something has changed and i'm not certain if it's me or the environment  the last month has been unbearably hot, no usually i bear it well, but for some reason it's knocked me back this december/ january.
i usually embrace summer but for the first time ever i'm just feeling like a languid washed up poet in an opium den. energy is low, bursts of wild thoughts, very little movement as i mostly lay upon a futon under a fan. incense burns, my brand is 'black magic' which i really enjoy and resonate with. not because i'm a black magickian but because the scent it spreads around my home is perfrect and conducive to my thoughts. mostly erotic fantasies and travels through new dimensions. 
sensual warm ones, the real scent of women, musk, cinnamon, traces of cloves and nutmeg but something else, heavy and human, sweat and sex.
the days slide into nights without any worlds between them, time travels much slower here, as though the very space it moves through is molasses. breathing requires additional effort, everything is slow, sound slows down, words and movement. 
memories fall between the  forgotten and lost. there's no innocent in this realm, we are all guilty of something but can't recall what it is we seek escape from. only a certain applied application in focused precision thought reveals it's ourselves. only to have that fundamental key is to unlock the pleasure of our indulgences. 
if we are lucky, in the evenings a slight breeze through mission control, you can hear it in the trees from afar, getting louder as it draws nearer, a wonderful short lived moment of fresh light air.
but the arms of the women, the sensational realm of pleasure in in deep. it flows through our hedonistic bones and blood, it clouds everything with it's beautiful painkilling afflictions. it's where we can loose ourselves for as long as we need. it's our safe spot, sometimes.