Thursday, June 6, 2013

Wilco - "She's a Jar"

I want to see what their fingers like, the shape of their hand, the length of their fingers. The proportions of this body part when just so turn me on so much. I see something, some idea of a man, in the shape of a hand.

It is June and even though I find it a little uncomfortably warm in my bed at night already, even still, even in this still blossoming heat that has me kicking sheets off me in a fit of warm sleeplessness, even though my sweat is sticking to the back of the couch even more so than normal, I find myself wanting someone to cuddle with at night way more intensely than I have felt in months.

I spend embarrassingly long stretches of time at night not reading, not writing, not watching a film, not hanging out in real life with other human beings, but rather in some horizontal position, curled up with my phone talking to boys on Scruff, talking to them sometimes on Grindr, though more often talking to no one, but rather just looking at various boys, imagining why this person might be really cool or imagining why this person is probably incredibly annoying. Needless to say, I haven't actually been meeting up with anyone on there for sex, or anything really. It's this boredom and loneliness that masks itself behind some rapacious sexual desire on these various hookup apps. I encounter other people wearing these same masks and we pass each other in the hallway, pausing briefly in our act to look at one another before we again resume character and continue our cruising act down the same maze of hallways in some sex club on some floor in an anonymous office building, a way to pass the time, a compulsion because we knew at one time that this was a thing that gave us pleasure. 

There is the beautiful sound of rain coming through my open window right now, cooling breezes every now and then finding their way through the window and across the kitchen to me on the couch, a touch I am grateful for.

I have a fingernail that I cover in nail polish because I smashed it with a weight a while ago and now it is just a black nail that I hate to look at. I look at other people's hands closely and have a hard time now looking closely at my own, this one painted nail ruining some sense of symmetry - that it's indicative somehow of a broader disharmony. Finding a nail polish color to paint your one bruised fingernail that will match your unpainted fingernails is not an easy task in case you were curious. I hate looking at my one fingernail covered in nail polish. The symmetry is off.

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