My thoughts during sex are how I used to think during a piano performance. I’m moving my entire body based on a script, and I am listening to what the results are, and modifying my movements. I am moving very quickly, multiple muscle groups in synchrony. I am playing it in front of audience, and I want to make her hear the same song in her head that I’m playing from the page.
You’ve probably had the experience of listening to a song that doesn’t sound like it should. Even if you’ve never heard it before, you know if the notes, the rhythm, or the key signature is wrong. You begin to make judgments about the performer, and quickly detach from the performance. I know when this happens, and I just try to finish as quick as I can, making it sound as adequate as possible. Performing is stressful, but in the end, I can create a beautiful experience that I share with the listener, my movements translated into their perceptions, the song emerging from the instrument and interweaving with their own thoughts and life.
This approach is stressful, and not the way I want to feel during sex. What I want is to just fucking dissolve. I want to have that boundaries of my body and her bod melt and I want to exist as a cohesive whole, a single organism. I picture our ideal sex in a synesthestic manner, with smearing colors of indigo and magenta and cerulean blue. We fly together like eagles soaring in the sky. I want to feel like the way I danced on LSD at Mysteryland, when my body’s rhythm was guided by my deepest memories, reserves from a million years of biology, the strong and free part of myself it’s never bowed, and will not be destroyed.
I want to embody peace of mind and I want to embody communion. I want to dissolve all of the artificial uptight boundaries that I’ve created in my head and redefine and integrate my existence. I want to flow and I want to feel free and wild and beautiful. I want embody life and light.