Thursday, February 5, 2009


so sex is all about the urge for us to reproduce ourselves. The idea that we will live on, genetically speaking, despite the death that is so very close.

The knowledge of that inevitable death creates a kind of desperation. We tear at each other's bodies as if it is the last thing we will touch. We sense the loneliness of the end times and we want to bury our flesh into some one elses flesh. We want to touch life or make life or experience life.

It is a sad and lonely act, this coming together of naked bodies. It is humiliating. We are exposed. We are ugly and clumsy and a little sad.

So this is sex. Tonight. Steeped in melancholy.

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