5000 Years of Chinese Sex.


Sometimes, when invoicing folk who owe me money, I grow distracted by websites such as this:

http://www.beenasked.com/q/5g5JDVCi/Buddhism-and-soul-mates.html

I dive in to all manner of things online, the invoice still open in google documents, still pending, months after the fact. Announcements such as those from WordPress this morning, informing me that my current ‘theme & appearance’ will be changed automatically soon and how to find out more– Which, naturally, I want to– So down the rabbit hole I go. I’ve even finally figured out how to upload images from my iPhone in to my iPhotos on my iMac. Lardi-dar i.i.i.4.0.1.0.1.0.1.0.1. Binary. Solo.

I fall further and further in to my world wide web.
I read up on Mandarin Fengshui ducks and try and figure out if I’ve got my Nien Yin corner all stitched up.
I roll around in bed. I’ve new sheets. They’re lovely.
I discover The Chinese Sex Museum in Tongli.
Liked the one in Manhattan.
A soft breeze makes things in my flat chime.
I pick at my skin.
I contemplate whether I need more sleep or more yoga before my big day.
I want more time with my thoughts.
I’m minding a friends bird.
Which behests further google inquiries.

I check this out for a giggle: http://shuangxingfu.blogspot.com/2007/10/romantic-ducks.html

I nap.
I eat vegemite out of the jar with my left index finger. I do this a lot. See. Proof.


I imagine driving The Great Ocean Road with Leonard in an old Cadillac.
Of my laundry folding itself up four flights of stairs.
Of wineries.
And roadtrips.
And three more sleeps.
And new hair.
And sex mainly, let’s be honest.

x.

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