Subways slightly skewed this am. No N to Manhattan, so the 7 it was, a commute I’d consider if only for the escalator transfer to the 4/5. But I think it adds a few minutes, and minutes matter.
I feel interesting today. I feel every inch of the fabric of my pants, which not my pants, they are simply the pants which pass onto my body until their usefulness expires and they cover another human’s legs. The shirt, too, feels like it is taking its role very seriously, assuring its contact with my skin suffices to keep me warm on a day cooler than I expected. It is warm in the office, though. Warm enough to exacerbate the sensations of the shirt, its neck-touching portion at this moment causing me an especial moment of comfort and non-nakedness.
The pills today seem to have hit a sweet spot. I feel calm, but felt the strident waves of anxiety starting up not long after finishing the shower, and the Morning Mas. I tried a new camera angle today but I don’t think it will work out.
Spotted two squished lanternflies in the lobby of the building. I guess they have not yet quit. Too bad they are not edible. I don’t think you’d get sick eating them but they don’t seem like a wise dietary adventure.
An alarm going off now is quite obnoxiously loud. It’s a test but who does tests in a live environment?
Watching people on the roof of a building across William Street. They are setting up lawn chairs and tables for what I assume will be a gathering of some sort. On a computer screen I am looking at a strip of Road in the Bronx where allegedly a Link5G kiosk has been deposited, to the consternation and anger of locals who had no say in if or where these monsters are installed. Randall Avenue does not look like much of a hotspot of internet activity but what would I know… Maybe that road is hungry for 5G connectivity and here it is, once and for all. Except it probably won’t work until next year. Oops.
The system we use here was recently upgraded and improved. For some reason the letters (CSW) are now present on the screen. I don’t know what CSW means in this context but I will assume it is not Cock Sucking Whore. That was the nickname of choice for a woman I knew who absolutely adored cock, worshipped as if it was art, and described her mind as over the top orgasmic when I called her that. The timing had to be right. I wouldn’t just blurt it out as a joke. It always came when the cocksucking was at its most intense, the facefucking hard and and deep as I held her head tight. I’d rub it all over her face and that might be when I whispered “My cock sucking whore.” She was born for it. Even before she knew what it was she knew she wanted whatever that bulge was under mens’ pants. That’s not unlike my first desires for women. Even before I knew what it was I knew I wanted a woman’s cunt.
I could stop using that word. It’s hard to others. I don’t hear it as hard but others do. But twat sounds stupid, pussy is not applicable when shaved and I think it’s just a dumb word anyway.
The “CSW” abbreviation for her nickname made sense for other reasons. She was a Clinical Social Worker, or a CSW, as shown on her business cards. We talked about getting a car and a license plate with “CSW 181”. Ah, romance.
