Day 8- Persistent Desire

It's been building, and building and I've been fighting it. My mind racing faster spitting out images and words and ideas, to do lists, crazy poems that are composing themselves before I can uncap my pen to write them down. I'm being flooded with everything all at once and my mind is doing it's best to keep me awash in paper houses and wild women roaming the halls of my brain looking for trouble. Avoiding all of the big show downs that are just behind that red velvet curtain. Avoiding going into the basement and investigating all of that blood that has haunted me my whole life.

It happened while I was eating breakfast and watching The Voice, my last television show. It happened while I was thinking how little time I have to masturbate before I get to the doctor. I was listening to Jermaine Paul sing I can fly  and all of a sudden I was keening and rocking and crying. I hate that kind of crying (that everything crying) all of me swept up, the crying that is primal and erupts like a huge orgasm that takes over your entire body and you cannot help but let your throat open and let the coming, out: in song, in yelling, in tears that seem to come from your wet cunt and your eyes at the same time.

I was crying because of this old persistent desire to fly. When I was little, too little to think so much about death I would hear a voice in my head- mind? Another part of me? God?- Saying, it's okay baby you will fly, I promise. When you leave this body you will fly right through the clouds and you will see the cities and oceans and people rush by underneath you and you will be safe and free.

I've had this persistent desire to fly ever since. I've had technicolor flying dreams that were just as magical as that voice promised me. The whole world drops away and you are flying fast or banking and circling, you see the birds up close, the cities stretched out below you, tiny lights and flashes of brilliant color and if you go higher you can see the world spinning below you and it is the best ride you'll ever take.

This morning's tears were about embodying that desire to fly, to die, and letting it go all at once. It was about the great life long battle to claim this body, this soul, this desire and all of my desires for mine, wrest them back from the soul catchers who dragged me down hard before I could walk and locked me into a heavy iron cage that I've carried, ever since, long after they were done with this body.

The persistent desire to die, to fly and the conviction that death waited for me always, because of course it does. And as a child when you are repeatedly shown that it does, with long sharp hunting knives,and threats that are specific, when you've been in shock, ice cold, slowly feeling your body shut down on the ice cubed, white tiled, bathroom floor as often as you've had Captain Crunch for breakfast, there is no room to imagine any other possibility, death is immediate- death is concrete truth.

And who would have thought masturbation with intention and awareness would be the crux of things. The way to this final show down. Shine a light on my wanting to fly, be free, to die and be done. And if there is one thing that is a declaration of life it's sex. Self sex is no less a declaration. It is as declarative as a red painted pussy on a shiny clean office building, because it's just for me. Because I am in my body. I am, with open eyes and hands and thighs and mouth and pussy, saying yes. I will stay rooted to the dirt of the earth. I will take what is mine and that orgasm when it comes, no matter how I get there is flying, it's that little death, it's wide open stretched out wings and shuddering home all the way in, all the way in, to this good body.

So today this is the foreplay. This is what I leave you with. You'll have to trust me when I say I'm on my way to it. Like an old tired boxer in the ring and I'll have every trick I know with me to circumvent this force that is telling me no and get to yes. Right now only my face is wet, but I will get my cunt wet, I will find my way in, sneaking in through the side door, with an image or a fantasy. Today it might be bad ass women in short skirts and motorcycle boots, it might be that Dominant from long ago who just gave me a look that told me exactly how she would take me down and how much I would like it, it might be you pulling me down to the sidewalk in my favorite dark sticky alley and unzipping your fly or taking off your belt- it will have to be big and harsh and sharp to get my attention and keep it. It won't be soft. But I'm not using dark doorways today, they are too fucking dangerous. But this is big battle time so I'm going in alone and you'll just have to trust me. It's going to happen.