A raven-haired Argentine riding shotgun. or maybe Lebanese. or maybe a indistinguishably composite Asian. white Fendi skirt suit. Stuart Weitzman the nudist sandal. Chanel No. 5 et cetera. she is aristocratic & exquisite; a blank vacant gaze staring into the void. her expressionless face betrays nothing. it never does.
You wake up from your middle-management wetdream in your dingy white Calvins, urinate & then do 75 push-ups. blackeyedpeas & two fried eggs. tap water. standing alone at the kitchen counter. eating. alone.
the Cable is disconnected. & no Netflix/Hulu Plus/Amazon Prime etc. either. Liberating? yes. it is infinitely Liberating. but also strange. because tbh i can barely recall a time when the ever present glow of Cable Television was not emanating from a screen. even in the earlyearlyearly 80's, it has Alvvayz been there. the bachelor firefighters had the NASA-sized ballistic ABM systems grade Satellite Dish in their yard. & i still know the 1st HBO theme by heart. in Slumburbia Comcast is de rigueur & here this Telecommunications BEAST reigns Supreme. ah...
the 1st Rule of NFL Fight Club is don't breakthejaw of the Johnny Be Goode Golden Boy in-the-locker room you stupid dumb fuck. now granted that the increasingly Any Given Sunday, XFL histrionic primadonna dramaturgies may make for good copy but this particular pre-Season melodrama is particularly troublesome for the increasingly beleaguered Integrity of the Game. et cetera. (Play your position small soldier...)
Masturbation seems like fleeting passing fancy. I'm fine with a limp cock now. I have come to terms with this. I should probably have my Prostrate checked-out annually. I see now why herbs like Yohimbe & Ginseng exist. I only think about pretty Jewish_womyn now & even then its not really that Sexual. Sharon Mitchell is like the apex. A young Susan Sontag. Clarice Lispector. Natalie Portman--
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