I had sex yesterday. Twice. It was good and sweaty. The way sex should be. I am not in love and want to be. This city is a production. Made of fake walls and perfect lighting. Nothing is real except how lonely everyone feels. It's 1:50am, I'm shooting a video tomorrow at 9am. Shooting on a Sunday feels foreign. I never work on Sunday's. They are holy to me. Not holy like it is for most people, but holy like romance and first "i love you" wispered. I fell madly in love on a Sunday on La Brea in LA.
She offers me her arms, body, heart. She is an offering I drink. I wish I wanted the simple chaos she brings.
I think I miss the collective feeling of all the love I've ever been in. Yeah, maybe that's it.