Drifting in the Space of Ramblings

Ramblings About Excitement

I start thinking about sex. I try to think about something else, but the only thing that comes to my mind is the body of a woman. I remember every body I touched, the perfections and imperfections of their bodies.

I desperately try to think about something else.

Thinking about them is torture.

Remembering this kind of thing knowing you're going to die is the worst part of the process.

Large breasts, medium breasts, small breasts.

I'm sweating. I bring my hands to wipe my forehead, and only then do I realize I'm still wearing my helmet with the visor partially fogged up.

I try to masturbate, but I can't. The astronaut suit is very complex, and it has a tube on my penis so I can urinate during long missions in space. Not even that can I do to relieve my thoughts.

I scream. I think for the first time, I scream with all the strength I can muster. I feel my throat irritate and the taste of blood in the back. I try to bang my head against the helmet in vain.

We are all primitive animals, following our primary instincts to the last consequences. We destroy entire lives for a skirt. We mess up and hurt loved ones for feelings we can't control.

When I was a teenager, the internet didn't exist yet, getting pornography was the hardest thing in the world for a sixteen-year-old. We managed to get a magazine here, another there. A video then, don't even mention it, was a rarity. Today you turn on the computer, connect to the network, and watch any porn with the greatest ease. I'm getting old. I remember when the internet came along, to get a photo with decent resolution, you had to wait about ten minutes. When the connection didn't drop during the process.

Pornography became a powerhouse with the internet, and all the fun of it went away.

Technology managed to destroy even the fun of porn.

We are all a bunch of idiots.

I remember once my father caught me looking at a Playboy. He closed the bedroom door as if nothing had happened. I was so embarrassed. I didn't know where to hide my face. I avoided my father for days on end until the story was forgotten.

I try not to think about this subject anymore, I try to imagine old toothless, wrinkled women. I feel the sweat dripping all over my body and wonder if I'm starting to have a panic attack.

It wouldn't be so absurd for me to have a panic attack in this situation.

In fact, it's strange that I haven't had a panic attack until now.

I'm going to die, and my body starts trembling compulsively.