Listening to Sufjan Stevens; his Seven Swans record (again) from 2006

I used to be addicted to the thrill of failure; glitching the circuitry of serendipity

I lost my virginity while on LSD; my friend’s older sister seduced me; I was fifteen, wearing a shirt that read Front Line Assembly

Wanna chat & meet-up, see if we, like, totally vibeeee

Few weeks ago, I guided my cock (or dick or whatever) into a woman’s mouth that was eager to take it; it’s hard for me (sometimes) to synthesize the look of things—& feeling—into a singular experience

The object of desire resurrects the hope of recovering that which we never possessed. It’s why all courtly love poetry seems to be praising the same person

I bought (again) HEB’s over-priced chicken salad, which they make from deboning unsold rotisserie chickens

As she writhed in my bed (possessed) her hands would involuntarily grip either the sheets or one of her breasts or my wrist, although sometimes, at an awkward angle, reaching behind her head, she’d press her palm against the wall

Addiction is (among other things) the repetitive attempt to return to a state of wholeness; a lethal fantasy

The idea of Jesus is interesting; God (or whatever) becoming actual material, like an oak tree or a dumpster; in Jesus (spoiler alert) God is begging us to forgive Him

Every time I’m in the Walgreens on W Gray & Woodhead, I see the same girl working the cosmetics section; her hair is black & very very long

There was a period of time I’d go to IKEA every Monday night, eat their cheap food & just walk around all the fake rooms

Reacting w fear, anger, or resentment tends to make a person feel worthless

One woman once, before leaving my apartment (& whose hairs I kept finding for weeks), dumped hundreds of Xanax into an empty bowl at the center of my coffee table

We can chat about whatever: your biggest regrets in life, how often you shower in the summer, the challenges of showing fidelity to your own desires

As I gently circled her clit with the tip of my tongue I closed my eyes & not a single mental image came to mind

Houston is the most dog-friendly city I’ve ever lived in

When people call me “sir” it mildly unnerves me; the act of naming is erasing & anchoring at the same time

Trauma experienced in childhood is like a song cut off before the chorus or a puzzle abandoned mid-assembly

I try to run most errands riding my bike, as long as what I’m buying can fit into my backpack

I bought a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough & while standing in the edge of kitchen light dug a spoon into it

Vaping in bed is psychotically satisfying

The books on my nightstand are growing impatient

Idk, hmu, let’s chat! (I love cuddling.) We’ll keep it low-stakes & fun