It started like this:
When I started hanging around with J, he told me he was trying to rid himself of fear and desire. Some kind of Buddhist notion. Fear I understood wanting to be rid of. But desire? No way. I was waist deep in desire. Nipple deep. I was in it over my head over TB. The Boy. It was exhilarating and excruciating. And the thing is in the end, the several-years-later end, I'm not sure it meant anything at all beyond some raw animal surges of feeling.The rest was too tender to post.
Day 2. That was 72 project days ago. Probably something like 90 calendar days. Things feel different in this new year and new season. I expected to look back at the writing and feel distant from the writing from the second day and even from the person writing it. In some ways I do, but it's also so recognizably me, and the feelings within are familiar. There was this, from the writing not made public:
Desires are - they are these things I don't want to admit to. There isn't a life-long wildest desire. There is a minute-to-minute pull of the heart or the gut or the crotch to a bacon wrapped hot tog, the collarbones of a skinny white boy, a moment of fulfillment. A moment.Yup. I recognize that.
And now? Today? At midnight, a couple of drinks in? (Which, by the way, is the perfect time to write about desire. Isn't it? I tried in early evening, and didn't get anywhere.) Now, today, here's another crack at my wildest desire...
I want to eat it all up. I want to make loud and terrible sounds that have never before passed through my lips. I want to extend all directions at once until I burst into tiny pieces that rain down on everyone, coating them in a red sticky salty film. I want to be larger than life. I want to have ears that can hear everything and eyes that can see everything. I want to be alive and awake.