pb

i'm headed to New Jersey for a week next Monday. work related. near McChord AFB. the only good thing i remember about that place was a Korean sushi bar and the fact that i didn't have to get out in the balls-ass cold to pump my own gas.



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i'm kinda thinking of quitting alcohol for awhile. my coworkers and friends are going to hate me.


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i miss texas.

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it hurts. it all hurts. so wonderful, so beautiful, so cold. it all hurts.


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i'm feeling a bit edgy, full up to brimmingbursting. hungry need wails, resounding from the walls of my ribcage. i offer caffeine, sugar, starch, water, meat, herbs, nicotine, alcohol, philosophy, exhaustion, books, contemplation, philanthropy, duty, money, baths, music, brooding, weights, sweat, pain, nihilism, intellectualism, dreams, oblivion...

and this thing, this desire, this lust for soft pale skin--sighs and thighs and plaintive cries--this thing craving your cheek pressed to my chest and your nails penetrating my spine--it wants to swallow your words, your breath, your hurts and your fear. a delicate dance of lust and violence and loveloveloveyou. it needs your eyes boring through me in search of solid thereness, for strong calloused hands so gentle on your face, for raging heat and hard humanity weighing you down from inside and above. it needs you to need, to match its burgeoning madness for skin fragrant with pure sweat and purer, appalling intensity. no longer is it appeased and plied with things not red, things without the heat and promise. it hurts me it loves me it will kill me. it rages, it weeps, it crucifies me for my discretion and feeds on the wounds it leaves within me.

i shan't be much more than a burned out, mortal husk, hollow and dead inside if this thing, this primal, awful, driving hunger fails to find its due.


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i think it's a might bit more poetic, and therefore infinitely more desirable, to live in a state where your dreams permeate and percolate into reality, staining your perception of natural physics like messy dye.

i spend the better part of my week fumbling, stumbling on fragments of disturbed dreams from the night before. my contemplation of these images (which manifest in vague, contrary emotions of longings attained and empty loss...sort of like post coital depression) is what bolsters me through florescent, sickly green tinged days of bureaucratic wheel-spinning.

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"a philosophical detective must remember that all human knowledge has a hierarchical structure; he must learn to distinguish the fundamental from the derivative, and in judging a given philosophers system, he must look-first and above all else-at its fundamentals. if the foundations does not hold, neither will anything else." -ayn rand

the important thing here, kids, is the ability and the will to discern between a thing's (whatever it may be) fundamentals and its derivatives, especially when discussing matters of politics and their own fundamental basis, morality.

now, go look at some boobs and allow yourself to be happy for a moment, comforted by the knowledge that beauty exists outside of political and societal nervousness/anxiety. boobs will save us all if we only let them. say it (keeping in mind the scene from Conan the Barbarian when the snake cult is chanting "doooooooom") with me folks.... "BOOOOOOOOOBS"!



-pb


book: neuromancer
music: gillain welch