Posts tagged with "sex"

i miss

try­ing new foods with my Uncle Joe and the fas­ci­na­tion I used to have for Six Feet Under and being able to sleep more than four con­tin­u­ous hours and gui­tar lessons and the sound girls make when you squeeze them just right and the idea of camp­ing but not the actual act and remem­ber­ing how to play Sunny Road and Trolley and Steph already and snow and people-watching when tak­ing the bus and long-term rela­tion­ships and

two girls and a baby

these kind of moments before we all par­take and

the smell of rain in Paris and make­outs and know­ing what to say to peo­ple when they ask me how I’m doing and being led by the hand to the bed­room and being called Jeffy Bear and hav­ing a rea­son to wear Classic by Banana Republic and get­ting really excited and being pur­sued by some­one I’m not try­ing to avoid and the time in my life before all this med­ica­tion and hav­ing some­one I could call my best friend and cud­dling and walks and old /b/ and Bruce Springstein before he went rock and no one I shouldn’t and hav­ing a Tai Chi teacher and

bums like this

lit­tle bums like this and

know­ing how to play piano and pounc­ing on sur­vivors with Dave and Tyler and hav­ing a sta­ble source of income and being part of her life and hav­ing her in mine and Hawaiian sun­sets and find­ing sales for clothes that fit me and play­ing songs for Antje and the inti­macy of oral and simul­ta­ne­ous orgasms and sex, obvi­ously and hav­ing some­one to spoil and new episodes of Reno 911 and host­ing big par­ties and the way Leonard would sleep on my neck.

deconstructing songs

I’ve been decon­struct­ing songs, try­ing to fig­ure out what mag­i­cal com­bi­na­tion of pitches and tim­bres and rhythms can cre­ate such an intense response in my body. Every song is a puz­zle when you try to fit the com­po­si­tion into what a per­son can do with­out stu­dio edit­ing or a band.

On my quest to unlock such a puz­zle, I dis­cov­ered Final Fantasy per­form­ing a Bloc Party cover of This Modern Love, what is now my favourite song of all time1, hav­ing dethroned Blonde Redhead’s Elephant Woman of the hon­our it held for many years. It strips me bare by lay­ers and lay­ers, and even though the lyrics found rel­e­vance in my life before I decided that dis­tance would keep me sane, it’s only in recent months that it’s gone from being a song I never skip to a song I always play.

To be able to see how Owen Pallett repro­duces it with only a vio­lin, a loop pedal, and his char­ac­ter­is­ti­cally frail voice is a par­tic­u­lar treat. Not only because he can draw the same inten­sity in me as in the orig­i­nal ver­sion, but because you can see how it’s done; what part he keeps to present the lis­tener with the essence of the song, what he’s changed to fit the tools he uses, and even where he takes his breaths. It’s like find­ing an ele­gant solu­tion for a puz­zle that has per­plexed you for years.

But I’ve yet to sit down and attempt any seri­ous cov­ers of my own cause I’m still wait­ing for my musi­cal knowl­edge and gui­tar abil­ity to catch up with what I want to accom­plish. I’ve been learn­ing clas­si­cal pieces for a bet­ter foun­da­tion, and in that pur­suit I came across this par­tic­u­lar ver­sion of La Catedral.

I enjoy clas­si­cal music (though I’m really picky) cause it can evoke a spe­cific emo­tion in me, but most pieces cater to only one emo­tion at a time, or there’s a lot of devel­op­ment before the part I really like. La Catedral, on the other hand, has it all, from sor­row to ela­tion, and every bit of it is bliss. I’m con­vinced that this is how the old Paraguayan gui­tarists rocked out with their cocks out, and it amazes me how some­one could write such heavy emo­tion when there were no metal idols, no amp dis­tor­tion, no scream­ing back then.

I’d say that for any­one to fully under­stand me, they’d have to under­stand this song too. It rep­re­sents every­thing I love about music and emo­tion and sex, cause it’s all in this song, and only Denis Azabagić plays it the way it was meant to be played2. When watch­ing this for the first time, I remem­ber think­ing that I would make love to this man, this man who looks like some guy’s uncle, because he plays like he’s touch­ing every nerve of my heart.

I love the way he moves with his gui­tar, the way he cra­dles the body, the way he purses his lips or widens his eyes with every swelling of pas­sion. To be able to play like him is is exactly why I started tak­ing up gui­tar; I want to feel as good as those who lose them­selves to the music, and learn­ing this piece has become another thing I hope to do before I die.

