This Diurnal Yearning

This Diurnal Yearning
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

In the end, love blinds far more women,
for it is lust that hones the thrust of men.

Last night, I attended the “Love @ Hotel QT” pool party, which is located on 45th between Sixth and Seventh in Times Square. I met Rayner, his girlfriend Karen and her girlfriend Marisabelle there for drinks.

Albeit conceptually quite interesting, Marisabelle and I ultimately agreed that the idea of drinking and wading about in this small pool, while simultaneously being fluffed by the throng of practically naked people, was a certain recipe for a lot of pissing in the piscina; truly not a very appealing place to be.

Thus, since none of us were all too enthusiastic about diving in, we primarily lingered upstairs in a hideaway den that overlooks the wet revelers.

It was there that we took advantage of the holistic gurus that were present for free consultations on intuitive healing, human design, vortex healing, and astrology. Ultimately, I ended up sitting down to speak with three of the four; mostly looking to prod them for their stories—how did they get here and why; and why might I be interested in listening to what they had to say and sell me.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t convinced by any of them, I wasn’t persuaded to come to the dark side or to see the light, for that matter. For although I felt truly open to listening and being enlightened, ultimately, cynicism and the harsher reality of city life kept me grounded in a more somatic here-and-now.

All of them essentially and equivocally said that their services could “improve my life” and help me get what I wanted most. My patent response, as I ogled all the twenty-something, half-clad and wet women walking about me, was that I wanted to “desire less.”

The men, the vortex and intuitive healers, both laughed and immediately replied that what I really needed to do was to embrace that desire, and not deny it.

Yet, this was far from what I wanted to hear—for what I really wanted was someone to inspire some good old-fashioned Voltairian, Candide-style discipline—no more lust, no more uncontrollable thrusting, no more yearning to chimichurri all over the place—there were simply too many things to accomplish in life to let my libido lead the way, day-in and day-out, everyday, for what has proven to be practically thirty years of an incessant desire to rub myself all over practically any woman who might let me, much like horny dogs tend to indiscriminately do.

Hence, this diurnal yearning. And thus, my disappointment with the holistic approach’s inability to stifle the thrust caused by lust, and not love.


I'm like a dog in heat,
a freak without warning
I have an appetite for sex,
'cause me so horny...

— 2 Live Crew, Me So Horny—