Musical Imagery: Carved in stone?

January 7, 2010 Diary 1 Comment

We have all been there before… or at least, to God, I hope you have been.

You will be completely focused on a task at hand–working, playing, creating, fucking–whichever, and then it happens. Regardless of your level of concentration or amount of enjoyment, a song will come on, randomly, that brings you to your fucking knees. Whether it is the first darkly familiar strum of a guitar, a beautiful raspy voice delivering a resonating lyric, or a bridge and chorus that rattles your mind and heart, it just doesn’t matter.

Music affects us all in different ways, and the instant a song comes on that has served as a backdrop to something magical, something memorable, or something terrible, we are immediately brought right back. The time warp is immediate, and the memory will be as clear as a bell. And, depending on how life altering or monumental the soundtracked experience was, an entire scene will flash before your eyes, in your mind, and you will be rendered incapacitated.

There are many songs that are special to me. All for different reasons and different chapters, but I’m not about to get into each and every one. However, there is something interesting that very recently happened to me regarding this phenomenon, and I wanted to explore.

There is a particular song by Nine Inch Nails, which was played for me by my first girlfriend when her family was moving away, and we knew it was the end for us. Now, you must understand that I was infatuated with this girl through and through. My first love, and it was all encompassing.

We lied side by side on the floor of her room on her last night before the move. The lights completely off. Darkness blanketing us with only the sounds of our breathing to be heard against the cold silence. Then it began. The haunting piano notes mixed with the deep and disturbing bass chords, sending a feverish chill toward those areas reserved for the most exhausting of emotions.

I still recall the taste of your tears
Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears
My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore
Scraping through my head ’till I don’t want to sleep

These chilling lyrics are the start of Trent Reznor’s epic ode to insatiable desires called “Something I Can Never Have” If you know it… then you get it. If you don’t, stick to Britney Spears–it is much safer for you.

I haven’t thought back to that night in a very long time. As a matter of fact, the song had been dubbed completely off limits for a fair amount of time–once I decided I had enough of the soul tearing tears of a flickered first love. I would do my best to re-create the entire scene…darkness, quiet, the smell of her perfume… everything but the girl beside me. It got to the point that I no longer even needed the perfume. All I needed was the song, played at incredibly loud levels to vibrate my being, and it brought back everything I craved. Her beautiful scent would fill my entire existence.

Once it was declared dead to me, there were times its airing could not be prevented, and depending on the situation, shit would just get uncomfortable. Over the years, I heard it less and less, the impact of the song dwindled as my memories of the girl faded away. I still remember her, and I remember how she captivated me…but the effect of the song was eventually no longer there.

And this is where my questions lie. Are musical memories carved in stone for eternity? Or, like anything else, do they fade? Is it possible for a song to provoke different and new imagery from what it originally fueled?

I’m leaving those answers up to you, the readers. However, I will share one more little tidbit.  Many years after my first girlfriend played the NIN song for me, I met a woman for drinks while we were both spending some time in another city. Conversations were had prior to the meeting, which gave us an inkling of the chemical potential, but completely unaware of the eventual flammability of our mixtures. Long story short–we drank, we ate, we fucked, we caressed, and then we fucked some more and more. We connected on levels I won’t even begin to disclose for this entry, frankly, because you have not yet earned those types of details.

But, as we laid there, side by side, with the cityscape through the window, her dark hair contrasting against white sheets, I decided to make a new stone carving. I reached over to the iPhone dock, scrolled to the Ns, and pressed play. She exhaled and sent a dramatic plume of smoke into the air, as the haunting piano mixed with the deep and disturbing bass began to fill the room. She closed her eyes to take in the music like she just took a bite of pancakes and syrup on a Sunday morning. I closed my eyes as well, and took in the musical imagery. And at that moment, that incredibly memorable instance… I smiled at the beautiful scent of a new perfume, now filling my existence.

Grab a Tiger by the Toe

December 22, 2009 Opinion 10 Comments

“A man is only as faithful as his options.”

These incredibly insightful words were taken from one of Chris Rock’s comedy acts. And, if you think about it, the statement makes all the sense in the world. Men are men after all. Primal animals at the core who oftentimes get led astray when good intentions fall victim to overwhelming temptations, resulting in poor decisions.

American journalism is completely inundated these days with news of Tiger Woods, and all of his extra-marital sexual indiscretions. Most of the world watched, with its figurative jaw on the floor, as woman after woman came forward to throw salt on the wounds of Tiger’s evidently chaffed penis.

