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Location: Midwest, United States

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Listenin' to Carlos

It’s been quite the night.

Mind drifts from feral dogs to pert nipples and glistening thighs.

I can’t help myself. The sun waxed hot. Temperature well into the 80’s under languid sky. Windows thrown open, inviting, long after midnight. I hear wild dogs howlin’. I hear Rob and Carlos. Pelvis responds to stimulus.

My mind drifts to tattooed flesh, that Greek goddess who made me lose my breath and choke, so juvenile, on garbled words.

A night like this demands hip-on-hip. Fingers thrumming on taut skin (congas or otherwise). Bone pulverizing bone. Rivulets of salt on scratched and bloodied fevered back.

Oh, to move smooth! To be a brute. To lose oneself in music, soul and sweat!


It’s just that kinda night.

* * *


Blogger Kass said...

"...of skin stretched tight across a thigh."

line from a poem my high school wild guy wrote...

and then there's

Dylan Thomas

Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.

A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.

Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.

Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.

Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics dies,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

Thu Apr 15, 01:19:00 AM  
Blogger Jonas said...

Dylan Thomas surely possessed the words that could twist and turn the soul.

I envy him his magic.

P.S., Everyone deserves/needs a high school wild guy/ matter how many tears flow afterwards.

Thu Apr 15, 01:31:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love the song and heat seems to do something to people, exposes us I think, not only physically but emotionally as well.

Thu Apr 15, 09:36:00 AM  
Blogger Wine and Words said...

Oh this song, this song...ain't just the hips. No, it's a guteral response to a primal need. There can be no equivalent sound track to such a night.

"Give me your heart, make it real
Or else forget about it!"

and she swaggers off....

Thu Apr 15, 06:47:00 PM  
Blogger Elisabeth said...

Hi Jonas
I'm new to your blog, and taken by your way with words. I'm not so keen on feral dogs myself - too terrifying - but I love this music.

I look forward to visiting again and reading more.

Thu Apr 15, 06:58:00 PM  
Blogger anna said...

Mr. Santana certainly knows how to get me moving.

It's a shame you were alone (am assuming, of course).

Fri Apr 16, 02:15:00 PM  
Blogger Jonas said...

Yes, Deb, heat can make all the difference. Heat leads to disrobement. Heat leads to sweat. Sweat leads to...

Annie: "There can be no equivalent sound track to such a night."

Well, I'm not so sure. Consider THIS.

Hello, Elisabeth! Welcome. I dropped by your blog and found you've been most prolific (with quite a following!). Methinks I've got a whole lotta reading to do. You're welcome to drop by any time and stay a spell.

Yes, Anna, it was a shame I was alone. My shame.

Sun Apr 18, 07:30:00 PM  
Blogger PattiKen said...

That is Sanatana's best, in my opinion. He did a lot of good stuff early on, but nothing to compare to that. I'm thinking that it was a product of having lived some.

I had an interesting reaction to the video, which I'll tell you sometime.

Sun Sep 11, 01:45:00 PM  

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