When I dispose of my semen I have a feeling that I just discarded some part of my self and gave it to the wind.  I think of all the energy contained within that secretion and how it might affect the course of my life; my momentary constructions of personality.

When the spasm hits the raw, vacant air, I think of how cheap the thrill came, that I once again pleased my self.  A substance that was me, that was mine, is wasted . . . I view the lady in the window and I connect with to fantasy without victim.