Musing

A partial catalog of things I like, and a clue to my name.

A reminder I need, again and again.

The only destruction I hope to do is situational, welcome, perhaps metaphorical.

Fucking has never come naturally to me — it requires an aggression I’ve long kept at bay. Lately, though, something’s shifting.

I keep returning to the same dry well, hoping the people least capable of empathy will somehow deliver it.

When a woman shows interest in me, my body goes into overdrive — and my judgment disappears.

The question of whether sex addiction is real is less interesting than what we’re really asking when we ask it.

The women in my life come and go, and my mood rises and falls with them.

I always want more. That’s just how I roll.

For most of us, sex is neither a sacrament nor a handshake. It’s something more interesting than either.