05.Mar.2003
part of the cure
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galaxy sex
"My day was pretty uneventful," I said into the cell-phone to my best, male friend, while I simultaneously swirled images of Seyfert galaxies in my head.
I find them to be ocular barbiturates, unremitting spirals of ionized gas exuding perpetual luminosity from their flame-seething cores, that serve to hypnotize me to the point of sedation.
"Pretty uneventful, eh?" he asked.
I seem to remember them producing irregular patterns and motions exceeding 1,000 kilometers per second. Some even reach 10,000 kilometers per second. The size of their nuclei, to the best of my decreasing recollection, drop roughly before a light-month.
What this means to me in hackneyed terminology is that they are small but passionate, minuscule but energetic. I'd even go so far as to say they are multi-orgasmic, and their spirals are the continued afterglow, over-heated and contained in tiny, spatial compartments.
Therefore, multiple orgasms keep them gleaming, full, and hypnotic.
"Yes," I responded, "my day was uneventful."
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I had been listening to 'Sex Dwarf' by Soft Cell as though I was still seated in the leather-adorned dominatrix throne I so haughtily envisioned myself seated in while still residing in Minnesota. I was the cerebral dominatrix. There was no sexual challenge beyond the cache.
"I would like you on a long, black leash," I said to him.
"Would you, now?" he questioned.
"Well," I said, giving the matter thought, "no. I would like to be on your long, black leash."
"As you should be."
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Underworld has succeeded perfectly in inspiring me musically. From there, the direction is skewed.
My directions were always skewed. I could break the Rolling Stones down to Toccata and Fugue bliss, which, in essence is no gargantuan feat, however I couldn't tell you how to easily drive to my brother's apartment.
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This is the softest fold in my body, shaped by intangible pressure.
One day, I want to stretch you over my grand piano while my fingers weave between the keys, and I want my lifting bass to rise against your spinal cord. I want to be the musical clout that urges your reflexes to shudder.
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time & machine