Staring at the Horizon

If I had to specify the tragedy that I want to talk about I must first play down anything more tragic by the use of context. In this case, developed society, meaning no rampant murder or torture or war and an assurance of basic needs for survival - food and shelter. Having no friends is also a bummer, though its bumming quality only strikes powerfully less occasionally and might be alleviated with a good-natured chit-chat with a stranger as a follow-up to a "good afternoon", at least that's the impression I get from attention-seeking old people I have the misfortune to come across. Still, this is peanuts compared to have too much spunk in your balls and no one to share it with. For a man it is a wonderful surprise to, having just finished the act with a woman, feel you are still ready for more, which will be surely welcome, as we are and will be always, the premature ones. But having tasted such situation and felling it alone in a room or alone in public, and being so far way from any opportunity of sex, and to feel, with your being, the behemoth of activity and psychological exercise in store before that goal, which will come far too late and probably with inappropriate timing, when you need it so much right now that you feel you'll die, but of course you won't, just transmutes all of that excitement into the most abyssal silent unsalvageable sadness, unhealable by any drug, friend or food but by a simple, resignated, all too familiar mechanical act culminating in what technically, laughably, is still called a climax.