Slutty much?

I went “out” this past weekend. Heh heh.

It was nice.

My idea of a prime date. No holds barred, no hidden agendas, sincerity on point. No food… gawd, no. Isn’t that so overrated? The sitting opposite each other, steaming platters of food in-between, cold drinks, cliché music playing as soundtrack to an already clichéd outing…
Bleh.
Nice, but still bleh.

So no costume apparel and complicated make-up ish on my part. Bohemian curled hair, tank top and mildly rugged jeans and sandals… And the guy, he was dressed for good ol’ laid back fun too. With his t-shirt and Ankara bottoms(Ankara is a very lovely traditional Nigerian fabric. We pretty much use it to make anything… jackets, sandals, etc).
See a collage style sample of the fabric here…

Aaaaand samples of Ankara shorts…

Aaaaand is that Beyoncé and Jay I see rocking the fabric?

So it was me, this guy, soft rock, cocktails, fruit slices, and best of all, amazing conversation. Oh yeah!

But this post is not about the datey-ness of my very friendly date.
Nah.
It’s about making love.

And in a bid to get this guy to understand how much a part of me books and music were, it seems that I over personified them a lot. Because he stopped me mid-convo, cleared his throat, gave me a sly/sue me look and was like… “Babe… all this passion… not on a person but on books and music… hmmm. Tell me though, so will a book make love to you, eh?”
I remember that moment clearly. Taylor Swift’s “Everything has changed” was playing.
I LoL-ed.

Pause.

Now, just between us bloggers and readers.

How best to explain my relationship with books and music?

Aahh… It is complicated, yet, it is not.

A good book will make my nerve endings doubly sensitive… like the touch of a lover, make my eyes water, make me liquid and full and warm all at once, a good book will open the very essence of me up…
And music? Music just reaches in through that opening and touches me… makes sweet love to me.

Boom.

Time stops… there is just me, the words, the unshed tears in my eyes, the instrumentals, my quivering soul, that final explosion of a thousand feelings at once…
All becomes one… and one, one is suddenly all.

So to answer his question…
Yes… yes, a perfectly worded haiku and a well delivered crescendo can surely make love to me. What my mind needs, what my soul yearns for, and what my body wants. Like a million fireworks going off at once. Way beyond the simplistic and basal images the words “love” and “making” conjures.

I gotta ask though… Why oh why, does everything have to be only physical with most people?

Embodiment of intensity, and this has made me very aware of how most people live out their lives in the shallow end of life’s pool, no depth, no substance, I feel things on every realm. As simple and random as just eating your favorite ice-cream on a sunny day may seem, for me, it goes way beyond the casual shoving of calories down my throat. It’s about the interplay of flavors on my tongue… the contrast between the cool cream in my mouth and the warm rays of the sun on my skin… the scenery… how does it, the ice-cream I mean, feel going down my throat? What does it feel like settling in my tummy? What does the air smell like anyway? Is it noisy around, or is it quiet? It is everything to me. Physical, mental, spiritual even…
I have to say, the day everything stopped being only physical for me, was the day I finally began to truly enjoy life. I mean, experiencing life only in one realm is not life at all. To feel and experience everything on different levels/dimensions… be it riding a bike, drinking green tea, even just sitting in a spot and breathing… to get all the juice out of a thing or phenomena… that… that my friends, is the ultimate feeling.

So judging by this definition of love-making, seeing as I read and do music everyday, it would seem that I am being made love to everyday then. By Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Heinrich Bukowski, Hemingway, Anne Rice, John Grisham, Frank Perreti, Belva Plain, Danielle Steel, Robin Hobb, Stephen King…
By Keane, One Republic, Train, The Maine, Chris Daughtry, Haim, Low Shoulder, The Cranberries, Bon Jovi, Howie Day, JohnnySwim, Ki-theory, Coldplay… I could go on forever.

I mean, it’s me and these people everyday, and the experience is fresh and different with each person. I welcome them with open arms, I urge them on, I move to their delicious rhythm, I take all of them in, greedy fox that I am. Never tired, I ask for more – the quintessential eager beaver, Oliver Twist having nothing on me.
Oh wow!
Oh wow!
Oh wow!
I am quite the slutty slut, eh?
Definitely smile worthy.
A Niklaus Mikaelson(Joseph Morgan) type of smile.

Oh and as an aside…
Ya know… there are “monitoring spirits” who come on here… they want to see if I will write anything about them… So they come on here every Wednesday, read my posts, and zap. No comments, no likes, no criticism. Not your regular friendly reader who just wants to read and not leave a trace. No, they come on here with one agenda: keeping tabs. They love and they hate me at the same time. They gorge on my words. They do not realize how dependent they have become on my ramblings. The poor dears.

I just wanna say… I see you. I know you. And hey, I don’t mind. I really don’t.
Only remember: my house, my rules.
The end.

Adios my pipo!!!
And hey, we should all be sluts eh?
Peace.
xxx.