the miseducation of carol why zou

telling a co-intern today that i could never want children like she does because my work is my children. listening to the lonelyhearts and thinking that the ecstasy of music will always, always surpass the ecstasy of sex. wondering what to make of this new development in which i conflate all my compartmentalized drives (procreative, libidinal) with this thing called "art", without yet having found an adequate expression. meeting people who are well meaning and practical, and strongly desiring conversations about truth and beauty.

she keeps the pulpit stage of my heart

thinks about bodies and physical pain a lot. that the most profound existential experiences have been connected to being hit, being sexually thrown about, being held after the storm, crushing my body into yours at a concert in which the only thing we had in common was a coordinate in time and space.

the necessary conclusion is that once we've entered into a physical relationship, you and i, there's no turning back from this unspoken level of relation. there is no place for small talk. if i can't have sex with you, the only other option is to punch the living daylights out of you.