Tuesday, January 11, 2011

they call, we come

that addictive bread. i avoided it for about 5 days then i had a piece. it grabbed the base of my brain immediately & i could clearly see myself getting up & going back in the kitchen for another slice. in olden days there would have been a what-the-hell moment & i would have surrendered swooning to the need & i would have conducted the ritual of self-abasement as i gave in to my shameful abandonment to dangerous pleasure. i walked to the kitchen & got something else, head over heart that time. maybe it's the rosemary, maybe the olive oil is bad, may the kind of yeast. doesn't agree with me. waaant it.

like dog sniffing around until the perfectly aged turd or cascass found & then the swooning roll in the thing, i know my human doesn't like it but i don't care, can't help myself, got to do it.

desire separated from satisfaction of desire, now its gone, where'd it go, who cares, gone, one less thing to obsess over, so many other things available.

neck feeling half way better. ice everywhere. burning hams in bendover bring dangling strings of stuff into focus. how? i want to grab my legs and squeeze the burn, i want to cover my face with my hands, i want to moan & scream, echoes of surrender explicit in the position itself, can of worms squirming, trying to get away from the burn but there's nowhere to go.

out to the store to pick her up some wine.

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