[365 DAYS OF REHAB POP] DAY 76: GRIZZLY BEAR- MOURNING SOUND (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO)
/ DAY 76 /
I like sex; but honestly I haven’t had much the last year. I walked aimlessly through an orgy in Kuala Lumpur, tracing shadows on the wall. It was a little tedious and my eyes emptied ennui on all the eyes staring back at me, but all I wanted to get was a good outline of someone’s butt etched onto the plaster but cheeks kept rising and falling. I can’t complain, they were doing what they ere supposed to be doing and I was trying to be Tracey Emin in the corner.
In May, I let a boy who came from Barcelona call me guapo and then cum in 7 secs flat. I didn’t really mind, I was eyeing energy dancing naked on my neurons and hoping they’d transform into endless thought I could sink into his sheets on. I wasn’t always this way, I used to be 175.09% present from th first peak of penis to the pained looks you got when you said to me ‘yeah, i’ll totally hit you up on grindr again’. I stopped having an excuse to hang socks on door knobs and polish off someone’s knob–even the ones that ghost their energy rom your part 15, 30, 60, let’s be honest 3 hours, too early–because I got tired of sighing. Not panting, just sighing. Never got a good workout, except to run back into myself. And maybe my index digit got a workout but that’s only because I was furiously tracing the outline of my belly button because no one was listening to me.
I STARE AT THE FACE
LOOKING THROUGH MY EYES
I MOVE AT A PACE I CANNOT SURVIVE
I’M HAULING AWAY, I DO IT ALL THE TIME
LET LOVE AGE AND WATCH IT DIE
I always listened to people and I think for a long time I didn’t want to listen to myself but I wanted someone else to. I think my testicles were magnetized, pulled towards verbose people who wouldn’t pay me any quarter while we were vibrating on dime-powered beds in Bangkok. Sex used to be a pop of colour in my dark head but after awhile I noticed everyone I was with kept giving me side-eye every time I opened my mouth, so I’d lie back and not think of London but how there exposed nipples were shootting hues of a grey-scaled nightmare into the room. And at one point there was bed creaking but all I heard was the sound of distant shots and passing trucks. And I think the hum of traffic was all I was really hoping to find. I wanted white noise containing all the colors and streaming all the words I wanted to say non-stop along it’s soundwaves. I wanted to be liberated, and I wanted to fuck fearlessly but more than anything I wanted to end the mourning sound in me.
I WOKE TO THE SOUND OF DOGS
TO THE SOUND OF DISTANT SHOTS
AND PASSING TRUCKS
I took to Tinder to take care of my trauma in micro-doses of cock and carefree conseuence where I could try to be me again, even if I couldn’t hack it. It was ok, for a good long while. I had a standing reservation and a group of boys on my ho-tation, and I couldn’t be alone in my head so I took them into my sheets all of Saturday and Sunday and listened to them while exiting the conversation every time I got too real, too human for them. And I stopped letting them come to come when every moment was just black and white and I missed the brilliant reds and pastels of tittiliation and purple and blue shades of sad-man bonding. I gave up. Until I can have rainbows shooting out Nipples again and pLay drum solos on buttcheeks. Have my own kind of victory march over the pain to the percussive sound of spanking flesh.