07.Dec.2003
it feels like i've been here before
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say. say my name.
When Sara Jay says, "Passion's over-rated, anyway." in Massive Attack's "Dissolved Girl", I tighten and want to put my hand on someone's shoulder. I find myself identifying more with this song than I ever have.
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He cried. I swear to God. The last time I saw him, he cried, and I think, What a lovely trick in skin, to ruse yourself into drama, almost as much as turning nouns into verbs unexpectedly.
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Check this out. It's creepy. Hot science. It's bad enough the documentary, as I was told, is akin to softcore tree porn. Seriously.
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The last time I saw my Anna, I grabbed her hands and pressed them against my waist. She said, "Ooh, curvy!" I said, "I know!" We went to Chil�'s and I was predictably swimming on hydrocodone, as I have been for the past four or five non-curvy days, barring today. Of course it's great.
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I called someone I had thought about calling for the last few months sans warning. Our phone call was stretched into the hours. Two and a half, mayhap? I wasn't even counting. First it was ten-forty-five and then one-thirteen. I intimated he could stir up my psilocybe. I laughed and hollered and flirted ridiculously and raucously and it felt like silk pressed into my senses, the veritable Catholic, guilt-free orgasm to an otherwise inane Saturday night.
Within minutes of hanging up with him, Jubal called, and I was quasi-satiated in the scheme of things. Of course, Jubal is my sexiest girlfriend, so he was the recipient of the previous conversation's freakish giddiness, which only means I seized the chance to bellow words like "masturbation", "vinyl" and "bondage" at high volume into my living room.
Jubal stopped me in mid-sentence and inquired, "Wait a minute, wait a minute ... did you just say, 'That was very gay.'?"
I paused and responded meekly, "Yes."
He demanded, "Have you been hanging out with people, lately?"
"Yes," I said.
But I keep thinking, I want to know just how warm you are, I want to be strung over your guitar, I can't believe I forgot, nay, was too immersed with my own stagnant bullshit to remember how fantastic you are, something else about lust-fucked possibilities, insides of cars, and sex in odd places, and I think, It's two million and thirteen ab-crunches to March, and I said to my favorite phantasm, Jubal, "I don't want to always be like this."
I played the piano passionately, and it's never been sweeter. Musicsex. I want to have it, and I want to have it with you, if you're not doing anything that afternoon.
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You're not my savior
But I still don't go
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time & machine