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There's something rather gross and erotic the way it continually stops and starts raining today. It's as if the refractory period is so delightfully and chaotically short-lived upon his re-exploration of his memory on his walk to town, the afternoon's rain is like the casual circling back again and again of an African god to a secret location to juice yet more rape from a helpless victim tied to the ground. 

The victim's repetitive cries have been so long forgotten by those of us sheltering under roofs in another dimension, we fail to notice anything special happening now. The sound has merged into the rest of our particular situation; as an indistict part of the bigger mystery of how as to address the serious matter of our boredom.

(Call me messed up, if you like, but it's seriously gross right now. I'd prefer to be vague about exactly where I am, but I'm in a capital city somewhere in West Africa. It's been on and off raining this afternoon something like over six times.

And like, just trying to be creative here. This does not in the slightest reflect my personal views on rape. But to get personal, if you like, I abhor even being forced by convention to hug and be hugged by people. So you wouldn't believe how senseless and abyssmally unfortunate it is to me that rape, in a literal, non-literary way, actually does and continues to happen.)

Anyway, this awfully suggestive rain did remind me of something that Werner Herzog said about the Amazonian jungle in "The Burden of Dreams". I'm afraid I can't even paraphrase it well - too good to try - but it was a terrific rant about how nature is awfully erotic and sadistic. I think if you watch the trailer, which is probably available on YouTube, you'll catch a part of his monologue. He says something like, "The birds don't sing with pleasure, they screech in pain."