Friday, November 20, 2009

"To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images."

"What do you mean? Why don't you obey?

Why don't I jump when you moan?

Am I detached?
You seem to think I am some monster, devoid.
Cold, you say?
No. When you turn down the thermostat you engage the cold, it has nothing to do with me; except that I grow cold, too.

I can be made hot, too, you know.

I rode to a girl's place once, on a mountain bike.
I fell and broke my wrist on my way to see her.
When I arrived I pleaded for help and bandaged my wrist and drank beer and smoked pot and even visited her friend.

When we returned, though, we made love in her bed. I held myself up with my right arm and cradled my left.

Dignity? Fuck, who cares about dignity, who cares about broken bones, who cares about broken-fucking-sex-bones-while-in-pain-but-love-is-just-too-powerful sex?

We do.


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