A word here, a word there. Itch: centred on the right (l/r) hand side superficially above the pictorial muscle. Muscular fibres. Body systems. Gastrointestinal tract. Potassium to facilitate contractions. Bananas rich in energy. Energy: what a vague word, useful but ultimately misleading. A face of a past lover, fully rendered, rich in detail and composition. A name echoing interlocked with mine. Tender. A touch on the inner thigh. Fucking her from behind, like animals. Monkeys like to eat bananas -> phallic imagery -> art/advertising, both utilise our primal responses to these images. Useful because tapping into our sextual impulses guides our actions almost unwillingly. My testicles fold upwards guiding my next action. To where? I must plan a route to the nearest available female encounter. She’s away, unavailable. Meanwhile David Bowie whispers wisdom into my ears, perceived directly a sound. Despite all our volition we cannot control which sensory inputs we receive. We cannot tune our audio-frequency when they are present even if we are not consciously aware that we are listening. Counters: Directed hate, contempt, malice or ecstatic joy. Subliminal programming, Joyce understood this very well, a lesson lost on many. Other people; historical: we can relate to others through their creative legacies. Current: Only through simple actions and gestures, they have no time to consolidate their thoughts. I use ‘they’ a lot, allows for the creation of a temporary subclass of person as a type of shorthand. The instance ‘they’ is quickly discarded, as nebulous ‘they’s cause many issues with the classic Us versus Them mentality. Tribesman. Foreigners. An artefact of our evolutionary programming. Design by random iteration, an effective method to produce results although there are many issues with this type of design. Local maximins, rare cases, superfluous design, difficulties to reverse engineer. And a lot of time. Generations of death, continuously iterating. Selective pressures, ongoing, continuing into the present. Current iteration. I will not be the last, a need to breed, perpetuate. Fuck, consume, now. Still sitting in the identical spot. Using reason to justify sex is dangerous. Reason keeps me safe when outside of a sextual encounter. It allows me to maximise my chances of success and keeps me on track to living a fulfilled life. But reason is boring. Reason is its own reward. Reason does not operate alone, insolation, emotions flow, sex impulses ebb, senses greedily slurp up my environment, and imagination never ceases to amaze with unforeseeable fabrications.