Would I throw her one? Maybe after enough tequila…but that’s not what I was talking about.
Yesterday, I made a comment that I thought Beyonce and I might be dating after seeing her video for Partition. That comment was misconstrued as sexual. But in truth, the comment is about context, not sex.
So, let’s get started – can someone please tell me – how did we get from Pablo Neruda prowling and searching, silent and starving…and craving, don’t forget craving (Daaaamn! Ummm…he can get it, y’all)…to Twittered crotch shots and unimaginative descriptions that seem designed more to shock than titillate?
When I see Beyonce writhing and gyrating nearly naked it seems a little out of context for the very casual, dissociated nature of our relationship. It seems to me that we should get to know each other a little better before she is spread eagled in front of me showing me her pancreas. The hard way. I mean…shouldn’t we reserve that kinda sharing for more private places or at least charge money for it like decent people?
I know the easy answer is “don’t like, don’t look.” But, remember the good ole days? Before we reduced each other to body parts and monosyllabic grunts. Before we used our genitals to get to know each other. Before it was passé to anticipate and imagine. Before we came out of the starting block naked and ready to go.
I’m sad to think those days are gone.
Today, when I see a bunch of bulbous, silicone-stuffed girls and overly stimulated boys – I feel sorry for what they will miss. I know, I sound like a hater. Maybe if I had a few…um…protuberances of my own, I’d be less worried about what others were doing. But still…these kids? How will they ever know the fun of crushing on someone or playing a little game of chase if everything is so out there and in their faces all the time? Without the buildup, it’s just biology. It’s all just amoeba.
In our humanity, we can add a little something to it. In the words of Darius Lovehall, “it’s about the possibility of a thing.”
Now…that’s sexy. That and nerds.