It’s been three days now since sounds of war began bombarding the walls of my living room. The thunderous bass triggered by the sounds of grenades detonating. The shouts of the participants rises in panic at the anticipation of a bomb being diffused. The girl sitting on the couch has been witnessing this exact spectacle for at least 24 hours, some game time is blurry, also, the existence of the girl is blurry.
The line between sexuality and bonding is also blurry. A pseudo-homoerotic bonding between men “spawning” on one another. They seem to have such intimate conversations at such loud volumes:
Man #1: He’s coming in the backdoor!
Man #2: No he’s not! (grenade explodes) I finished him off!
I’m currently listening to John Denver’s “Sunshine on My Shoulders” as a massacre is going on in the Middle East. Both of them. But Cactus Cooler and Sun Drop fuel their veins, the men march on leaving their dead tanning in the sun until they disappear.