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From the monthly archives:
August 2004
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. . . but when it is you – oh you – I have melted into your kisses, your slender hips. We have snaked ourselves in utopia’s breath, the raw splendor of each other’s vapidity. We are a mixture of fragrances that intermingle, swirling in ecstacy as we condense with the scent of each other’s skin. I could overdose on the sense of your soft touch, its wet tounge that slithers over my nipples, hands smoothing themselves along and down my inner thighs. This feeling, a flux of flutters that curl and throb in my solar plexus. A whirlwind cocooned and yet bursting with sweet effervescence. . .
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Last night I lost my head in sparkles and shooting stars across the morning summer sky. I crawled past the sea with weary feet that barely brought me back to my home. I crushed stones beneath me with my shoes, listening to the endless crashing of nature’s waves with no one but myself to share this with. Every day has become a blurry myriad of inexplicable thoughts and dreams, harpoons of electroshock lovelessness. I have been drunk far too much in an attempt to escape what my mind and heart cradle. On Friday I realised how much I must loathe myself. In one year I have unintentionally developed an eating disorder (I am not even managing to eat one meal a day sometimes), and an alcohol problem.
Saturday – Drunk.
Sunday – Drunk.
Monday – Drunk.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday – Overdose.
Thursday night – Drunk.
Friday – Drunk.
Saturday – Drunk.
Congratulations!
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Friday the 13th turned out to be a good one. Miss Prim made a special appearance and A & I hopped a bus to London to escape from this incestuous little world of homos.
Phrase of the evening: “Hello. I’m bored. Can I blow you?”
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(We all do what we can
So we can do just one more thing
We can all be free
Maybe not in words
Maybe not with a look
But with your mind)
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