Losing One's Pants on a Mies Van Der Rohe Barcelona Chaise...
Comfortable fornication furnishings... Sailing into the harbor I notice a stretch of beach which had never before caught my eye. Aware of my "dangerous" cargo, I pay a lowly street urchin a pretty penny to keep an eye on my wares. This town of all towns has always been a place of respite for me, but has yet to earn my trust. I walk along, passing fishmongers, dream peddlers, and prostitutes of all shapes and sizes. This beach pulls me onward, ever onward.
As I begin to fear the possibility of tempting hallucination like water in a desert, or hot love in the arctic, I begin to comprehend the familiar sensation of slowly sinking step by step as I skim along the water line. Beach sand crawls into every crevice of my footwear and I snap out of my apprehensions to realize that it never was a hallucination. Warmest salty water licks my ankles, I kick off my shoes. Walking, walking, the sand is warm; it hugs the flesh of my lowest extremities. I pass tide pools full of moisture and fleshy things that fold into themselves as they feel my gaze fall upon them. The sea whispers in my ear, beckoning, though its language is something of the ethereal, of a world of which I can never hope to be a part. My bulky and cumbersome physical self drags on down this shimmering stretch of sea and sand. Gulls, waves, sun, sparkle, light falls, water plays. Faltering, beauty takes its toll. Peace, tranquility, sensory caress... this is love. Step follows step follows... Everything ever spoken has no meaning. Emotion is the universal language, love is the unconscious catalyst. I'm on my knees, I'm on my hands, here I lay... Smell of salt, smell of flesh, salty water drips down flesh. Crash, falling back, my body is held by waves of loving saline warmth. Thrusting, grabbing hold, thought's shot dead, all there is is to feel. Rolling, wrecking, warming, deeper embrace. Time is ground into sand. Ever closer to the dénouement wherein time folds in on itself into one everlasting all encompassing moment. Movement, counter movement, the tide rises, rises, rises. Hot liquid warmth falls over me. I awaken.
Standing, I feel along the stretch of beach for lost senses and find many and my own. It's dark now, or, it's light. Turning back from whence I came I feel less than refreshed. Still this is a comfortable place, it fits me, it gives a little, and I give in return. Circular drifting leads me back, to a town unaware of preternatural love, a love for more than one's self. I feel that, if I were caught by an eye unlidded by doubt and speculation, I might be seen as surrounded by emotion manifest in lightshows of the most brilliant hues surrounding this small condensed point of matter I call myself.
Improvisational piano music drifts along nighttime breezes and this auditory jolt brings me back. My bleeding stops. Tendrils of feeling, emotion, and love snap back into my mind. It has been said that the Mies Van Der Rohe Barcelona Chaise is the best piece of furniture to have sex on. I don't fuck on minimalist crap.
Long Days and Pleasant Nights
As I begin to fear the possibility of tempting hallucination like water in a desert, or hot love in the arctic, I begin to comprehend the familiar sensation of slowly sinking step by step as I skim along the water line. Beach sand crawls into every crevice of my footwear and I snap out of my apprehensions to realize that it never was a hallucination. Warmest salty water licks my ankles, I kick off my shoes. Walking, walking, the sand is warm; it hugs the flesh of my lowest extremities. I pass tide pools full of moisture and fleshy things that fold into themselves as they feel my gaze fall upon them. The sea whispers in my ear, beckoning, though its language is something of the ethereal, of a world of which I can never hope to be a part. My bulky and cumbersome physical self drags on down this shimmering stretch of sea and sand. Gulls, waves, sun, sparkle, light falls, water plays. Faltering, beauty takes its toll. Peace, tranquility, sensory caress... this is love. Step follows step follows... Everything ever spoken has no meaning. Emotion is the universal language, love is the unconscious catalyst. I'm on my knees, I'm on my hands, here I lay... Smell of salt, smell of flesh, salty water drips down flesh. Crash, falling back, my body is held by waves of loving saline warmth. Thrusting, grabbing hold, thought's shot dead, all there is is to feel. Rolling, wrecking, warming, deeper embrace. Time is ground into sand. Ever closer to the dénouement wherein time folds in on itself into one everlasting all encompassing moment. Movement, counter movement, the tide rises, rises, rises. Hot liquid warmth falls over me. I awaken.
Standing, I feel along the stretch of beach for lost senses and find many and my own. It's dark now, or, it's light. Turning back from whence I came I feel less than refreshed. Still this is a comfortable place, it fits me, it gives a little, and I give in return. Circular drifting leads me back, to a town unaware of preternatural love, a love for more than one's self. I feel that, if I were caught by an eye unlidded by doubt and speculation, I might be seen as surrounded by emotion manifest in lightshows of the most brilliant hues surrounding this small condensed point of matter I call myself.
Improvisational piano music drifts along nighttime breezes and this auditory jolt brings me back. My bleeding stops. Tendrils of feeling, emotion, and love snap back into my mind. It has been said that the Mies Van Der Rohe Barcelona Chaise is the best piece of furniture to have sex on. I don't fuck on minimalist crap.
Long Days and Pleasant Nights