"Maybe we should try syncing it up to Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon,'" I suggested.
"Try the tracking button," Nick suggested.
With bated breath, I held down the tracking button. Slowly the picture became visible.
While I've seen myself nude in photographs, I have never seen myself having sex, not even in a mirror. I don't even like the sound of my own voice on my answering machine's outgoing message, so I fully expected to be horrified and disgusted by the sight of my naked flesh bouncing up and down. But in the natural light, I almost looked like a person who exercises. I wasn't mortified, but I thought I looked small and asexual. In the long shots it was almost impossible to decipher whether Nick was fucking a man or a woman. My first, second and third orgasms appeared very ladylike and unreal.
"My orgasms seemed fake," I noted.
"They weren't?" Nick asked, surprised.
"I'm totally not in this scene at all," I sighed, watching as Nick rolled on top of me and took me from behind. "But your ass looks great. I wonder if this would turn anyone on. Are you turned on?"
"No, are you?"
"No."


http://www.nerve.com/regulars/ididitforscience/revjen/003/

und so.

letztens vor einem beerdigungsinstitut gelesen: der traurer raum geben um platz fürs lachen zu schaffen.
ich musste tatsächlich lachen. über mich. über diese banalität.
und über die ernsthaftigkeit und tragik. nämlich viel zu viel davon da.

[hier gehts um keinen todesfall]

wie machen das die anderen die sagen:
mir gehts gut.