Slippery When Wet

Fucking. Sexual relations, intimacy, coupling, mating, copulation, penetration, nookie, whoopee, coitus, coition, fornication, carnal knowledge. Doing it….not doing it.  You ask for it, you beg for it, you pretend you don’t want it, you need it, you don’t need it.  What you do to get it, what you do once you finally do get it.  What they say when they know you love it, that you will drop the act and just request it.  How you look after….hair like a tornado, panties far flung, sheets marred, blood under the skin.  How you feel after…divorced from artifice, emboldened, bare.  What you give up when you fuck….power, fear, dignity, loneliness.  What you get when you fuck…pleasure, release, peace, fear.  Age brings you closer to the source.  You know that making love is tied only to the moment that you make it.  You also know that semen is not the only residue left behind.  The price you pay for soothing the ache…the going rate.

I love that you are naked.  Even when you’re not.

Crowns, Bukowski, and LaMontagne

01 Trouble Ray Lamontangue

Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live.

Never get out of bed before noon.

Anything is a waste of time unless you are fucking well or creating well or getting well or looming toward a kind of phantom-love-happiness.

Sex is kicking death in the ass while singing.

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”

An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.

Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you’ve felt that way.

there are worse things
than being alone
but it often takes
decades to realize this
and most often when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than too late

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.

And introducing the Flyadome by Annie….