Montauk In February

This is something i worry about often:
"Taoists constantly tell me to embrace the present, but i only live in the past and the future; my existence is solely devoted to (a) thinking about what will happen next and (b) thinking back to what's happened before. The present seems useless, because it has no extension beyond my senses." (sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs)

someday i think it would be completely necessary to go to montauk. i have romanticized it beyond belief. obviously, i'm watching eternal sunshine. a saturday delight. i worry that i (most of us) will waste our lives hoping for the next moment to be more exciting. who really does embrace the present? very few of us. i worry about it so much that i get even more anxious about the fact that i am probably wasting a lot of life in the secondsminuteshours that i have turned into heavy anxiety. i don't want to stop worrying about things, preoccupying myself with the minuscule details. it's how i get by. anything less would be madness.

but i can say for sure, i do dream in color. i am certain of this now because the red cardigan from last night's dream is still vivid, shimmering in my brain.

The word "sex" comes with a stream of meanings, connotations, different interpretations. "How do lesbians have sex?" I don't know, please do not make me devalue my fantastic sex life by releasing the details to you. you disgust me and if i tell you how i fuck other women, will you let me watch you next time you jack off? It's just as personal, just as sacred...but actually much much more.

In elementary school, some kids at the table eat dessert slowly and some suck it down in two bites/swallows. These children are defining their perspectives on sex for the future. will they eat the whole box of matches at once? ignite themselves to the point of overwhelming lust that kills the body, eating them from the inside out? we measure our ability to love and to fuck in the measurements of lust that fill up our body. it can come in teaspoons, half cups or gallons. if you light all the matches at once they will go out of control, brushfire turns to wild forest fire and not even the best firefighter can put you out of your misery. (como agua por chocolate)

a beautiful, scary, fucked up misery that you want but you can't handle. you want it all, but that's not how we were raised to live. i ate my snack pack slowly, i dipped the spoon in the thick, gelatinous chocolate, not scooping but letting it stick to the plastic spork. i licked the bottom and then the top and then let my mouth shut over the plastic prongs, melting back into my throat. but there times, i will admit, that i could not wait. i would take huge spoonfuls, greedily swallowing the fake chocolate mix and not giving myself time to digest.
that was the whole concept behind wrapping the "fruit by the foot" around our finger and then sucking it until it disintegrated and left the bright neon red stain on our forefinger, reminding us of the sweet ecstasy that we had half an hour ago. the time has come and gone, but there's always tomorrow. it may not be as sweet or as exciting, but we can hope for the future, hope that something will come along that will match the rough fruity liquid that we extracted from the wrapped up strawberry finger.

you don't know me as well as you think. i won't let you think any other way. maybe i smiled at you, maybe i shook your hand and said that it was nice to meet you, but that probably was not the case. i hate meeting new people and i hate the discomfort of knowing that there's always something else out there that i am missing. something that i could have had, but i can't light the matches quickly enough.