Tuesday, August 3, 2004

ten songs

At the Strand, the place I work, there is no air conditioning. This hasn't been too noticable most of the summer because it has been so mild, but this last week, it's been getting warmer, and you can feel the heavy, hot air all over you, and man, it is one of my favorite feelings. And how do you write deliriousness? Is there a way to put this feeling down in words? Even more importantly, can this be done when you are in a delirious mood? I am not convinced that there is. I want to shout words, phrases, and hope that you understand how I am feeling, but I know that you won't, that it would require more effort on my part, that I would have to somehow ascend this state of deliriousness, of heat fatigue, of heat inspired horniness to a mental state less disjointed. Wordsworth was right. I sometimes don't think he is/was, don't believe that poetry is emotion recollected in tranquility. But right now, I would like to somehow put on this page, this screen, how I have been feeling lately and find myself totally unable to do so in any cogent manner.

This morning, the past couple of them, I have gone through just about every pair of underwear on my floor, sniffing them after I showered. All my clothes are on the floor of my bedroom from never feeling like folding clean laundry, and so each day, I put my underwear to the sniff test and just about every pair smells like crotch. I try to find the least pungent smelling one and think how long this can continue before I do laundry again. In the past, I had been able to go a month, maybe even two, without doing laundry. The recent warmness has been making me sweat a lot more.

Yesterday, at work toward closing, I was standing in one of the back aisles, reading from Nabakov's Pnin. I paused to feel the sensation of the heat, the dry heat all over my skin, felt myself alive, my ability to feel things. The heat, the only thing that has caressed my skin in months other than my own hands. I felt that eager slut, heat, slide its hand between the space between my cock and my shorts, and I was turned on, zoned out of whatever joke Nabakov was telling and thought naughty thoughts, eager to get home, to my bedroom.

I have drunk a fair amount of coffee this morning and have been listening to the most awesome playlist ever, with rocking Roger Sisters alternating with gorgeous, melodic songs that really do not have much in common as a group: those two new Bjork songs, Cat Stevens' "If you want to sing out", and The Whispers' "Rock Stady." Whenever any of these last mentioned songs come on, I get so happy, and you might suggest that I just remove the Roger Sisters from the playlist and just listen to the ones that make me really giddy (did I mention the coffee?), but you would be so wrong in what you think the end result would be, because it is only contrasted against the Roger Sisters (who are awesome, but do not make giddy), it is only the unexpected surprise of one of these songs in a randomized playlist that I get so happy. And people, do you remember this "Rock Steady" song? It may be my favorite eighties R and B song. I can even remember the video of them on a rooftop. Best song ever!

In summation, words and phrases, in some flow, forward or backward:
Heat --> Increased Sweat --> Boxers Smell like Crotch <--> Increased Horniness <--> Masturbation <--> Happiness <--> Good Music / Big Plans for Living

But then the potent, but perhaps irrelevant question: Will they be realized?

No comments:

Post a Comment