The loudness of flesh.

There are times when I can't fathom how human contact takes place, or perhaps more succinctly, how human beings could stand it. Flesh scrapes against flesh like nails over a chalkboard, the skin of another exists loudly, like a thousand supernovas expanding before you. It may sound like a terribly foolish thing to ask (and perhaps in retrospect I will kick myself for ever writing it down for anyone to see), but why does wanton desire exist in a rational setting? It is mildly disturbing that perhaps those who are more indulgent with the matter would be quick to laud it with a loud plaudit while completely disregarding all forms of sensible consideration- of course I am not denying that the desire to feel one another isn't there, but the fact that it involves each other is sometimes disheartening for me.
How should I better explain this? Humanity is immured within its own pagan temple, we are at no loss of offerings, burnt sacrifices and incense to lay down zealously; however the temple renders no praise to any god, the temple is swollen and ancient, it is fat and rotting, its very worshipers endeavor against it in a slip of madness and confusion. Flesh pulsates like a wound, from within it writhes and rips the muscle tissue raw, it is perhaps too bloated, putrid even. Again, that is not to say I have no desire for flesh, it is not I who harbors this madness, but the madness itself harbors me, I am bound to it by physiological function, it is desirable, it is natural, but when faced against conscientious consideration, it's almost disgusting. I believe it all has to do with the noise of existence. All objects generate their own harmonic waves based on the vibrational pattern of their atoms, perhaps even deeper still by the vibrational pattern of their strings.
There is a certain noise that follows as a 'thing' is constructed to serve a function (rather than being inherently 'it') by way of geometry, how the separate lumps of matter are placed together to form a possible object; the atoms coexist and are arranged in euclidean (and non-euclidean) geometry as we all have come to know; the sound waves are amplified and though you could not directly experience it as a part of everyday life, it is there. It rings loud and true and sometimes low and meekly, but everything bears its own noise. Even darkness which we have come to so comfortably define as inaudible and mysterious bears a tell-tale pitch, that is how we know darkness overcomes us, the eerie hum that an opaque wave of sheets carries permeates our minds more than we'd like to allow it. I recall an afternoon when I was leaving my car and I was walking towards a the train station, something, that at this point was still unknown to me, beckoned me to fix my vision and full attention upon a green pick-up truck adjacent from my own vehicle. I did not know it then, but I slowly realized how loudly it existed, its ugly gaudy colors, the elongated and thick shape of the frame, the black windows and battered wheels, and of course if that was not enough, a careless man managed to bump against it, making contact with the vehicle suddenly thrust me out of the daze it had swept me into, I was aware once again of my surroundings, but particularly of the man that bumped against it. The man now existed too, not as an extension of the matter around him, that is to say, not as another geometric creation of atoms, but he was an entirely different entity, he could move, yet he existed with less fanfare than the vehicle ever did, perhaps it was his silent way of walking, his timid expression, he was a little like me, perhaps he too wanted to coyly slip between the cracks of space and time merely to observe... yet he did not, be it on accident or on purpose, deterministic or otherwise, he touched the car and by extension he touched my mind, my thoughts- though all of this was quickly overshadowed by what followed merely moments later when the vehicle's automated alarm system was activated. The noise was everywhere, the car's noise was everywhere, it penetrated the matter around it and that which was not penetrated merely reflected it making it ten times as loud and clamorous. It was the boisterous roar of existence, such a simplistic example, but there it was, it was no longer feint as it had been for the rest of my life, it was just everywhere. The sound prompted me to react, quite negatively at that, because I could not bear it, I felt the contemplative silence in my dissipate and my thoughts slip away into oblivion, it felt as if all there was or ever would be was that infernal resonance; and such is the way of flesh.
For all its hubris, it is clear that its charm shall never escape me and though it may blare, sometimes incessantly, to refuse its beauty too would be foolish. It is the indiscreet indulgence in its paroxysm that always coaxes memories of the loudness of flesh.