  1. As a per­son who lis­tens to almost any genre but is still obses­sively selec­tive with music, say­ing that I have a sin­gle favourite song is a big deal. []
  2. I never liked this song until I heard him per­form it, the last 45 sec­onds in par­tic­u­lar, with his orgas­mic fin­ish. Every other clas­si­cal gui­tarist uses pauses that break up the flow of what are sup­posed to be relent­less six­teenth notes, to the point where it feels like the entire song is ruined. []

dry spell

I was spring clean­ing and found a box of con­doms due to expire this sum­mer. What’s the lifes­pan of con­doms kept out of the sun­light and in a cool place?

Five years.

Which pretty much means I haven’t been in a rela­tion­ship in as long, cause I’ve always shied away from any­thing purely phys­i­cal. Sex is very men­tal for me. Someone once told me she thought we were sex­u­ally com­pat­i­ble, but I never felt like we were par­tic­u­larly well-matched. We sim­ply loved each other on a very pro­found level, and that kind of inti­macy and con­nec­tion is what made the sex so good. Without that, it’s not even worth it.

Maybe it’s just my inter­ver­sion that’s lead­ing me to think that no sex is bet­ter than bad sex.

The last thing I did was hold hands with some­one after she jumped into bed with me, com­plain­ing she couldn’t sleep. She had these tiny hands, with slen­der fin­gers. It was nice. But I couldn’t bring myself to take it any fur­ther cause I couldn’t see myself with her.

Luckily, I can do dry spells. Easily. Considering I had a 15-year one until I lost my vir­gin­ity. Now I’m at an age where peo­ple want to intro­duce me to some­one, and some­times they’ll add, “…but she has a kid”, when try­ing to sell me on the idea.

Pendulum — The Island

I’ve always main­tained that a per­son isn’t alive if their heart doesn’t pound out of their chest when lis­ten­ing to The Island by Pendulum1.

It’s a grad­ual build-up, most of Pt. 1 Dawn being the devel­op­ment until Pt. 2 Dusk hits (at about the 5:20 mark in the video) and the beats really kick in. Then it’s just waves and waves wash­ing over my body like small orgasms and every hair stands on end.

It’s mes­mer­iz­ing to lit­er­ally see how this music makes me feel, as the rip­ples of goose­bumps crest and sub­side. I can trace the paths of shiv­ers across my skin; some last longer, though they may not be as strong, while oth­ers come and go quickly, my body unable to sus­tain the climax.

This is the only song that has this kind of effect on me. There are plenty of other tracks that give me goose­bumps, but none of them do it so many times or with such inten­sity. By far the strongest peak is dur­ing the bridge at 7:10, when every­thing sub­sides to the organ, and it’s like you’re being bathed in the warm light of a sunrise.

  1. To get the full effect, you def­i­nitely need head­phones. Otherwise, it should be loud enough to war­rant a noise-complaint by your neigh­bours down the street. []

You Can't Go Back

During his Emmy-award win­ning per­for­mance, Kill the Messenger, Chris Rock had a hilar­i­ous bit on the dif­fer­ences between men and women. He sums it up succinctly:

Women can­not go back­wards in lifestyle. Men can­not go back­wards sexually.

An exam­ple he uses for women is the first time they get into a nice, warm car after club­bing, wav­ing bye to their friends who are wait­ing for the bus in the cold. After that, they can’t be with a man who doesn’t have a car, or as Rock puts it, “That’s how the fuck you roll for the rest of your life”. This extends to guys with their own places, then guys who take them on vacation.

On men, he says, “Once we get the sex we like, that’s how the fuck we roll. I like my cof­fee like this, I like my steak like this, and I like to fuck like this…Ladies, don’t get mad at us. Get mad at our ex-girlfriends. She’s the one that [sic] spoiled it for every­body” because if your ex-girlfriend licks your ass, you expect your cur­rent girl­friend to do the same.

For me, the same is true for girls in gen­eral, but not just in these aspects. I can’t be with a girl who refuses to try exotic foods or refuses to give uncon­ven­tional music a chance, who wouldn’t rec­og­nize the effort I put into my presents, who wouldn’t cher­ish the love and affec­tion I give, who wouldn’t under­stand me, or wouldn’t laugh at my stu­pid jokes, because I’ve been with girls who are a com­bi­na­tion of open-minded, appre­cia­tive, roman­tic, on the same wave­length as me, and actu­ally find me funny (when not com­pletely awkward).

That's why this entire idea scares me.

I know most peo­ple get more flex­i­ble on things about their mates as they head towards (or beyond) the mar­ry­ing age but I seem to be mov­ing the oppo­site direc­tion. Each girl I’ve been with has been an improve­ment over the last. Now the bar has been raised so damn high I don’t think I’ll ever get there again, and I’d rather be alone than com­pro­mise or settle.

My stan­dards are get­ting higher, and I can’t go back.