Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Cigarettes and Coffee: Ancient Love and the Power of the Unknown

Preamble: Spent the Last Piaster I Could Borrow 

I awake with the following Steely Dan lyric playing on repeat, in my head...


"I was halfway crucified / I was on the other side / Of no tomorrow
You walked in / And my life began again
Just when I'd spent the last piaster / I could borrow
All night long / We would sing that stupid song
And every word we sang / I knew was true"

I haven't felt this pang of longing and desire in years.  Feelings I forgot I could even feel. Fuck. It is truly the most exquisite pain; la douleur exquise. You ignite me in a way I've craved to be lit since the genesis of time.  An ancient, primal thirst.  Your virility, your power, your coruscation; you are a brilliant flash of color against an otherwise grey tableau.

I burn with desire to taste the sins of your flesh. There is no one I'd rather be tangled up in blue with...

                                                                   Untitled XVIII
                                                                   Willem de Kooning
                                                                   1970's

Ancient Love

Since primordial times, I've longed for my Cigarettes and Coffee lover. His essence has been fomenting in my anachronistic, jungle soul, waiting to be conjured and made manifest.  Rugged and virile, but boyish somehow. Lascivious, yet undeniably sweet. I love him; with an ancient love.  I am as desperate to worship his cock, as I am to fold his laundry.  He makes me feel like myself.

We are skin-diving into an turbulent eddy, with no real plan other than to let the whirlpool take us where it pleases; down into the depths or lost out at sea. Either way, the dividing line between Heaven and Hell, razor-thin.  As I wait for the pendulum of pain and rejection to swing back my direction, I can at least revel in this ignited moment, that very first second when the struck match is lit. Before beginning it’s slow, inevitable burn into piceous obscurity.


                                                                   Sunlit Surf
                                                                   George Bellows
                                                                   1913


"Won't say I love you, babe / Won't say I need you, babe
I'm gonna get you babe / And I will not do you wrong

Living's mostly wasting time /And I'll waste my share of mine
But it never feels too good / So let's don't take too long

Well you're soft as glass / And I'm a gentle man
And we got the sky to talk about / And the world to lie upon...

 The choice is yours to make / And time is yours to take
Some dive into the sea / Some toil upon the stone

Well, to live's to fly / All low and high
So shake the dust off of your wings / And the sleep out of your eyes"
 ~ Townes Van Zandt, To Live is to Fly




Cigarettes and Coffee Playlist                                           
                                                
                                                         ********

“This then is the game that is afoot... You smolder sullenly until that moment when the flame quickens and you resolve, once again, to drive yourself deeper into the chaos you demand, first singed and finally scorched by the conflagration you create. A serial arsonist, this latest fire will catch as you fan it and the architecture of the Man you burn with and for will find his fate. And you will surge.

The Ancient one, the fulsome Soul, burning now as you always have and always will. You can see all the way back to the beginning. You know the length of days. You count the nights. Tally them all and from the sum derive the total of that jagged chaos you sustain. Your soul feeds on it. And those men you nurture in their due time in turn are fed by the heat and chaos of your scorched soul. This is the gift you bring them, pray that they are aware of the value, not now alone, while they have that benefit directly, but also later, in the lonely nights after you have gone.

And how many will find their fortune in seeing all of you, all sides, not only, not merely, the fiery Sex but, indeed, that other one, that one that weeps, that lays tenderly, that bears the weight of the World on her slender frame, so slender? How many? For that is not the gift you bring to most. The gift you bring is the power to burn, if only for a little while, alongside you as you consummate that union."
  ~ MN

                                                         ********

The gamblers, the bums, the creeps, the tramps, the cowboys, the poets; they are all me. I am them. A strange attractor, an arcane antenna; I draw them to me. Feeding them, as elemental Mother, and feasting on them, in the most carnal, Circean-manner.  I will give until it hurts, as only the truly sadomasochistic can. I am both vessel and drink.

                                                         Stationary Figure
                                                         Philip Guston
                                                         1973


                                                          ********

"When I say I'm in love, you best believe I'm in love. L-U-V."  ~David Johansen, by way of The Shangri-Las

All I have are these stupid words to give you, for I cannot touch you, I cannot taste you.  I burn to offer you my love, my affection, my tenderness, my sex.  I ache to render myself to you in tangible form, not just the symbolic.  Alas the longing deepens, as the chasm of my animus floods with cum and blood; fervor and love. 


                                                The Treachery of Images
                                                Rene Magritte
                                                1929


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