Sex? Drugs? Rock 'n' Roll? Get the book!
". . .While I don't expect anything from you, and would be happy and content to have a platonic fun time with you, I would joyously drip with the agony of Beauty-incarnate if you would take me by the hand and lead me to your chambers time after time after time, light candles, dim the lights and perform your exquisitely demented, blood-sweet sex-magic on me, the thought of which burns very brightly in my head, a very visual memory in a decidedly un-visual brain. . .I worship the sex we have. It is the best and I achingly long for more. I love you, mrow mrow mrow meow mrow meow oauf. . .goodnight, goddamnit. . .I dream you and I love you like I love San Francisco on a warm summer midnight."
I pressed "stop," and continued the constant conversation in my head:
". . .The nearest most people have to a spiritual experience is falling in love. That's why most songs on the radio are about love. People don't know what love is. Redneck puppy-love is the closest most of the lumpy masses will ever come."
I clicked my brain's thought mode into pause, and went on to dream/memory-mode:
I woke up this morning, fucked Melody awake, and came back to the conclusion that the only reason I shouldn't be a Heroin addict is because of monetary outlay. I'm perfectly content on Junk and can function and can often fuck on it, and I can think high better than I can drunk. I'm calmer and happier high than not. It's my Anabuse, my lithium, my Prozac; I'm self-medicating an imbalance I feel I was born with. I think the world would be a better place if a lot of people who were alcoholics were Heroin addicts instead. They'd be less violent, sweeter. It's a fuckin' wonder drug. It's God's comforting gift.
Melody says to me, "You can take me anytime, anywhere." Now that's about the sweetest thing someone can say. I'm very happy in life when a Beautiful, pretty, smart fuck gives me carte blanche and means it.
The only thing sexier then someone saying "anywhere, anytime" is when you ask