i told you that it was more fluid than anything, and you
looked at me stupid as if to say you're crazy
but what you don't get is that i wander in the hazy
space, the place between what's already defined
in your minds as straight or gay or bisexual or asexual,
but why can't we just be sexual beings?
to me it seems we get too caught up on labeling things,
too caught up on trying to define ourselves
in other people's terms instead of just defining
ourselves as indefinable, indeterminate and inter-
woven with clothes woven of Saturn's rings and celestial things
and only in spreading our wings can we fully understand our own state of being,
our own state of mind, body and the soul we all share as a whole:
it's the universal mind--unbind your senses from your physicality
and start to sense reality as a commonality of our in-betweens,
and our grey areas, and the hazy spaces that blur our sense of the real
and the divine, it's like when you say it's fine
but i know by your tone that nothing is fine
and nothing is real anymore--
my god i think i may be going insane
because i keep jumping the train
of one thought to another track
and i can't keep track of where my mind is at
or what is just my imagination--
i imagine a future of collaboration
and widespread participation in this radical expression
of our individualisms and our imperfections as what binds us
together, forever, as humans or transhumans or posthumans
or whatever manifestation of beautiful androgyny that we come to embody,
and calling out in one voice of many voices,
calling out from our guts, our roots
and from the center of the room
my homegirl shouts, fuck the boundaries
and we all sound our barbaric yawps wrought of dirt and earth and all things visceral and fleshy
they tell us our flesh is our sin,
that a woman's a slut if she likes to fuck
well guess what: i like to get down and i like it rough,
i like it raw, up against your wall in the back seat of the car
on the way to the airport going 80 down the highway, and if we would all just be fucking
honest with ourselves, we'd be a hell of a lot happier
and hell of a lot stressed
because, baby, sex releases tension,
releases endorphins each time we orgasm
when we are in the simultaneous throes of passion,
the simultaneous action of just loving
and touching and sucking and wanting each other
on top of the covers and baby i don't care if you're
boy, girl or something outside or between
just be in between me, split open the peach
of my mind and come inside as we coincide our lives and our minds through our bodies,
our warm bodies, sticky and heaving, breathing in heavy gasps,
not needing to ask what feels good but just knowing
by a lover's intuition when to switch positions
and which nerves to push over the edge
of the bed and spilling out, crying out, yes yes yes,
again, beginning life again as a single atom-ed being--
not adam as in eve, but an atom, as in a microscopic organism;
this is an extrapolation of that minute chaotic perfection
made of ions and protons and neutrons and I can try to explain it in words
but the problem with words, the flaw with them all is that they limit us,
limit our thoughts that are really limitless,
we can learn to think not in words, but in feeling,
feeling our feelings as what they are and not what language or society or a dictionary describes them as, because it really is true what they say:
that the best things in life cannot be explained in words like "love,"
if i wanted to express my love for you in words i'd be writing for all eternity that's how much you mean to me and i know it sounds cliche but i don't care,
you are my muse, my music, my soundtrack for life,
you blow my mind in ways i can't begin to understand, you
overwhelm my body, you beat the snare drum that's my heart
you are the very blood of my veins and yeah i know you think it's strange when i say these things but you like it
and i can't help but try to relate to you how you make me feel inside when you're inside of me,
even though i know that words are futile
i try and i try and i try to the point of crying,
and as i try to dry my tears with the sleeve of my shirt
i realize that my eyes are meant to be crying,
crying tears of ecstasy at the understanding of the true nature of our soul relation
as an amalgamation,
a completion, or a peaking of two into one single organism,
borne of phantasmagoric orgasm--
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