Togetherness is my greatest fear and desire. I fear paralysis resulting from lips unkissed, hands discarded, eyes unseen and hearts unheld. I do not fear invisibility nor anonymity but the pain of being forgotten, the knowingness of being willfully unknown–erased, dislodged, unloved. I fear the crumbling of self, not from a breakup, but from the quake of a love shaken into dementia. I fear the tremors for/of the body when intimacy is syphoned from the bones into the ethers, hovering heavy like a cancerous smog, reminding my lungs of what has come, what has gone and the promise of a death slowly arriving. I fear the pieces of me, strewn about like tilled land yearning for seeds and a spring long since departed, hardened from summer and waiting for winter’s bite. I fear that I’ve been running from the curse of mother, grandmother and great grandmother so fast that i’ve tripped and fallen into their hexed cells of love stained purgatory. I fear that the buck can’t stop, won’t stop, here—……
There are reasons. I guess. I suppose. Shit. I don’t know. Maybe the fear is the result of some post-traumatic blaqueerness or poverty or childhood or rape or arrest or bug disorder. Maybe it’s all of that. But I have it. I own it. I don’t resist it. It’s mine, it’s written upon my body, my soul, my spirit and must be treated accordingly. I invite the fear to coffee in the mornings and I sit with it. I get to know it. I appreciate it, it’s truths, differences and interoperation of the clawing, the gnawing of/at/in my soul/body/life. I love it into submission and welcome it so I can get to know it’s other side…desire..because when naked, the fear is nothing more than an expression of my desire for connection, roots, intimacy..to be intertwined with the soul of another in the forming of community, peace, healing, truths and radical love. This fear is my desire with its ugly cry on..because it’s not being seen, heard, held, felt, acknowledged…birthed
The desire is real. I see it. I taste it. I know it–in the biblical sense. The love is real. I toss and turn with it between the sheets and pillows. It knows my cry and contains my tears. It’s heavy. It’s bound by it’s unspeakable condition..caged. It wasn’t created this way, no, no one and no thing is created as chattel..but freedom can be taken before earth becomes home. I desire togetherness, simplicity, complex and intertwined yet standing alone and seen among a mass of similarly desired, desirables and desiring folks, things, thoughts..desires…of sweat/tear soaked, ab-enhancing, fro-grabbing, soul stretching, deep riding…love. To coproduce love and be reproduced by it repeatedly..changing..with the needs and desires of souls and obstacles or opportunities to overcome or come over/with to smile through tears or cry through smiles to smell scents unfamiliar to my body and all too natural to his to be seen seeing my self be seeing seeing him, seeing him, but knowing it’s no about vision but about the experience of simply being in sync and/or finding a way to jive to move with limbo through the dj’s choppy transitions…transitioning from high to low, left and right with applause and support but not a crutch because we both know i like to do things on my own but loneliness would be a choice, not one i’d have to make. Compromise is an interesting word..I don’t dig it’s implications of weakness..but life would adapt, i would adapt to make way for his arrival, his tenure, his homecoming.
This isn’t shit one would say in public company, but hell, it’s just me and my thoughts, my body, my fears and desires. There is no better company to be vulnerable with. No lie.