I imagine him much more like Tiger Claus at this time of the year, singing out to his ladies strapped in to pull his sleigh… “On Rachel, on Jamie, on Kalika, on Cori…” After all, “if Santa was black”, was indeed a trending topic on Twitter… and it couldn’t just be coincidental. Tiger was clearly providing a service to these ladies, and in turn, they provided a service right back. Tiger Claus.

But what I don’t need to hear or see is another dick in the media who claims to be a doctor of “this” and a specialist of “that”, voicing their opinions on the man’s psyche. Dr. Drew, people seem to like you, so I won’t get all up in your grill, but please, shut the fuck up. Sexual addiction?


Let me drop a little science, and a little man knowledge your way. Guys who are “sexually addicted” masturbate in the bathroom stalls of fast food restaurants.

Guys that can get ample amounts of pussy because beautiful women throw it in their face all day, every day? They are called men.

The power of temptations mixed with hormones has been shaping history since the beginning of civilizations. Anyone familiar with classic literature remembers Helen being the face that launched a thousand ships. Do you really think Paris didn’t have a chick back in Troy that thought he was just off settling world conflicts, and sleeping with her picture on the pillow next to him? Give me a break. Women, like anything coveted in life, are a spoil that goes to the victor. And it will never change.

However, please do not misunderstand my point to this article. I do not condone a married man, and a father of two, spreading his seed along the PGA tour stops. I find it terrible, and I find it even more terrible that he must face all of this scrutiny and judgment in the public eye. If we were really to know Tiger, I would imagine we would find a man who felt he had been stripped of much of his youth. He was protected as a child, removed from many offerings because of his forced devotion to the game of golf. Probably did not have many friends, and even fewer girls that took notice. Fast forward 10 years, he has he world by the balls, and even the pretty white girls are chasing him down now. Just because he could, Tiger decided to marry the whitest girl walking the earth–a big fuck you to all the circles that wouldn’t accept him in his youth.

But, let me take it a step further. If Tiger were just looking to satiate his “sexual addiction”, these women would have remained nameless faceless vaginas, with very little to zero follow-through after the fucking. But it didn’t go down like that did it? You could see that Tiger, though married, was finding something in these women. Something he needed that he very clearly wasn’t getting from his wife.

Here is a newsflash to all of the Dr. Drews, and countless feminist bitches that felt the need to voice opinions on these events: sticking your dick in something warm, wet, and tight feels really really, REALLY good. As a matter of fact, I’m smiling right now just thinking of it. We are all born “addicted” to sex, you mindless fucks. It is how our species continues. If we didn’t like it, we wouldn’t do it!

And, why is it no one ever looks to the woman in these cases? It is always about the hedonistic man and his inability to keep his dick in his pants. And you get outcries of support for her, and her fragile being. Even T-shirts to dually show your concern, as well as your hope for the destruction of yet another ruinous man. Why can’t we ever accept as a society that sometimes a wife just can’t give you everything you need? Sometimes the woman in your life just doesn’t get it done. It’s quite possible Tiger’s dick hasn’t come out of his pants, in front of his wife, since the birth of his second child. These things happen. These so called specialists should be spending a lot more of their time and efforts looking into a male’s willingness to sexually desecrate the mother of his children.

I would imagine the desire to act on your sexual needs and aggressions gets incredibly diminished after children… but what would I know, I’m neither a psychologist nor a feminist.

So, I will wrap it up by adding my two cents: actors, rockstars, public figures, and athletes are always going to have copious amounts of ass thrown in their faces. Women can’t help themselves, and they are hand-picking, providing, and selling the proverbial desirous apple. My advice to these types of people would fall into two distinct buckets: 1.) do not get married until you are done with your careers, with craving the spotlight, and are for sure certain you are ready to settle down; and 2.) you should really be subscribing to bucket #1, but if you must get married, make sure you marry a woman that understands there are going to be instances on the road when you will be indeed, loving the one you’re with.

I believe my sentiments can be fully summarized with one more quote from Chris Rock: “That tiger didn’t go crazy… that tiger went tiger!” Think about it.

Image by BlankLogo Photography.

Smoking Hot: In Praise Of Women Who Smoke

December 2, 2009 Opinion 3 Comments


Personally, I am not a fan of cigarettes. Never have been, nor can I understand why individuals would go out of their way to allow such brutal impurities to enter so freely. Drag after drag, the harshly derived chemicals seep into your being, working diligently to conquer all that is viable, fresh, and living. Poisonous smoke lingers on your clothes, ages your skin, and blackens the shit out of your lungs.

