blustocking (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blustocking) wrote2004-10-03 06:08 pm
blustocking) wrote2004-10-03 06:08 pm
Yes, but would you let her stick her finger up your ass?
[written at 2am]
It’s that time of year again….time for the toilet seat to give you a cold-shock cringe.
New York quilted autumnal streamers, spider journal-lined pages, it’s all too much.
There’s too much of a beautiful chill in the air to masturbate naked, so you do it fully-clothed. Not even wanting to. Feeling like you should. Just to…what? Pass the time. Relax. Take the pressure off being alone, to stop yourself from going out and finding a one-night stand. I don’t even want a boyfriend, not now, or again, for awhile. But a warm body would be nice. Hands are cold, but the friction soon warms the right. You find the spot, lick your fingers, and dive in, ready for battle. Your mind goes PFFFT (as it is now), and you close your eyes, squint, concentrate on trying not to concentrate. Images, issues, ANYTHING floods in and sends your climax rattling back down the hill, back to its room. REPENT! The easiest way is to think of no one. Think of nothing but just getting off, the functionality of the act, to be “in the moment”. Otherwise, something could ruin it. Weird phrases pop into your head (like spider-journal), your hand moves faster. (Now why did I think of “spider-journal.”) The wetness is wearing off. (Why am I thinking about this? Just come already.) Such a flood of trivial nature, eloquent and mystifying phrases, images and connections, never to be recorded. Lost and fractured, never to gain full strength…unless someday they make a thought recorder. And what a scary day it would be. On that day, I will take my life, to spare the masses. And then, and then, and th....ye....oh...god.... .... ...And you sigh, because it was only the half-strength, over-the-counter dosage. But that’s okay, because your little friend Inexplicable Guilt is there to touch your brain, if only for a moment. You dirty, dirty bird.
It doesn’t take me long, but it feels like forever.
Frustration is the current soup du jour.
It’s that time of year again….time for the toilet seat to give you a cold-shock cringe.
New York quilted autumnal streamers, spider journal-lined pages, it’s all too much.
There’s too much of a beautiful chill in the air to masturbate naked, so you do it fully-clothed. Not even wanting to. Feeling like you should. Just to…what? Pass the time. Relax. Take the pressure off being alone, to stop yourself from going out and finding a one-night stand. I don’t even want a boyfriend, not now, or again, for awhile. But a warm body would be nice. Hands are cold, but the friction soon warms the right. You find the spot, lick your fingers, and dive in, ready for battle. Your mind goes PFFFT (as it is now), and you close your eyes, squint, concentrate on trying not to concentrate. Images, issues, ANYTHING floods in and sends your climax rattling back down the hill, back to its room. REPENT! The easiest way is to think of no one. Think of nothing but just getting off, the functionality of the act, to be “in the moment”. Otherwise, something could ruin it. Weird phrases pop into your head (like spider-journal), your hand moves faster. (Now why did I think of “spider-journal.”) The wetness is wearing off. (Why am I thinking about this? Just come already.) Such a flood of trivial nature, eloquent and mystifying phrases, images and connections, never to be recorded. Lost and fractured, never to gain full strength…unless someday they make a thought recorder. And what a scary day it would be. On that day, I will take my life, to spare the masses. And then, and then, and th....ye....oh...god.... .... ...And you sigh, because it was only the half-strength, over-the-counter dosage. But that’s okay, because your little friend Inexplicable Guilt is there to touch your brain, if only for a moment. You dirty, dirty bird.
It doesn’t take me long, but it feels like forever.
Frustration is the current soup du jour.
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Ohhhhh Chuck, that signing opened my eyes.
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p.s. i miss j00. but you know that already.
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Kidding.
p.s. I miss jews too. :}