Saturday, August 20, 2011

A fire in the heart.

I'm tryin to size up the influence this past two days had on me. Goin to Myrtle Beach helped to revive a fundamental aspect of my psychosocial being: that interaction of flesh and the movement of blood and bone and muscle stimulated by lights and smiles and that hesitated baseline a gorgeous DJ flags us with in anticipation until those mystical fingers of hers bring it down into my sternum and my heels.

God bless you woman, why didn't I get ur fuckin name?!

I'm retarded in celebration, I break so many rules and give no real cause for alarm or hesitation, my guts lean in and I go with it. On top of that I'm an experience all my own and the women like it.

The only reason to earn money is to enjoy life with it. And I've been to so many places and worked at so many things I hardly understand what I'm good at anymore but I'm soooooo good at having a good time. I don't lose love anywhere, I just give and give.

That's me. If only I could spend that energy, exhaust long enough to get a chapter out or a verse or study some music or drawing or finish these frustratingly long-winded text books I might preserve my sanity but all I see is her whirling hair, her eyeliner, her challenging smile and that pulse that rocks her rib cage until it's like a living drug right in front of me flooding my senses. I think I've spoiled them these past couple days and it was totally. worth. it.