice man at the quick shop, before she understood why everyone said to be wary of him. beautiful is such a placeholder, like something or love. but what else can you call her? bouyant. abundant. expansive. charged. sparkling, crackling, she’s the sunshine on a thunderstorm and the rainbow after too. she butters your bread. reality check. are you dreaming? she was out of your league before you even knew what a league was. nevertheless, you’ve seen her. you’ve seen her innermost golden glow, as manifested in her outermost glorious tits. it was dark out. you were up in your mama’s room, peering out the window. she was in the pool with your wicked stepsister, god bless her. they were chewing gum and floating naked, wet striations of colored light painting electricity all over their bodies. they opened up to the night, to each other, to the stars, to the delicious fluid feeling of opening up. to the fecundity of those tits, bobbing, smiling, plump and blushing. free. how they swam in slow motion before your lightning-struck eyes! suddenly hard, practically translucent with blood and pulse and heartbeat, you drink in as much as you can hold, not daring to take a breath and break the spell, until fear of being caught combines with the honeyed resonance blooming in the pit of your stomach, and you just have to, you have to run, you have to go, you let slip the burgundy curtain and beat a retreat, to the bathroom, with its gleaming hot lights on your tawny little savage body, and you lock the door and find the vaseline and like a shiny, juicy, delicious berry in the timeless stream of infinite summer, you explode.