Παρασκευή, 6 Ιουνίου 2008

Kindly refill.



The warmth is leaving the thin glass walls. Abandoning the sleek, transparent palissades, it slips inside my fingers.
Thermodynamics. Isn't that kind of law that brings us here again? Can't hear you.
I wish she could unwrap her mouth from 'round my shaft. I wish I could just snap my fingers and she vanished.
The long-term intimacy of strangers -alienation is the strongest bond between us, it's shared by the whole world.
But she is so much the same. Another sip. Another sip. Another sip. Synchronization -I bet I don't taste sweeter.
She came to me and smiled. She came and gazed at me as if I was supposed to interact. With smiles and gazes?
What the fuck.
She told me her name was something, but I only heard "ordinary".
She told me various things that ought to make me feel flattered. I only heard "bad taste".
And then she touched me, and then the mathematics bloomed.
The patterns spread and flanked and dominated her, the numbers and the chances, the routes and the restraints.
The routine equations.
Goddamn, why did I ever bother, she's still just muscles, hormones and psychology.
She doesn't really ask me whether I am afraid of living, she doesn't really thrash me down her pits...
She's just a non-electrical, uncharged, unnerved machinery supply.
Goddamn, why did I even bother to think up to this line.
This service kills me. Suffocates me. Bores me to the core.
So let the body heave on its reactions while I go strolling on the happy days.
I'll leave this cold dystopia, this crumbled future that only weighs as much as dogfood glory.
I will go back, electrocute the faded memories, the faded proof of brighter moments.
I'll try to stand again over the raging Atlantic, stand on the western end of my continental mother.
I'll try to see the foam exploding on the rocks again, I'll try to hear the big white seagulls raiding the breeze.
Until it ends, until my nerves discharge electrolytes, until oxytocin whips out the wet reward of one tongue lashing flesh.
Until it ends, I will be innocent again. Until it ends, I will be needless of her lust -needless in a holier way.
Alas, it never lasts long enough, does it? A question asked to anyone, regardless of their gender.
And so we're back, beneath our polished ceiling and our ordered environment, with bloody heels upon the unpredictable.
Don't kiss my lips, goddamn, I've just seen them suck me for God's sake. And don't touch my face, don't act tender.
I, I do not love you.
Not that you do, you're just intoxicated with a false bravado, a foolish faith you're letting yourself get hurt.
Bitch, I'm not even hurting you.
Don't think -kindly refill this- that your weak blend of sacrifice and good, good will impresses anyone.
You're not my Jesus -hell, even Jesus himself is not. And you're not some antihero for tolerating me.
It's just a choice for both of us, it makes you stupid, it makes me bored. Punkt. That's all there is to it.
So love. Do leave the tenderness aside. Do live the act as if it was really the case. We've come this far, we tread on the dreams of our good days every fucking moment. We suffocate the visions of our paradise lost with every breath that hauls small molecules of oxygen inside.
What I'm trying to say is, we hate this. We never wanted it to end this way.
But this doesn't mean we're some sort of Shakespearian lovers whose love is gasoline and circumstances fire.
We're Epicurean. Biomechanical hedonists, who hopefully invest in style. So if you're planning on despairing, crying, breaking, going mad, humanely loving me -do so in style.
I ask of nothing else, of anyone, anymore.
Kindly refill –let’s drink to the Atlantic.

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