a dandelion mows the lawn

(originally posted 6/21/2012)

It’s only when the crisp fall air hits my lungs and the sound of chirping birds fill my ears that I’m reminded of how much I hate to mow my lawn. It’s not so much the mindless pushing that bothers me as the mindless thinking that goes on in my head. I was going to say that various ideas float through my head but flutter is a better description. They move more like a butterfly flies than a leaf floats down a stream. Jerking seemingly unpredictably and without destination.

Whatever topics first cross my mind eventually they all flutter to sex. I was thinking how nice it would be to have a separate room to masturbate in. A room dedicated to the pursuit of self gratification. The basement would be perfect. I could set it up for the sole purpose of maximizing my enjoyment. Do they have Feng Shui for jerking off? Nine principles for blowing your load perhaps? A place that is all about me and my needs.

I heard that when they made Jurassic Park and needed to create the sound of a roaring T-Rex they used a mixture of many different animals; an elephant, a tiger and an alligator if memory serves. If you needed to create the sound of lust I wonder how many voices you’d need to distill. There would of course be guttural moans and teasing giggles but the list is far from short. At least in my head.

This line of thought brought me back to the realization about how nice it would be to have a secret room off the basement for the really weird sexual stuff that goes through my head every now and then. Not technically illegal but definitely squarely in the unethical grey area. A sliding panel in the wall or a trap door maybe. Something that when I use it I know that things are going to get pretty wild. You can throw Feng Shui right the fuck out for this room. I would want the walls decorated with deviant bric-a-brac and kick-knacks and other hyphenated words like some perverted Applebee’s. In the middle of the room, surrounded by computers hooked up to giant high definition TV screens, would be the leather captain’s chair. When I come into this room IT IS ON.

Sometimes walking on grass it’s hard to remember that it is a living thing under your feet. Each blade part of a larger group like street vendor or traffic cop on the crowded streets of Calcutta. And I’m pushing a mower cutting off their tops. The whole idea of lawn is odd, when did we decide that the indigenous plant life didn’t look good enough for us? Not only did we get rid of the wild flowering plants but we went 100% homogenous. One type of plant to replace all that diversity. And then we have to keep that plant at a certain length. It all seems a little repressed somehow.

The idea of society repressing me brought me back to sex. Sitting almost unnoticed in the secret room off the basement would be an elevator door.

Unnoticed and very rarely used.

Very very rarely used. But not entirely unused.

It takes a perfect storm of deprave events for me to hit the button on this elevator. For I know where it takes me… ten stories below the earth to my last masturbation option. Ten stories down because somehow I want to be closer to hell when I’m using this room.

The darkest hole you can imagine, where all vestiges of decency and civilized behavior slink off embarrassed to the shadows to be replaced by the most vile manifestations of the human condition that have ever allowed themselves to be ripped from the dark recesses of a thinking feeling entity. All that is wholesome and beautiful about sex twisted and contorted into a hideous mocking feral face that laughs at any boundaries that would dare interrupt my freight train to a despicable and wonderful climax. “Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!”

I want you to look around this room. See it in your mind’s eye because your room and my room would be so different that it would be pointless to try and describe mine. You sure as hell know what your room would look like don’t you?

By now of course I am actually running behind the mower shaking my head from side to side like a dog with an inner-ear condition. To point out that I am trying to keep the outside wheel of the mower on the light indentation in the grass from my last pass so I don’t stray from the path is a metaphor that is completely gratuitous at this point. Most disturbingly, did I really, when describing the area where I live out my darkest sexual fantasies, insert a quote from Lord of the Rings?! I know, I know… I should have used the Balrog as the allegory given the depth of my underground lair.

Yesterday I was driving and was cut off in traffic. Not by another car but by a sense of not belonging to the greater population of cars. I felt like a dandelion.