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01 May 2017 @ 07:02 pm
it happens that someone knocks at my door  
holy holy holy holy.
holy fuck and holy failure.
holy half beast tearing at the seams.

holy desire
holy desire
holy desire held in the palm
held in the sweaty palm of desire.

for years i thought: desire is only what feels good. i am only supposed to desire that which makes me feel pleasure. it was a bad promise i made to myself, a wicked vow. for years i thought i could only desire what made me feel good so: i didn’t believe i wanted anything, and so: i didn’t want, and so: eventually the idea of desire, simply the idea of wanting something, it caused pain. it caused relentless, agonizing pain.

because it was the idea of desire, a hungry ghost out in the barren wastelands of my lived experience: what was possible and what wasn’t, what had hurt me in its unattainable reality, what i couldn’t have, what i’d never have, what tried to kill me in my sleep. so i killed desire, or i tried to, so i abandoned abandoned in a room without food or water and cried myself to sleep with my desireless misery.

what i didn’t see, what i wouldn’t see, what i couldn’t begin to recognize is that the idea of desire is not desire itself, but desire’s ghost. haunted by desire’s ghost, i believed there wasn’t anything i could want.

except maybe what i needed was a boundary.

material to bounce off of. something coming into form. and maybe it didn’t make any sense before, maybe it seemed shallow or childish, but maybe that’s because it still needs to gestate. anyway, my relationship with desire can be immature. it is several things at once, my relationship with desire, as it should be: but what it really needs? my relationship with desire can and should bring out what is delighted and playful, what occasionally speaks out of turn, what laughs too loudly, what cries too easily, what can be a total brat: what forgets to dust and drives off to the michigan dunes for the night where all of a sudden at two in the morning a green meteorite streaks the sky, turning everything green and it's magic, all of it is magic: desire is magic. desire is the reason magic exists.

it's not a sin. it's not something you discipline yourself out of. it's not something you pray into silence.

it's a survival instinct. in order to get anything out of our lived experience, we need to want something out of our lived experience.


then again: have i looked at humanity, lately? i used to think people were trying to initiate themselves, trap themselves in awful situations that forced them to grow up a bit in order to reclaim their lives from this minotaur-bearing labyrinth that is contemporary living. it's what i did. in the incredibly slow and still ongoing process of recovering my self, i recognized that attempting to conquer desire meant destroying every aspect of my life that was keeping me above ground. the writing, the art, the magic, the love: of nature, of kin, of self. that wasn't going to work.

i used to think people were trying to initiate themselves. it was my understanding of Why Smart People Do Stupid Shit. why we're killing the planet. why we put an orange minotaur in office. maybe it's a mistake to think that. probably it's a mistake to think that.
music: allotrope 1 - alex theory