However, with that said, I am here to explain why chicks who smoke make better lovers:

1.) The Ever-Apparent Oral Fixation

Since the beginning of time, women who have been more expressive with their hands and their mouths have been more expressive sexually. Smoking showcases both of these necessary traits beautifully. Just watch the way a woman lights her cigarette, the way it is held in her hand, the way her fingers lovingly caress the shaft – the act could not be more erotic. And, I haven’t even gotten to the mouth yet. Watch an attractive woman take a cigarette to her lips, and I promise you she will be auto added to the “bank.” Would be an act against nature to watch a woman delicately take a cigarette to her lips, close her eyes, lovingly inhale, and not imagine her naked beside you.

2) The World Behind the Eyes

It is also a well-known fact that by doing something trivial with your hands, your fingers, or your mouth, you will allow the unlocking of your creativity and imagination. The simple act of smoking releases the brain from focus, and allows it to drift into streams of consciousness. Smokers just do this more easily, as smoking allows their mind to wander towards the far reaches of fantasy. This phenomenon is why you often see actors with cigarettes or food in scenes; it was the easiest way to release the actors from their own thoughts, allowing them to bridge toward the thoughts of the characters being portrayed. I promise you this much: find a woman who is able to release from logical thought during a sexual experience, and you will understand what outer-body is all about.

3) An Easy In

Back in the day when I was terrorizing the various L.A. hotspots, there wasn’t a night I would venture out without my lucky lighter in hand. This practice would work magically on two fronts. First, it is a way to break the ice, and move stealthily into a beautiful woman’s personal space without causing her any alarm whatsoever. Without saying a single word, you are in, close, making contact, and showing her interest. Second, in situations where you are already engaged in conversation with a woman, nothing closes the deal like the lighting of her cigarette before she can even breathe the words “do you have a light?” Women who smoke are just simply more approachable, less likely to scare, and offer more opportunity for conversation.

4) Dramatic Scenery

Let me set this up for you. Imagine a lovemaking session that shakes the heavens and rattles the Gods. Immediately after, the two of you lie there, side by side. Sunlight trickling in through curtained spaces. Her skin tones contrasting beautifully with the stark white sheets… the profile of her curves writing the outline of a poetic verse… her long dark hair spread about the pillow like traces of a storied fable… her eyes casting glances that could conquer empires. You are thinking to yourself that this is single-handedly the sexiest scene you have ever seen in your entire life! She then reaches for her cigarettes and lighter, lies back down, and ignites. As she exhales, the air around you thickens. Streaks of light appear overhead. The smoke encircles your existence, slowing movements and speeding thoughts. All of a sudden, it’s clear that the cigarette is the artist, and the two of you are the muse.

5) Did I Mention the Oral Fixation?

If you don’t know the difference between a girl who smokes putting her lips on your cock versus a girl who doesn’t, then I truly feel sorry for you. Just try it on for size one of these days, and I promise you will understand. The ladies who smoke, or at least have smoked in their lives, tend to enjoy having you inside of their mouth almost as much as you enjoy being inside of their mouth. It’s a fact. They are more courageous, more inventive, and less likely to have that all too familiar gag reflex.

So gentlemen, grab yourselves a lucky lighter, and remember this powerful index for sexuality. Where there is smoke, I promise you, there will be fire…

Image by Av Flox.

A Love Note

November 20, 2009 Lessons No Comments

noteLadies, if there is anything I would like to stress in this piece, it is the all too forgotten power of ink and penmanship…

In this overly digital age, we have completely lost sight of the sexiness that is a woman’s handwriting. Mix that with the intentions to show both gratitude for an evening of pleasure and a mischievous desire to revisit, and you get a classic PG-rated memento, with XXX implications.

It had been a very long time since I have received a love note.

Maybe my previous performances hadn’t been note worthy…perhaps. Or maybe, along with most of the world, we have lost sight of what it means to offer a true and organic personal touch. Well, I’m here to say that you need to bring it back, because the results can be, well… orgasmic!

Her note was extremely terse and succinct, but written with a handwriting reserved for Kings and Queens.

It very simply stated, “You’re delicious”, and she signed her initial. Then she just simply placed it on top of my laptop, and let herself out of my hotel room. When I returned to the room, though I would have preferred seeing the dark-haired beauty still lying naked amidst the sheets, focusing in on the note brought about a perfect smile.

Granted, there are times when this endearing attempt will fall tremendously short, and your note will end up as his basketball practice into the garbage can. Ladies, know your audience. You are clearly the superior species, with a level of perception for the opposite sex that completely scares the shit out of me. Therefore, use this tool when it fits, and do not force it. If you are the item of the evening, do not romanticize it, just use him back. However, if there is a connection, and he is interested, this little extra effort will work out beautifully.

It worked beautifully on me, and one day I may even share what I did with my “delicious” XXX implicated memento…

Image from Jaime.


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