peeled

I am just a little afraid of falling asleep tonight, lest I should wake up as a puddle of my former self. The doctors will diagnose me "melted, following extended exposure to 'sauna-like conditions; in patient's apartment."

I feel like my entire body is trying to return to a liquid state; If I stay out on my balcony too long, I might spontaneously evaporate into a sticky mist and float away with the night air.

I am a complete glutton for this kind of weather: hot and muggy as the underside of a fat man's saggy titties. There's something about the humidity that makes me want to wear ridiculous undershirts in public and smoke cigars the size of paper-towel tubes. I want to make out with everybody I meet on days like this. What thin veneer of respectabilty people carry on most days get washed away and the sweaty animals we really are emerge. I can't think of anything better than sex on days like this one; it's something about the way women smell, and sticky skin. Mmm.

I finished a painting today and did my laundry. I'm not sure which is the more impressive task, given what it took to carry my clothes to the laundromat in the sun.

On the stereo: Sarah Vaughn, the definitive voice of the hot summer day.