yaffa cafe's back patio means new york summer. racing to finish and meet up with my surprise guest, torus. you remember him. the prefuse show had moments of brilliance, becoming disjointed, and remerging again. i think it resonated more with me than with habbit. habbit and i are becoming real friends in the real world. and in contrast, torus and i seemed to become less real. out of the blue, i had contacted an online affair with a.m. i had over a year before. somehow, we reignited and i was headed back to brooklyn, parting with habbit and torus. and i walked in to a.m.'s home. and the sexual momentum was bigger than us both. and he was nervous, almost unexcited. but he advanced and i was pathetic in my attempts to resist. i needed to fuck. but it was wrong. and i knew as it was happening how i would feel today. but we kept fucking. and like a victim of molestation, i almost vacated my body into a bliss soundscape of radiohead's new album. so fucking beautiful. confused by the contrast of the moment. salvation in radiohead. unreal. tasting the wrong taste. licking the wrong skin. arching my hips the wrong degree. penetrated at the wrong depth. hollowed out by the senses, saved by only sound.

i should have fallen asleep with torus.

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