Her ass massaging my ever-hardening cock. "What a sweet face you have," fingers smiling along the side of my unshaven face, her eyes into mine, twice asking my name, once offering her cheek for a goodbye kiss.

The completely absent touch of bodies. Bodies touching, tasting, licking, but not even existing in the same time-space continuum. How more could one debody the body? Michelle's smile that smile only the touch of money could buy. How can you not return such a smile? I know. And you know. So what else can we do but smile. And play along. Play because I pay. But I know. And you know. And we both know we know. Smile with me until the money is gone. The money is worth the smile. Is worth nothing but the smile. Could money be worth anything else?

The event is the video of the mind's film. The reel as opposed to the dream, each sharing in the advantages and disadvantages of their specificity. Desire so fleeting that to continually offer chase is to eventually grow tired, or to realize during the execution that the game is up. Must all life be a process of bad faith except for those brief moments after desire has dissipated and the world swirls like a hurricane in fast motion with you as the eye? Such a calm centre when all existence seems to make sense since there is no direction, nowhere to go, nothing else slow enough to touch you.

To take back from the mind and give to the body, the feet, the pavement. Writing based on the immediacy of experience as expressed not in the transparency of blank verse but in the immediacy of mental representation. How else should I be writing, if not the way that language comes out when desire is confronted with the event?

These voices all betray some human emotion which denies them their abstractability, their ability to be the empty screen for my projected desire. As these women exist on their own they demand to be engaged on an individual level, at the level of the individual, and this necessarily denies my desire a collective or general being, or rather, this works to continuously obstruct my creation of a general ideational object of desire. Reduced to situational sexuality. Nothing common to these experiences. No debasement permitted without loss of individuality or those idealistic constituents which form what we know of as humanity. In fact, more humanity here than in the most casual, day-to-day situation or encounter with the perpetual masks of precisely those idealistic constituents who make up the good citizen of the social order.

Progressive slips of desire. Accelerated slippages of pleasure. Continually chasing desire. That which we desire we pursue until we have captured and exhausted its mystery. Once it has become familiar, domesticated, our desire switches to another locale, leading us on another merry chase. Where do we go when desire runs out of hiding places? What do we do when we have stripped away the social illusions which allow desire their support? That which fixes desire. Fixations. How does this affect the slips of desire? When her hand is on my cock