I don’t really know what “love” is, but I think I get the gist of it. Human beings want to cuddle together to stay warm. They want to tingle and they want to reveal secrets to each other. They want to multiply. It’s basically just a whole lot of disrobing–figuratively and literally–and this leads into addiction for titillation. Laughter. OH GOD I WANTED HIM SO BADLY, I was so in love with him, I have no idea how it happened, all my friends say I idealize men and romanticize illusions but I don’t care, he is making me change my life in beautiful and mysterious ways, and he is making me feel stronger, as a woman and as a human, and it makes me feel weak too, yes, wanting to be generous and nurturing and monogamous for once–but he doesn’t love me back–so then how can it be love? I don’t know, suppose I could love someone from a distance and never fully act upon it…
I am an object to him, that I know, but with him I feel I’ve met my match, “match” as in boxing, wrestling, fighting, not some congruent soul twin. Someone I would like very much to bite and excite and anger, I want him to treat me poorly, I want to make him cry, I want him to get fed up and shout at me in the street, “Why would you do this!” and the crazier I behave the more he reacts and we’re an ongoing feedback loop. The nicer I am the more fearful he becomes and so he retreats. He makes me feel bad and I’m just in a phase of getting off on self-deprivation.
Suppose a child between the two of us, whom I would become delirious for, filled with emotion and sacrificial tendencies, lost in myself and in servitude of something purer, the genetic continuum, the love of life, the parasites, the beauty…
He told me he wants someone SWEET who would be a good mother and I told him I wanted to die. I pretended to act disgusted–or was I actually disgusted?
“Ugh, I never want that. Maybe that’s why people have affairs.”
“Maybe,” he said.
Laying in bed after I fucked him in the ass with a dildo. We touch, with our legs entangled and our hands side by side, not clasped, too apprehensive.
I say, “I can’t imagine being with one person for the rest of my life.”
He says, “I’m sure you’ll find someone who you just want to fuck all the time.”
No! Do you know who gives me the longest, most invigorating orgasms? Self-loathing suicidal ex-prisoners with no sense of hygiene!
Then he says, “Or I don’t know.”
I want a peaceful bookish type who meditates and choses to be surrounded by beauty and feels passionate about his interests, and treats himself before he treats his love, for his love is infinite and undefined. He is also devilish, scheming, secretive, and bitingly sarcastic. Do I really want to be involved with that kind of person for the rest of my life? Or I suppose I could entertain any man who is like that, from hotel to hotel, in different parts of the Earth, at random unsuspecting moments, brought together by desperation, fits of loneliness, sexual suppression… Talking about nature, beauty, truth, love–Never politics or sensationalist things. I’m disenchanted by many cultural affairs. I wish to live forever in darkness beneath the stars in a desert alone with my love. Is this negotiable? By myself?