Monday, September 24, 2012

I know there's no proof, but it's fun to think about.

I was going to write that in the future thinking, like horses and vinyl records, will stop being a necessity and continue only as a hobby for quirky enthusiasts.

That when we arrive at a realisation that our thinking isn't good enough –– that it only ever arrives at dead ends because there is always a better thought and always a better thought than that one –– we will stop.

That after we finish outsourcing thinking to our academics and scientists, they will outsource to computers.

That the only people who will continue to think are those who thrive on an appreciation of language's aesthetics and/or the primal instinct of competition.

That these people, these people who continue to use their minds, will be the oddballs and not the cultural elite. 

I was going to write that it is happening already. That it is definitely starting.

I was going to until I realised that I couldn't possibly know. I was going to until I realised that such thinking is pointless. That thinking is pointless.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

121 Mazda metro

Her socialisation and her genetics, they’d spun around perpetually as they do; they’d done things to her knee joint. Because all leg below her knees was pushed out slightly to the sides, as though her feet were two, same poles of a magnet. They were shy, they lacked confidence. They flopped.

That’s what she was.

She was shy, no confidence.

It took a real sicko like me to sexualise her blushed face as it turned down, embarrassed. Her meek waddle, her smirks when she could easily have braved a hello. Her whole being hid her libido. Everything left to the imagination.

I almost felt guilty the way she sunk down my chest. Her kisses keeping on kissing, till my dick felt her breath. She tickled her tongue under forskin. Spiraling the glans so my hips jumped as her mouth sunk.

Down, up. Down, up.

I looked down at juxtaposition, then up from the top of my eyes and through the bottom of the fogged window we were ducked down under. My four cylinder was parked on a street in the city.

Did she know the voices we heard had eyes that could see?

Where had all her shyness gone?