Leaving the Tenements of my Mind
Human perception is an exquisite marvel. I'm no expert, but it amazes me how integrated and interwoven all our senses are. When you hear someone laugh, you feel warmth flow through your veins, even if you did not hear the joke. When you smell a delicious food from your childhood, you remember Mom. When you see someone die, you feel a cold, wintry shudder through your body. When you orgasm, fireworks flash in your peripheral vision. It's weird. It's all interconnected in our heads. Vision to smell; smell to touch; taste to vision, etc. I guess that's what makes life the intense, complex pleasure that it is. To hone my point just a little, [B] music[/B] is often the linchpin connecting our various senses. Google "music and memory" and you will find a substantial body of scientific inquiry into the role music plays in retaining, entrenching, re-shaping, and [B]resurfacing[/B] old memories.
Where am I going with this? Well, a few weeks ago I decided to fuck-off from work in the middle of the morning. I went home and started tooling around with some old stuff in the back of my closet, and I came across an old box which I had not opened in a couple of years. In it, I found a whole wealth of forgotten stuff. One of the items in there was an SD card. My first thought. . . Porn?
So I popped it into my computer, found a box of tissues and dropped my pants. What I found, though, was better than porn: a couple of hundred mp3 files. I put on my headphones, cranked up the volume and opened up the first one in the list and *BOOM* I was suddenly no longer at the desk in my living room, but transported three years and six thousand miles away.
I was suddenly pounding the dusty pavement of Soi 11. It was 5:30 pm, I had just gotten off work and was weaving my way back up Soi 11 to my hotel. The air was predictably hot and humid, I could smell the mix of raw sewage and lemongrass, and I was surrounded by the loud cacophony of motocys speeding past me. I could taste the guava bought from one of those fruit stands, and could feel the gentle bulge of mini-Kumbu in my pants, anticipating the exertions of the evening.
You see, when last I was in the beautiful city of Bangkok, it was a pretty wild time. It was three years ago and I was there for both work and pleasure. During the day, I was working like a dog, from 7:30 am to 5 pm, non-stop. I was surrounded by tight-skirted, well-legged, bouncy little things that got my motor running with their cunning side-ways glances, well-timed twirls of the hair and constant and adorable "chay kaaaa". By 5 pm, my balls would be swollen like a couple of over-ripe mangoes (perhaps more accurately, rambutans). After saying goodbye to my adoring office girls, I'the take the Skytrain to Nana station, push through the throngs of gawking Arab shoppers at the base of that staircase, turn the corner and take the 10 minute walk up Soi 11 to my hotel. Because of said cacophony, I'd put my earphones in, music on, and I'D walk to the beat of whatever was playing.
The best songs had a hard beat that matched my foot speed perfectly. There was something about the synchrony between foot-pound and ear-drum-pound that both soothed and energized me at the same time: Boom- (step) -Boom- (step) -Boom- (step), etc. This happened every afternoon, without fail, which is why it is so indelibly marked in my memory. Moreover, I think the anticipation of what lay ahead in the night heightened my sense of arousal, and that mix of dopamine and music combined into a permanent mental tapestry, one that might be triggered by any associated stimulus, such as the mp3 file I had opened up.
As chronicled here, in the venerable pages of ISG, the night time three years ago was reserved for a different kind of strain. Did I type "strain"? Oh, I meant fucking and sucking like a monkey on LSD. Bangkok is one of the few places where the sheer volume of options for debauchery is simply breathtaking. As you all know, the opportunities (if you have some money, patience and an ego-adjusted attitude) are endless. For any male with functioning boy-parts, getting a trip to Bangkok is like getting the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's Fucking Factory.
So listening to that song that day brought up the memories of Soi 11. It was very disorienting, since the sensations of humidity on my skin were palpable, the semi-erection was real, the taste of guava was actual. That mp3-induced hallucination was so real and so jarring. It was not flimsy or ephemeral like your standard hallucination, but more like an actual reliving of the emotions of that time three years ago. And yet I was just sitting in my living room listening to a song on my computer, with my pants still around my ankles. On that day I resolved that I would find a way to get back to Willy Wonka's Fucking Factory. So this is my way of saying, hey, after three years of living the straight and narrow, living within the confines of the tenements of my mind, it looks like I'll be back in BKK next week for some proper LSD-fueled-primate activity.
[B]Standard Disclaimer[/B]
If you've read this far, your face is either besmiled or bescowled. That's because (based on past responses to my posts) you either love the way I write or you hate the way I write. The happy campers are my pleasure, so I have no worries there. But to the angry readers of ISG, let me say that I mean no ill-will. This is just how I write. People get angry at my posts because (I) they think I am self-congratulatory, pompous, bragging, egotistical, (see all that precedes in this very post), or (II) I include far too much detail, or (III) my approach to mongering is far too touchy-feely. I'm not a man's man when it comes to dominating a woman, nor do I take charge or negotiate hard. I don't high-five after "tapping that", I don't care for the rough stuff. In fact, it's safe to say that my status as Champion Softie on ISG is confirmed, and utterly unchallenged.
Much of this criticism is warranted, and I daresay deserved (not so much (I), more so (II-III)). But there's nothing I can do about any of this. I can't promise you the brevity that you desire, nor a change in who I am, nor a change in how I conduct myself. But I do promise you honesty and detail. If that's not your cup of tea, may I suggest the Ignore list on the left side of my profile page or on the left side of your own Settings page. But if you ARE up for a cuppa, then put on your reading glasses and sit back my friends, for I have some tales to tell.
(look for report 1 on Tuesday or Wednesday local BKK time).
Kumbu FWIW I love the way you write!
I think we see the world in some ways, similarly. However. I am, in some ways, softer than you, but that may be because I am now quite a bit older than you.
You are right about music and the senses. In fact, it might be that music resonates and interacts with a human at the cellular and DNA level in sound waves which carry energy (like light) at specific frequencies. And in a dance club, I often feel that I am able to actively tap into the wave energy, of all the people there, at a macro level. Yeah, I have zero problem with people, calling BS on that! So, for me the experience in a dance club, or at a music concert, can be uplifting, in terms of the 'collective' generating and boosting the resonating frequencies at the celular level for me. And, I think maybe for others, if one is mentally free and actively tapping into it.
So, I think what you are saying in terms of the human body, the senses, or sensory inputs wrt to music is quite intuitive. And of course, that elevation to a higher level of sensory pleasure spilleth over to sex urges and sex stimuli, raising things a notch or two. It's all interrelated. Interconnected. And consciousness working in a holistic way, IMO.
Will Tune in Tuesday / Wednesday
Thanks for the good news Kumbu! It's like hearing that your favorite TV program is back on the air and will have its seasn premiere!
So looking forward to Tuesday / Wednesday! I think it will make my week.
Stay horny my friend.
Uncle-V.
P.S.: I expect there will be plenty of references to "leg meat" and much butt sniffing and munching. 555.
