Thursday, 27 August 2009

Five, Sex, Seven, Eight

My then-beau and I were discussing what would be great music to bonk to - with reference to my youth and eclectic music taste somewhere in my top ten shag songs would have to be Closer by Nine Inch Nails, he said he wasn't sure he knew the song, I tried singing it to him then played it for him. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Considering the lyrics (© Nine Inch Nails)...
You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you
Help me, I broke apart my insides, help me, I've got no soul to tell
Help me, the only thing that works for me, help me, get away from myself
I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god
You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything
Help me, tear down my reason, help me, it's your sex I can smell
Help me, you make me perfect, help me, become somebody else
I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god
Through every forest, above the trees
Within my stomach, scraped off my knees
I drink the honey inside your hive
You are the reason I stay alive
...I thought he would slowly plant a kiss on me but he didn't, I went to kiss him, he backed off and he looked embarrassed. He often did this whenever my sex drive appeared.
We had been going out for a couple of months at this point, and even though he had a large sex drive it was in spurts: four times in one night and then nothing for weeks, sometimes he would want to fuck me on sight and then at times not even greet me with a kiss. As such I found it really arduous to deal with such indifference from him, I ended things with him rather than deal with the constant disappointment, it hurt too much. His passion and affection could never make up for how he was when cold and distant.
Coincidentally maybe, as I am typing this I receive a message asking my take on mix tapes.
I remember my first mix tape. As I received it at school, I looked at it for about four hours before I could listen to it. I can recall all the small doodles on the card together with the near perfect capital letters of each artist and song title. I liked the songs, but it was the effort the boy had gone to that meant so much.
It was not so long ago that I was given a mix CD-R with just my name scribbled on the CD and presented in a transparent plastic sleeve. The CD was a compilation of B-sides of one of my best-loved bands, some of his favourite songs and a couple of songs I hold dear and must of mentioned in passing and he had remembered, the CD-R was in summary - perfect.
The message banter delves into what strategies teenage boys nowadays use to woo their counterparts. Are mix tapes/CD-Rs lost to the world of Spotify playlists or even less romantically just emailed torrent links?
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