Saturday, December 21, 2013


Taking dirty pictures

What’s with all of this hatred of authority?  I wonder
what the woman who’s having an orgasm downstairs
(or pretending to) is doing.  What gets you there?  The
possibilities, it would seem, are endless in that arena.

I’m reading a book in four sections that I am growing
to despise, each page I turn, until I arrive at the
fourth section and like magic, the lyrics are
miraculous.  I’m not into pain.  I’m about as

pure a hedonist as you might come across (this
I keep telling myself, anyway).  The book seems
engulfed in pain.  Pleasurably.  Which not only
most often seems trite to this reader, but I just

never get it.  WHY?  Of course I keep reading,
kept reading.  So what did I just prove?  That
I appreciate torture just as much as anyone,
probably, and furthermore that in the end

it might just lead to something akin to
enlightenment.  Or pleasure.  Even greater pleasure.