I wrote this yesterday and then got chicken to share it…

It’s a crystalline day.  Literally.  I must be looking out at the world from inside a crystal.  The colors are three times as vivid as normal, and the world is approximately sixty seven percent more alive than usual.  (As I wrote that, I realized that my new favorite thing is to pull stats out of my ass and write them down like I am a bloody expert.  With just a pinch of reflection, I realize why I do this!  I do it to poke merciless fun at the “experts”.  We live in this model of reality where science is the be-all end-all.  If someone declares themselves an “expert” and has done respectable “research”, then we will eat out of their dirty palm.  Mostly without question.  Just because we have unconsciously, collectively accepted this particular mythology called “science” as our lord and savior.  Honestly, I believe that we can use research to prove any friggin thing we want.  And if we have letters after our name, such as PhD, all the more likely we can string the masses along with our slanted influence.)  All I can possibly say after that long winded rant is “I digress”, right?

Well, I do digress.  Because it is nine fifty am and the weather is hella warm… And on days like these I am compelled to break my multitude of chains, bust loose (as my mom has enjoyed saying often lately), and change up habits and routines.  So I am at a different café than normal.  I am at Café Trieste on Piedmont avenue.  I love 504’s drinks… but… I was starting to feel a slave to the grooves in my traversal of daily existence.  Frown on that.  But it’s always a gamble to try something new.  Since my daddy’s a craps dealer, not to mention my mom has heavily dabbled in the dealing of twenty one, I am modestly repulsed by gambling.  I mean what if I landed here at Trieste and it blew?  Then I’d have to lye in the bed that I made and suffer my morning away.  But when the day’s high is seventy one degrees, it’s hard to make a foul choice.

Sah-ight (slang, pronounce it just like it sounds) here at Trieste.  They use clover milk and the Hispanic barista did a great job of foaming it.  But the espresso shots were pretty bitter.  Better shots for men with very hairy chests (or those who aspire to have very hairy chests)  But the best thing is that as an artist, it is crucial to “fill the well”, as Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, puts it.  So here I am, filling my well with new images~ a little girl with blond, tangly hair, decimating a chocolate croissant, the way I once would have, but never will again.  Because she does it with no consciousness of fat or calories or the fact that it is all refined crap.  She does it in perfect love and holy desire.  She is in complete oneness as she passionately puts it in her face without regard to the mess she makes of her face, hands and sleeve.  This is something that I will never do again.  If I ever eat a chocolate croissant, it will be with ultimate restraint.  Every bite I will chew and savor, and consider it being my last, but then, most likely, going back for ONE more guilty bite.  If only I had have known back then, that my days of indulging this way were numbered… Then what?  Then I would have savored them harder?  No, then I would have had the consciousness that destroyed the innocence.  That’s the double edged sword of consciousness, I suppose.  There are probably other areas of my life where I still exist in a state of innocence and I don’t even know it, because that is the nature of innocence, isn’t it?

Woops, I said that I would tell you about my new sexual adventure today, and now I don’t feel like it.  This is an interesting edge for me… keeping my literary promises… I like it, it feels challenging.  I am building new muscles.  But this is an edgy subject… Sex.  Why is sex such an edgy subject?  Sex is so much more beautiful and worthwhile than violence and yet I’d feel much less confronted discussing drive-by shootings and gratuitous bloodshed.  ???  Don’t ask me… I’m just gonna brave the subject.  I have started a month-long commitment to not cumming.  For me that is beyond rocket science.  Any time that I approach that glimmering, frivolous holy land of climax, my will disappears and it swallows me whole.  But I want to know what it’s like to keep that energy in.  I want to explore moving through the world bursting with desire and tremulous longing.(think of a ripe cherry that keeps getting juicer and juicer, redder and redder, without falling from the tree or turning mushy and over ripe)  Wow, this is really difficult to talk about.  I am afraid of being judged and misunderstood I think.  I mean that is always the risk an artist takes when they share their creations with others… but sex… it’s so WRONG.  It’s so dirty.  It’s so secret.  Most people have sex… but rarely disclose this truth.  ????

Well, this is day three.  Big whoop, you’re thinking… But the idea is not just to abstain from masturbation or sex, but to fully engage in it and explore the edges, but then back off and live life as previously programmed.  Already, I have claimed new levels of self respect and trust.  To take myself to those  beyond tantalizing realms of sensation, and then stop… I strengthen my muscles of restraint.  Plus, making love totally changes.  Even if I have pretended in the past that I am not being goal oriented, the goal always lurks in the shadows and pounces on me in a heightened, ecstatic moment.  But now, if I cum, I betray myself.  I lose the Olympic competition built for one.  (the man next to me has almost finished his breakfast, but a lone piece of greasy, glistening ham remains on his plate… along with a modest toast crust)  I keep feeling compelled to look at it… how artistically satisfying it would be to fill my mouth with greasy, salty meat… Athena, FOCUS) (Now a man is outside, cradling an unlit American spirit cigarette tenderly between his eager lips.  OH, to smoke!  Gross but sensual for sure.  He lit it.  I liked the virgin promise more than the toxic actuality)

So now that I truly have no goals during intercourse, every stroke has taken on new meaning.  It’s the perfect illustration of living in the moment.  Because truly there is nothing else.  Now, when I’m doin’ the nasty, I find myself opening and feeling a thousand fold more.  I find myself yearning the way I was divinely designed to yearn.

That’s the report thus far.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: