Long overdue. This entry. Even though I write it now with a faint memory of it and a smile. Lily allen.
What was it? God knows, but it was beautiful. A room. I’m not alone. There are people. The smoke rises up the room and out the balcony. Drifting away and taking me with it. The same as the feeling of being suspended in mid-air. Like when the car goes too fast down a bridge. A tingly, tickly feeling that I can’t locate. I always thought it was the groin but it’s the whole abdomen. It pulsates with pleasure. Not pulsates, more like moves, sways like the tide. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be a grain of sand on the shore. Constant periodical stimulation. Come, float, go. Over and over. Pure ecstasy.
The only time that I would feel like everything was made simply for me. The five minutes of fame, I had an extended version. Everything was made just for me. Lily allen. She was talking to me. She was singing. But I heard something different. Her words. She was talking to just me. At first you’re scared. But then, you relax. Its like reggae’s steel drums in your ear. Pinacoladas. Cuban beaches. White soft sound. The only thing you hear is reggae going with the tides. The smell is delicious. You’d recognize it anywhere. The people are all so happy. The only thing that’s wrong. Is your smallest toe is itching you… you’re about to get up from your sunbed to itch it… but no… you just let it be and you enjoy the music… you enjoy the music… just the music playing in your ear… and then… the itch goes away… you reward yourself. Here’s a brownie. On the house. You smile. She smiles back. She’s attractive but you don’t care. You want to just listen… lily allen singing. Smile… smile… smile…