Race and Desire

I love people who dance just because.

No one told them they could not do it.

Race and desire. It kinda takes some of the hurt part out of it, the part where Race and Desire get along. Sex is, too, a politikal le act.

A politikal act. One transparency floods the other with contrast, sex and desire is about the contrast.

I get a lot of How Are You, and I say, Why Are You Here.

People are taken aback. I don’t care.

This is where everything I make, everything I do, come from my autism from going off the deep end, I just don’t care. We are here to serve their god. This is not brain surgery. Why can’t they do that, themselves. Fucking god is never high. He does not do mushroom, how can you expect god to understand mushrooms. He has never eaten one or gone away on a trip. First class. Throne in the clouds. Angels to submit to his desire. He desires angels. All aboard. I just don’t care.

What do they want from us.

They want us to make babies yet these must be the right kind of babies, can you get it. When 3am rolls around, you will find me dancing in the street. Making babies. Never you mind. Getting on up. I would invite you to the performance, any performance, writing is a performance. How many hats can you wear. You would be surprised. That many. Why would I count them. Why would I wear them. Why am I here.

It’s got to be about more than raising babies.

Why would anyone want to raise a child in this world. You are going to stick this world on them, and then, you will leave them.

In this life. In this specific place no matter where it is cremated.

The physics of cremated means you aren’t coming back. You can read the words. But you don’t believe it. We pretend. We dance in places that are loaded with sex and desire. We pretend. That we are sex. And that we are desire. We are none of that. What we are is usually trouble. Sex and desire are so fused with gravitas that you have to put the babies on hold right now – and dance at 3am, naked in the middle of the road.