Tag Archives: sex

Version 0.69 (Her, in my Head)

05/28/19

A bit worn out with thinking of Huyen so much. She has been the primary object of my mental awareness and focus since I left Vietnam almost two months ago. And that mainly sexual, which is strange because I don’t maintain a strong focus on sex in my life. I’m pretty indifferent, and frankly, feel like much time spent on that sort of thing is time wasted, time that could be spent more fruitfully. It’s only after having spent time with her that this has become so manifest. They are irritating though, these intrusions in my life, particularly when they occur during times that I’m writing or being (ahem, trying to be) productive. What it is with her that is, and has remained, so titillating, so sexually provocative I know not; that has so captured my attention that I am fairly powerless in keeping her from my thoughts, and truthfully often welcome the intrusions. My thoughts of her, in the way which they are imagined are felt like a drug. My mind clouds over completely, and all sensation softens, becomes fuzzy, nebulous, and she is that cloud that I am wreathed in, which I breathe in, and breathe out. It is exactly like a drug because these imaginings of her and I are of such ecstasy at the times, but afterwards I look at the time, or at my regularly distracted journaling, or at a book and I can only be annoyed.

What a waste….

I want no more of these thoughts to intrude. I want my creative, or at least semi-productive life back. Right now I don’t feel her within me.

Right now.

Is this a good thing?

Version 0.60 (Simple, Life)

05/01/19

Why should life be more complicated than what the birds make of it?

This, a thought that has come to me watching a thumb-size one flit along the branches of a tree in the yard of a cafe I am enjoying a breakfast and coffee at.

Bananas in a bunch hang from a palm. How crazy and marvellous this world is for life, food, sustenance to display itself like it does. What a show! What a temptation! They actually don’t so much hang like one sees them displayed in the supermarket, but rather they stand erect, curved upwards like stacked umbrellas flipped on their heads, creating multiple tiers of cups around a central pole.

But that erectness!—one can’t get it out of his head, especially after glancing around the rest of the garden that is glowing, nay!, vibrating and shimmering with life. In a corner is a large shrub with four cylindrical, pointed, phallic looking flowers (not yet open) protruding from the tops of four stems, just begging for it. How everything seems to be sex. The whole natural world. Everything wet, damp, dripping, lush, conical or rod-shaped (even the leaves of certain plants), or open, inviting, softly curved and sensuous. All around me the stuff of life is asking for it, or doing it, or has recently done it.

A small beetle flies by, from shade into sunlight, vanishing back into shadow again. The theatre of life and death.

Perhaps life doesn’t need to be more complicated than the birds make it. Perhaps it really is as simple as nature makes it out to be. Sex, food, play. And because life is everywhere, so then is sex everywhere.*

Enjoyment. Enjoy it.

Amor.

 

 

*what came first, life, or sex? (this is rhetorical, of course, but comments will be happily read)