The erotic is sacred.
Let's put the erotic in its rightful place & see what happens next.
5 December 2022
I’m experimenting with writing these as journal entries.
Because they are, in a way.
It feels more intimate. More precious.
I’m writing to you.
For you. With you.
You are here with me, too.
We’ve cut the pretences now.
You can feel my heart. Because my heart & my art are one & the same.
You’ve got me now.
And you’ve got me good.
I wrote most of this at 10 AM this morning.
I didn’t publish until now because… I was doing other things.
But I wrote it. And I kind of want it to see the light of day.
I want my writing to see the light of day.
I want to be heard. I want to be felt. I want to be listened to.
There, I said it. Clearly. Cleanly.
It gets to be easy.
Let’s talk about the bittersweet things that happen when we let go of needing things to be bitter & hard.
I am in love with this feeling.
I have my notes beside me but I don’t want to use them.
I have my notebook beside me but I don’t want to transpose what I wrote.
It feels ugly… or just boring.
There, I said it. I’m bored.
I just want to flow, here, with you.
It comes easy.
It comes easier to me than anything else.
It grounds me. And it makes me feel at home in myself in ways I can’t explain… and I don’t need to. What an honour.
I am so lucky to have this in my life.
A premonition:
One day, someday soon, I’m going to wake up in the morning & look at myself & my life… and it’s going to hit me that I did it.
I fucking did it.
FUCK THEM.
They were wrong.
I DID IT.
And it’s hitting me now & I have no words.
No words beyond…
Put the erotic in its rightful place & tell me it’s bad.
YOU CAN’T.
Because we don’t know what it looks like yet.
We don’t know what it looks like to put the erotic in its rightful place.
And this is from earlier & now it’s streaming out of me & it’s perfect, it’s perfect…
I am on a mission to put the erotic in its rightful place.
Because…
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
I win.
I get to win.
I already won.
Before I got into this line of work, I had no idea how bad most men felt.
I had no idea how bad things were for men.
Of course I didn’t. I didn’t need to.
And I didn’t want to, either.
Not really.
I was too focused on my own stuff. Because I needed to be.
Recently, a stranger on the internet tried to throw something back in my face.
They told me I was “paranoid” for not wanting to share my story with someone I didn’t know, feel safe with, or trust.
I stood my ground.
The conversation evolved.
And…
Don’t think for one second that I am not human too.
Don’t think for one second that I am “enlightened” beyond reactivity (let’s face it, how other people experience us is also always a matter of THEIR subjective interpretation, anyway).
If I’ve taught you one thing, I hope it’s this: you don’t need to be “perfect” or “fixed” or “healed” or any of these buzzwords to be loved, loveable & worthy of love.
Fuck the noise.
Fuck all the ways you had to stay small.
Fuck all the things you did when you didn’t know there were other options. When you couldn’t comprehend the idea of this, even.
Fuck it all.
(Not literally…unless that’s your thing)
We don’t need to set the world on fire.
The world is already burning before our eyes.
It’s dying. We’re dying. And that’s our biggest fucking breakthrough yet.
We need to die so we can live.
I needed to die so I could live.
I miss her every fucking day.
I mourn her every fucking day.
And… she let me live.
Her death was the greatest gift. The most profound kindness. The only option.
She is the reason I’m alive today.
I want you to live freely, fully & abundantly too.