Music Memoirs of A Shag once upon a time ….

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I was listening to “Stormy Weather,” and got all nostalgic, thinking about past relationships, and the music I associate with moments frozen in time: image => people, props and positions. Indelibly printed into my mind, those songs send me over the sentimental edge every time I hear them. Its amazing, how only within the auditory presence of these songs do those particular mixtures incite my weak spots; those intoxicating potions made of feelings, smells and touches…

Its cheesy, yeah I admit: be prepared to eat a whole jar of cheewhiz. But fuck that, I’m the one shagging/making love/fucking, and the only other person subject to my fixation on playing music, is well, fucking me, so they (usually) don’t complain.

I chuckle a bit to “Ghettomusic” (Outkast), get a bit teary to “Dinner Bells” (Wolf Parade), and am overwhelmed by the power of past loves and longings- and shagging. (And I say shagging because I’ve picked up that silly term from my silly British boyfriend). By far the best shag I’ve had to music was to Antonios Carlos Jobim: Brazilian bassanova, yes, the musical antithesis to appropriate fucking music. No, I made love to his music, maybe that’s why it was so incredible, in that special “only you my love!” kind of way, where you’re gone in the moment, and the world blacks out.

When you listen to Ghettomusic by Outkast while doing a 69, its like Aphrodite and Ares having sex, and by that I am not likening myself to the goddess of beauty, I am pointing out the personification of war and sex fucking, hate and love fucking: opposites attract. Boy, that was um, interesting sex.

“There’ll be no more dinner bells, left for you to ring.” – Wolf Parade. Sad. People come and go, and sometimes we never see them again, and you think wow I could pass that person (whose touched me down there) and not say a word. But things lighten up. And with the passing of time, new music and new people are born.

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