pg 14 of 91

Let's f--- now. Put the book down beside your bed and grab whoever is next to you. I am doing this as I'm writing with the non drunk sexiness I found in the lobby. And just get lost. Get lost in her eyes and just pound away. Think of yourself as being in a porno and just ram ram ram, but gently, nicely, time yourself, pump pump or ride ride and moan. 

I know your sex life right now is boring, because you are reading this nonsense, but get him or her hard as you joyously rock the casbah. I love it. She's moaning so much, as she should, and it turns me on even more. I tell her that my ears are the most sensitive and she licks them and I get goosebumps on my arms and my neck and she pulls the hairs off of my chest and she slaps me in the face, and I f---ing love it. I don't even know what to say, so I tell her that, this is f---ing hot, you're hot and I want to come with you on this bed, surrounded by luggage. 

So I close my eyes and I just push, I push myself into her and its AWESOME and I start to twitch and I bite her neck and I want her to come with me and I'm lost. I don't know any words, I can't open my eyes and I can't even speak English, just moans and yells and screams and it happens. I feel her tensing up and each bang puts me closer and she tells me she's there and I push myself as fast as I can, as fast as my little hips can push and she yells and I look at the ceiling and she makes fists and bangs on my chest like King Kong and I'm coming and she is too and I twitch and I, I, I, I don't know anything. I'm free. And I pull out and just lay there, looking at the walls then my hands and then my feet and I just stare. 

She cuddles up beside me and it's heaven. We both close our eyes and I ask her if she's on the pill and she laughs, and I laugh, and then I realize that it would be one hell of a good looking kid. We fall asleep in each other's arms and I forget everything and it's bliss. Heaven on earth. And I think I'm in love. She's both the nurse and the mile high club, and I'm satisfied and content and safe in her arms and we fall asleep and I know it's love.

But I don't fall in love that easily anymore...

pg 62 of 91

Now you may think the story is too violent or too much to handle but remember that this is a dream and nothing of it could ever be renounced as otherwise. I wrote this because I read and read and read and found content and style and genre and I don't really know if it fits, until she wakes up and explains, in the critical sense, what it means. I won't even show her actually because why ruin a good thing. I like the story and if that makes me happy so be it. At least it's an art form from someone who spent most of his child hood watching people smoke and piss into a canister, and I did this because I read and understood. 

I'm neither a poet nor a prince but I can be what you wish I be, and that's what I'm going to be for her, an artist, until she leaves me with that asshole on the couch. That came to me in a dream too but there was something else that causes the problem and it's not me precisely but what hides in the basement of this log cabin. Something waiting to burst at the seams and destroy everything good and meaningful in a life when everything is okay, because then I would be lying because as humans we always wonder what's on the other side of the bedroom door, or under our bed, or in the palm read or the tonsil pulled waiting for the all you can eat ice cream. 

We strive to know, as Freud lived his life in a realization that the most important part of life and living is continuous self logic. So when she woke up, I went downstairs and got her a joint from the pot head guy and she waked and baked and got all warm and fuzzy under the covers and I asked her to read what I wrote during the night and she told me 5 minutes. And I waited and she smoked the joint and I just got high off the fumes and we giggled. I handed her the two pages and she read them. This, this, this is what she read:

pg 57 of 86

We get dressed, one leg at a time, and she looks gorgeous. She's got this frilly dress on, I can't even explain it, it's like nothing I've ever seen before. This is red carpet material. I put on my black dockers and a black tee-shirt for tonight I am an artist in the artist's world. Or at least I could pretend to be. She wears a black dress with the frills on the shoulder. That's the only thing I can explain with my mouth gaping at her beauty. You ready? She asks and I shake my head. I got to brush my teeth, then mouthwash, then hair. And she combs her hair gently. She looks like Carly Simon and even though I may be vain most of the time, I am honest in my opinions. After I brush my pearly whites and gargle and fray my hair, we both look into the upright mirror. The only mirror in the attic and we look marvelous. I grab a scarf and it adds to the character of my magnificence and she puts a bow in her hair. Patsy Cline and Leroy Brown, the main headline of an opening cast of misfits and wanna-bees. We could be, though. That's the thing about looking in the mirror. We are real, we could make it anywhere in the world with just what we need. For me that would be coffee, for her that would mean pot. That's all we needed. Coffee and pot and hand in hand walking down the street. That's all we ever need and I am thankful for that. 

For the second time, I think about the girl I met in Johannesburg, June 7, 2010 and I hold my breath and look into the mirror and shes the new one. She's the one I want forever and ever mine. And she looks at my eyes in the mirror and asks, is this what you want tonight? And I shake my head YES!, fifteen times, as she starts to giggle, you're such a silly, silly boy and I love it. Off to the art gallery where we will fit in and belong and learn to love one another. I think this is it. But a story like this never ends with a positive position and I hide that little tidbit in the back of my mind, how can I ruin this and I hide it in the back of my mind, this can't be over before it has begun, I think in the back of my mind. Then I think of her in Johannesburg, one second if there ever was such a thing. One second of pain. Miss Cline says she'll start the car and I'm left in the mirror in the attic all by myself, looking at myself and I tell myself, looking myself in the eye. 

DO NOT FUCK THIS UP. 

And I look down at my shoes and my scarf and smile. I won't. But something will. Something in the cabin. Something we haven't decoded yet. And I think of Panda Bear and her burn and Cherub with her closed lips, and I wonder if they're alive. Thinking the same thing I ever thought. Does love ever die? And in my mind I see Panda Bear and an army knife. And I walk down the stairs and hop in the car and Miss Cline asks are you okay? 

And I say, peachy keen. Peachy, keen...just shut your mouth and look good.