It's not that I'm a really geeky one or a grand wallflower or a marvellous bitch. Well, I am a bitch and everything but I keep behaving like that's not the reason for my gagging in dreams for some elemental tenderness. Now I'm dreaming of a Greatful Dead concert and bearded painters and socialist activists. In a moment I remember some real heavy metal drummer with a great loud laugh. Then, again, dying for something unbelievably real. After that there's this intellectual Jew. Or a long ago dead beatnik or some punker. A XIX century politician. A deep-childhood friend. A thirty year old book hero (ok, I swear, it's Bolkonsky) or, maybe, the main hero of my best July dream? An Aardman cartoon guy. The guy next door. My own Dad. My eights eldest cousin. A curly comic, hard as hell to freak out.

Man, I hate this masculine periods. Longing for girls is so much easier. Maybe, because I manage to get genuinely tight with girls. Or because guys see a pal in me, not a breasts-carrier (word-invention day). It' hard to understand how people manage to bump (I mean it, not get but bump as it seems to me) into normal teenage hormonal-based personality-forming relationships.

So how do they?! I need so badly to kiss someone exactly the way I did last night. Touch, distract, close eyes, kiss, get tighter, not let it become a meaningless French tounge-sucking but not thinking, put hands on shoulders, feel hands on back, tremble, smile slightly. Then have him lying on your knees and cracking sophisticated inside jokes, be lifted in the air near his friends and beat the Sabbath drums with your hands and shout "ZEPPELIN ROCKS" all over the place. Watch Woody Allen most existential films while smoking pot. Read Tolstoy aloud while eating tones of black chocolate.

Touch, distract, kiss.