Posts tagged ‘massage’

December 1st, 2010

Balinese Sand Shuffle

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On the cusp of another heartbreak

Fukitall. How do fools wake up fools after having gone to bed knowing they’re foolish? Because they spent the night believing a dream. I don’t even know what that dream is that I keep dreaming. It just comes on like a vaporous disease and stitches into my heart, my breath, guts and mind. Same dream; different virus. It soothes me with a belief that the world, my world, can be a completely different place than it really is. A sense that the thing that cut me so bad last time can’t touch me here. That this time it will all be different. From the earliest onset I resist but the toxins just start working in me. The scent of his chest, the earthen place where his laughter begins, the incandescence of his nerve all find their mates in me and eventually I get hooked. The ravenous sprites of Nature conspire and I’m gone, salted and sugared to believe that what my tongue tastes is perfect love.

But it never is. This time it was Nigel the Chiropractor who believed he could massage the demons out of me. At first he was only a little less nameless and faceless than all the other loons in the bar. What bar, I couldn’t tell you but one led to the next and within a couple of days we were drunk on the dream. He was a healer and I was ripe for the healing. We just had a different view of what healthy looked like. For me it was a place where Marie could live without apology; for him it was a practice where Marie had nothing to apologize for. Well, guess what Nige, you deluded phuk; I don’t have anything to apologize for. I thought you got that.

He carted me off to a beach in Bali where we played out our little delusion. I don’t know if it was the sun, the crab cakes, his maniac fingers, or intravenous mimosas but paradise was a lusty Bacchus showering me with whofukn cares. Eventually the SPF started to cake and no amount of deep tissue Balinese massage was going get it to absorb. The candles burned to nubs on that aroma therapy and the red tide stank washed into the bay. The Bacchanalian fawns turned into stupid deer with headlight eyes. I got a message through to Spiro and hopped a flight home. All I got left is cracks full of sand.


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