From outside comes rubbish music and raised voices from two cokeheads in a car parked by the side of the road. They talk for hours about nothing and when they don’t talk they just sit there trying not to think about the nature of existence. It makes their dim heads hurt, you see. The rubbish music just beat beat beats for hours on end. Basic rhythm. No meaning. Just blah blah blah like everything else in their lives, and when they drive away, it’s as if they were never there to begin with. No impressions. No stories. Just fading sensations and the fading outlines around their fading junkie bodies. After work, I dreamt of this girl. I was watching her from my window as she undressed across the street from me. I’m not sure where it was, but it was no place I had ever lived in, and yet it felt familiar the way places often do in such scenarios. The sight of her faraway milky body excited me, and yet it didn’t get me hard because flesh is just all so samey, even in dreams. And yet when she slipped off her bra, I couldn’t help but watch from the side of my eyes pretending it meant nothing when in truth the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. At one point she became aware of my prying eyes, but she didn’t move, instead, she beckoned me over, but when I left the house and walked towards her front door in anticipation of her embrace, I found myself floating over all these towns and cities of which I’ve never set foot in. There were so many anonymous locations that came and went beneath me and even though I tried to understand them they just drifted this way and that like faces in a crowd. Closing my eyes as miles and miles of fields, roads and street lights stretched across the land, the land became the girl’s body, and I was just a piece of microscopic dust gravitating to her sex. All those rivers. Those lakes and ponds and shorelines. They called to me and I came to them with open arms not wanting to be alone one second longer. Moving ever closer, the cold wind and rain battering my face set my teeth on edge and filled me with terror, but as soon as I saw it, I knew exactly where I wanted to be.
A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk
A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com
Categories: Lucid
Author S. K. Nicholas 
Extremely graphic, loved it!
I’m glad you enjoyed it, my friend.
You speak as if puberty Never left you. Yet in a way it is endearing, yet entertaining. Do hope you don’t feel emasculated by this.
As that was not my intention.
I think to be sensitive and in awe is always more beneficial to a creative soul than being in control. Helps to tap into the wonder.
So True.
Wow. This is incredibly awesome. From the pointlessness of the day to day, making little to no impact on those surrounding us to the utterly beautiful. The longing to make such a lasting impression that you could touch the whole world. That you could find your peace and joy in the creating and exploring of the beautiful and almost untouchable.
Yes, that longing to make an impression that hopefully touches the world- that’s what it’s all about. To create, and to hope such creative acts inspire those around us. There is nothing else, in my opinion.
Love this piece
I’m so glad you do, thank you.
You are quite welcome
Your conjuring continues to amaze.
That’s very kind of you to say, my friend.
Sometimes, you’ll have to live through more of life for things you’d encountered before to make sense, and there’s NO hurrying in figuring out what it all means, just take it slow, because life’s too short, to be hurrying through things.
Exactly. So many are in a hurry, and they never take the time to see things for how they really are. At least such mistakes no longer apply to our own lives.