This was the second time that I was having sex with her, and it was much better for our increased familiarity with each other. I had just finished off a few rails of blow in the family room with my best friends when she and I mutually decided to head to her parent's room. They were out of town. No, I was not in high school. These were just a couple of the glaringly strange points of the experience. This only happens to you if you never fantasize about its reality and never concern yourself with it becoming so. The only way to experience such striatum stimulation is to be able to say, "I don't give a fuck." It's entirely refreshing. Say it, I'll wait.

Refreshed? Ok, then.

My best-friend, who I had just been vacuuming up white powder with, lusted after this woman with a vengeance. I call her a woman specifically. To call her a chick, girl, female, baby... anything but a woman would be an insult to her classical and undeniable ultra-femininity that she wielded like a pen.

Of course I would be lying if I said that I wasn't surprised about her fixation with me. My self-doubt is too great for acceptance. Luckily, it is not too great for sex. Imagine a woman nearly as tall as a man. She could give a fuck about Atkins and discusses the finer points of Italian cuisine. She has the body of a Greek goddess coupled with the least self-conscious smile I have ever encountered. I truly believe that a host of the world's problems could be solved if people could smile without inhibition. Think about it. Most think they do - most don't. It's all in the eyes and eye-contact. When you classify a smile as beautiful, it usually has nothing to do with perfect teeth or curvaceous lips, but the absolute lack of restraint in expressing a smile that has sprouted from the bowels of the soul on a journey to the face where it expresses itself completely unaware of the world's judgement.

Men only think about their past right before their death, as if they were searching frantically for proof that they were alive. (Jet - Cowboy Bebop)

My best friend called me up the other day, depressed, lost, and willing to take that journey back into time to revisit the loves of his past. These foolish games are seriously an attempt to reclaim those points in our lives where we truly felt alive. Don't let the optimists fool you; sometimes you do feel dead in life, and you lie in waiting in a cocoon for life to spring upon you again. His journey was fruitless, much like the book High Fidelity, nowhere near as light and heart-warming as the movie. But, on a tangent, you have to appreciate the movie's conclusion that involves grief-resolving sex in a car between two rent persons involved in unique quarter-life crises. But music was the salvation in that story, not people. Music is the salve of loneliness, as I can attest to at this very moment.

It is inevitable to be drawn back into human drama. (Caterine Vauban - I ♥ Huckabees)

I loved Fight Club, no matter its backlash here, and I loved I ♥ Huckabees. Both stories seem to exhort existentialism, but in my opinion existentialism is one of the most misunderstood philosphies of our time, but that's neither here nor there. Both Fight Club and I ♥ Huckabees eventually come to the conclusion that you MUST live your life in all its shit, glory, exultation and depression. You MUST revel in your humanity. It may be difficult to become as a tree, experiencing only the now and evolving as your environment would decide for you, but utilizing your unique consciousness and deciding your own fate is making god's fingerprints your footpath.

The choices I have made have created both ultimate pleasure and ultimate suffering. My life does not exist in the middle of the road. This is hardly a lament, but rather a celebration of all of life's chaos, magic, and inscrutability surely put here to hack your reality.