I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.
The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.
When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.
Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.
“High school?”
“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.
“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”
“A what?”
“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”
“Aw! What else?”
“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.