I used to say the dumbest things to lovers. I was reading an old text conversation. And it made me glad I don't have that lover anymore.
Unrelated, this guy and this girl would video record their sex life together. They had this thing that they both liked. Some would call it entertaining ghosts but it was not. It was something that they both liked. She would paint a picture of them with her finger across space, it would become animate, and then they had to emulate the movements of her creations. When finally their room became an orgy swarm inhabited by enough of the spirit world, she'd ask him to climax on her, always in the same location on her skin. She said it turned her on leaving him on her skin for awhile.
Everyone always says a woman is the one who gives herself during sex because she is the one being entered and it makes so much sense with that logic but why then do I feel exhausted the next day while she gloats amongst me all powerfully, smiling, she is always smiling like an empress witnessing her man's kingdom in brilliant ruins.
I know of these underground tunnels. I know of caves. I followed a huge curvy installation around itself and wanted to be warped by its altering presence and scale. And one time I sat beneath a gigantic table with a girl and we remained like toddlers in their early twenties.
A needy man. There is nothing sadder than a needy man. No one likes a needy man. He arrives. Sits next to her without saying a word. Leans into her fingers on the keyboard. Stops the typing. No one likes a needy man I want to tell him.
And then I dance. I dance. I talk about dancing. I forget about everything and I dance. I woke up this morning feeling like this painting. Like, exalted. Like, I can't explain. My body felt so with me on this journey. My brain was like not problematic in any way, it just wanted me to be happy. It was a splendid way to begin.
