not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

slut


can i help it that i want to sleep with the world?  it is in me, the stretched out thin longing like the cry through a metal tube.  it is my life! it is the kernel my story coalesces around, lilac, orchid, poppy, light on counter, dust motes, tarnished silver spoon, solitary deer frozen, ears perked, on edge of forest, the remaining padded feet of a gutted and gored raccoon.  i'm desperate to touch you!  i tremble!  there is a void in me i need you to move into!  lighted willow leaf, delicate birch bark, swallows pulsing shadow and form by the dozens, wooden trees that do the no-understanding-magic of bearing fruit.  i am drowning in this longing.  i, the earthly besotted salt of skin, mouth, edge, void, articulation of wanting, wounded, unending hunger.  fuck me, please, are only foolish stick-like words.  slut, too.  i must, if i am to breathe, have the deep confirmation, body with utter knowledge, know you.

12 comments:

  1. always these things are difficult for me and always i can't help them if i am to be honest and i want to be honest. there are only so many variables in this living, one of them being the essential body and the other being the insatiable desire to be alive, to experience and to know. it is difficult for me to say these things and yet i can not help the form i take in the world. a small part of me wants to say sorry but i can not even say sorry any more. can any of us say sorry for who we are? behind me pushes an ocean. i am too small to stop it.

    xo
    erin

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  2. "there is a void in me i need you to move into!"

    Ouch, how it aches, how it feels as though you're wanting too much, of another, of yourself, of life.

    We are all fools for remaining silent with our deep needs. Your truth, is everyone's truth; and yet, if a puppy or a cat needs us too much, don't we feel trapped in a way?

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    1. i think the void is a part of the construction, rosaria. i think the world is made up of solid places (or convincingly so solid places) and gaps. one flows toward the other. this is momentum. this is life itself. at the center of this, or as a word to explain the process, is longing. is it too much or all there is?

      it's interesting what you say about the need being too much or a form of entrapment. it can be if we allow it to be a clasp rather than accepting it as simply the way with no control, no ownership, no resolution, only being.

      i am one of those somewhat convincing solid places but my i, my formation, my being is also composed of void. i do not own either. what then do i have to give to anyone or anything? what then can anyone or anything ask of me?

      it is specifically interesting to me that you mention animals. lately my cat of 17 years is losing its mind, or perhaps only going deaf and is confused. it cries all night a terrible caterwaul that sounds like fear or need or begging. what have i to give to it to assuage its pain? all we can do is exist. perhaps in our existence we might lend comfort. we have nothing else to give for we own nothing, are essentially nothing but this specific and transient conglomeration of ethereal traits, this particular composite of memories and experience.

      i might have to put my cat down. at what point do i do this? already i am sleepless and can offer it nothing through the night to lessen its pain or fear. it too is a slightly convincing solid place with void roiling through it. what does it long for?

      we are always trapped but only in so much that we occupy this particular body, this particular way of being. paradoxically, this is our only way to freedom.

      what a conundrum, eh? :)

      thank you, rosaria, for not letting me scare you off. i watch a certain part of me act in this world and i wonder if it is not, in part, my intention. i hope it is, rather, only to challenge, not to frighten away.

      xo
      erin

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    2. Thank you, Erin, for being so open. You're teaching me to be open, to let truth speak plainly, and that, dear friend, is an act of courage, each time.

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  3. Wonderful text And post scriptum. And the picture Is so intense. Thank you I agree with you

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    1. arnaud, if you agree then tell me what your life is, tell me what moves you, destroys you, so that i know i am not alone.

      xo
      erin

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  4. ...most definitely complicated...and delightfully intricate... you, Ms. Tiny Leaf...

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  5. glenn, you are a fox, so able at the periphery all these years. stop that:)

    go boldly into the center.and.tell.me.your truth))) (don't you understand? i need it.)

    xo
    erin

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    1. ...sometimes the "truth" becomes very encrusted,,,reckon?

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  6. The desire for oneness ... I feel it too.

    Do you know, I want to feel life as intensely as you do. Sometimes. At times I can't come here to visit you, unable to be in the intensity. At other times I long for the intensity. (People say I am intense. I wonder if you are intense in person? :)

    But always I must come ... to you, to the intensity, because it/you is always calling.

