Come Talk To Me

If Bon Iver hadn’t gone a bit more mainstream and received quite an amount of public press, maybe their existence might have never come into my knowledge. Despite being well aware of such fact, I couldn’t help but feeling a burst of jealousy seeing thousands of fans flocking to his supposedly ‘intimate’ concert, seeing Justin singing flirtatiously with the girls in The Staves, witnessing his cry for Emma, Forever ago, or hearing the ladies in the back screaming his name. I mean, you can take all of the hunky handsome lads, that casually messy dirty bald man is the humble piece that I ask for.

I’m in bad shape, physically. My weight has consistently dropped ever since I found out about my gout risk. I’ve been feeling tired all the time, especially at work. Yes, the work place that my best friend and I had been trying so hard to get in, with the hope to move to a more suitable division. He succeeded while I only did halfway. I was assigned to the very same place where I was trying to get out. I didn’t see myself doing this in the long run but it was too difficult to quit, because of the stable income, the reputation, and the efforts already made to get in.

There was this one thing that I could get my mind off things: sex. However, ever since I got back from Singapore, I don’t feel like I could do it anymore. The whole process of baiting, getting baited, flirting, hooking up and all takes so much time for me. I could resort to my former fuck buddies but I feel like they and I have moved past that point and become friends. Possibly that’s why I’ve been constantly masturbating.

Once yesterday, twice the day before, regularly, at noon, during lunch break, at night time, after seeing Bradley Cooper on TV, when I woke up at night suddenly since my chest has been aching, to the guy I saw on the street, to Justin, to the amateur porn on Tumblr, to the beautiful manly guy crying while getting his mouth choked by a verbal older man. Isn’t it funny that that amateur porn video could give me some consolation? Isn’t it funny that the only connection to make the feeling go away is with a stranger on a video? That moment, when his repressed tears burst out of nowhere, that beautiful guy, could lie haunting forever in my browser history. If only I could touch him.

And then there’s always this guilt after the ejaculation, followed by this exhaustion. It’s all over the place, sloppy, reality temporary washed away to make way for the rush of ambivalence. Only then I could sleep. Only then I could go back to the boy that I once was. With this heart, this creativity and this promising future. Next to him was Winona Ryder, as captivating as always were her doe eyes and her smile and those full cherry cheek. Winona greeted with an awkward smile that reminded of an age of innocence. Then it was all OK again.

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This entry was published on March 3, 2016 at 6:05 pm. It’s filed under Bon, Thinking and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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