All day-long I dream about sex. Well, that’s both a Korn song and my anthem every day. I never wanted to become the archetypal perverted, twisted artist with an animalistic libido, a wild, unshaven, unwashed, bearded man with an insatiable desire for the electric thrill that an orgasm gives you – cock and seed and wet cunt, but here I am, and here I stand, twisted with fetishes, mad with lust overwhelming me, like a Tsunami sweeping over a coastal town, possessed with a need for nudes like a raving sex maniac, overcome with an uncontrollable want to fuck the girlfriend until we’re both in some death-ecstasy, some terrifying high that’s both painful and exhilarating.
All day-long I dream about sex. Blood gently dripping as I bite her lips and she bites mine, fingers interlaced as tightly as a bond in the seraphic realm, sweat, and semen and fluid creating a raw togetherness, a bittersweet haven for us – two vagabonds who’re the dregs of a brutal, hierarchical society, two anarchists – man and woman who embody the spirit of grunge, augmenting it with downers and cheap booze, two anti-social, in- your-face, punchy as punk poets who’ve known the side-effects of psychiatric medication, the allergies like countless crimson soldiers rushing on a field of skin, pointing their guns down and shooting, two despondent pilgrims never knowing where they’re going, but ending each day with an intense session of rhythm and improvisation, laughter and sobbing, silence and moaning
All day-long I dream about sex. I do it when I’m not peddling rhymes for free or reading some dog-eared book coated with last month’s grime and dust. I do it when I’m not with her, the videos on the computer screen now accustomed to my chronic masturbation ending in mini-scale cataclysmic explosions, the sight of another in a tank top and jean sending shock waves to my groin and forming still frames in my mind which later become a motion picture of devilish fantasies when she’s not around. But she doesn’t mind because we’re two fucking angst-ridden people and being fundamentally and innately depraved is the way we cope.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)