    Our true self knowledge unfolds, gradually, I think, out of necessity. Would we see it suddenly, all at once, could we bear it? I don't know if I could. And so, small truths come and get absorbed. (or not) I think life is a spiral, and we keep getting the same thing again and again, though we have changed each time, and so it is a different thing. This is why no one can be kept in a box. I do not understand you. You do not understand me. We do not understand ourselves. But we seem to get the same message over and over, and so that seems familiar, and we think we know.

    I love the photo. I love your intensity. I love your message. Even though I do not know or understand you ... enough. I want to, as much as I can let in at this moment.

    And in you, I see myself. Just enough for now.

    And then you push me to open more ... and more ... and more.

    For this I thank you. For this I love you. INTENSELY.

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  7. ruth, i am thinking about self knowledge and identity a lot these days, but perhaps this is nothing new. perhaps i always have. i think we do not see ourselves all at once, not because we can't bear the formation or encapsulation of the truth as though it is large and complicated, but because there is less to see than we can imagine. (can we bear that?)

    just this morning in the light of your response i see it this way, we are a series of transparent to opaque lenses like paint chips extended on a ring. how the world is perceived depends on the combination of these lenses as they are held up, in what sequence they are held up and how they overlap, what their transparency or opacity reveals. we are little else and own nothing of the inception of our lenses, although perhaps we might have a little control in how we extend them. this speaks to how you and i relate, what i see beyond me and what i see in relationship with you beyond both of us. this is why i go to you, what i see beyond us, the oneness, is what i long for. that is our combination. this is my combination with my greatest love also, with james. this is my combination with my son, less so with my daughter, although it is through my combination with her lenses that i learn more difficult aspects of living and self, important ones. any intensity that i might have is only in combination. i am like any other person, at times intense and at other times not. it depends upon the relationships, the combinations of lenses and what we, together, reveal beyond us. what makes me unlike other people (perhaps, but i only guess, don't know) is that i long, love and need to burn in the intensity. not being inside of the intensity is like a living death to me. i push toward intensity and truth daily. it does not frighten me. only the inverse does.

    i think you are right to think of life in terms of being a spiral but perhaps it is even more chaotic than that, less linear. perhaps because of our bodies, because of time, because of distance and separateness from oneness, we can not truly understand the nature of anything as nonlinear and as real as super (beyond us) existence is. we are pounded flat inside our mortal bodies, but this offers us the opportunity for story. otherwise we would be only the once and instant flash, the ultimate intensity, and done, with no ability for knowledge (which is only personal experience or belief) of being.

    i love you too. i do. i can not help myself. i can not help but love someone who loves life and who pushes toward what is beyond us. in this way i love rosaria. she's so brave inside her story. in this way i love glenn, although i laugh, he plays the game of resistance. i don't know arnaud well and language barriers hamper but i sense the intensity and pain and pushing and so i love him too. this does not lessen any one love. while i do, i do not exist. while you do, you do not exist. our separateness has us removed from the oneness by only this much, by only this body, this embodiment, and our longing for reconnection creates our love.

    but i laugh, were you to meet me perhaps you would never know. i am a goof. i dance in public with my children. we run around the house screaming and laughing. i eat unladylike:) i shout in excitement over crows and light on trees. i indulge in this life. is this intense?

    let's live, ruth. let's live intensely together:)))))

    xo
    erin

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  8. why even the need to say sorry? this i don't understand... as if the bee could ever be sorry for being hungry for all the sweetness, for all the richness of _every_flower? i think hunger/devouring the matter of the world (and being eaten, disappearing into the matter of the world) and being penetrated by the matter of the world (and penetrating the same matter) are the two great metaphors (but lived, through, within the flesh) for trying to describe the most intense relationship this self/body can have with the world.

    and i see myself in every word of yours, here. otherwise i wouldn't talk about it, if i hadn't felt it as well, in the same way.

    (i don't know why i want to share this with you, now, it is old, i think before we met:

    http://roxanaghita.blogspot.ro/2009/06/seven-days-of-myself.html

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))