Is that how beauty came to be? So we can bear the eternal suffering of Being and endure...
My heart is stony and yet raw. I think I turned to you as an escape, and with a smile you turned back the other way.
So I am to take off my clothes and let a human touch me? The thought of such intimacy, in its imperfection and limitation depresses me.
What has happened to Dorrina? Inside her lives a whore and a devote nun. Both live in deprivation. I cannot say who is hungrier, the whore or the nun.
Dorrina, I have spent half a lifetime understanding. I indulged the shadow for years and then spent the remainder judging it. Now I have returned back to the beginning, I did not wait to leave this shell to try again. One would think my ego to be proud, but it is old and bitter in its knowing...
that it knows nothing at all, and any certainty is immediately greeted with plausible doubt. All it knows is its strange experience. A paradox for instructions. As I write, two cats outside make love.
They hiss and claw at each other violently. The female struggles, yet the male persists. It sounds like rape, but nature insists.
I listen to Russian waltz and think of Anna Karenina. It was not love she sacrificed everything for. It was the taste of freedom in a passion's embrace. Freedom from Being is the ultimate intoxicant.
My heart grieves for her, as I know that character too well. I have been her. Over and over again, through what feels as lifetimes. Some of them requited, others not.
In the end, it mattered little. In the end, you must let go whether you are with or without. So why bother? All the men I meet are heartbroken and frozen in vacancy. They look to me for heat, but there is none here.
I am cold. Freezing. I search for only those dark paired gems I saw in Spain. A single glance lights me back into flames.
It is better to burn and burn then to remain idle and cold.
If I cannot join you in ecstasy, then I can burn. Let my burning then be your ecstasy. Do not forget me here.
I am scared of people's neurosis and abuse. Scared of these incessant projections of the mind. I wish to disentangle but you keep telling me with others to dance. I hate it here, but for you, I will dance. I will dance until my feet bleed, I will dance and I will dance.