wellownedbkup: (Default)
[personal profile] wellownedbkup
I'm not saying that the sum total of me lately is sex. But... if that's the way the cookie crumbles.

My name is Morgue. Or, at least, that's what I'm answering to at the moment. It varies. I like writing, though I haven't done as much as I wish I'd done. I love poetry especially. I spend more and more time quoting spoken word poetry in my head than I do much else, lately.

Like the other night, lying in his bed, I was caught between "head butts on a motel bed our bashful maid made badly; we only had ice cubes to snack on, but i would've bitten the label off your apple if you'd let me..." and "...because this lovemaking is no less perfect than the moon rising in you, and this lovemaking is the gospel music made by the rhythm of flesh and blood and flesh and blood, and this blood is the closest I will ever be to making love to your insides, sailing through your veins and arteries." Because there's nothing like thinking about spending the night in his bed, followed by thoughts and actions of period sex.

My sum total is not simply sex, the situations I get myself into notwithstanding. No... I am more. I'm a geek with a love affair with gadgets. I'm a shoe-holic, with an obsessive desire to buy lots of 4" heels. Including the last two pairs I bought which are completely impractical ankle boots (one red suede with cut outs and peep toe and pyramid studs... the other brown and furry) that are gonna be less than useless if there's actually snow or ice. I listen to the wind against windowpanes and hear symphonies in my head. Watch tv or read books and see my life in footnotes and along margins.

I make random notes in textbooks that may never relate to the story again (Song of Myself by Whitman turning into disco rejects of how "I'm every woman..."). Bad French grammar in Nietzche and a raised eyebrow about how I could totally write better porn than the Marquis de Sade.

I create so much drama in my life that I can barely see straight, just so I don't go to bed feeling tired and alone. I miss my friends. I miss affection and touch. So I reach out to men who are easy to take from and rub up against them for a moment or two. Satisfy the way my skin hunger translates to my brain's need for attention and affection and lie back in bed at night thinking

"I bet I could come up with a good journal post for this...."

Date: 2011-01-07 10:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] myrna-bird.livejournal.com
Welcome to the SCI portion. You are gifted with really cool expressive ability. Looking forward to reading some of your stuff!

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags


wellownedbkup: (Default)

November 2016

272829 30   

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 05:43 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios