Insatiable Desire for True Love

Categories: innersanctum

It is as I predicted. Either as a consequence of having mentioned the high probability, and thereby setting up the expectation for myself, or because it’s what naturally occurs: I feel like typing here and publishing another entry again.

In line with some of the themes I previously wrote about, I want to type about desire.

Why is it even important to feel desirable?

Dworkin left him [her husband] in 1971, when she was twenty-five, but he followed her, finding her in the homes of friend after friend and threatening her, beating her. In her memoir Life and Death, she writes, “I remember the pure and consuming madness of being invisible and unreal, and every blow making me more invisible and more unreal, as the worst desperation I have ever known.” In Europe, she had started doing sex work to earn money, and she would come to see every trick as a rape, the sex not fully a choice she was able to make freely but a necessity endured under the threat of being invisible and unreal.


Yes, Andrea Dworkin is always right, and I want on the record that Andrea Dworkin was a beautiful, fat fairy goddess, especially in the photo included in the linked article.

There’s the mind control, the social conditioning, etc etc. and there is the interior wanting; the bottomless neediness that emanates like a black hole from within.

Babies are a good place to start. Babies scream and wail not merely because they want, but because they need. As we develop, that neediness, obviously, gets dealt with and transmuted—sublimated… As adults, the endless wanting is satiated by polyester miniskirts and glittery petroleum eye shadow. [Sometimes, when I’m wearing a face full of makeup and the cheapest, nastiest polyester, nylon, and elastane, with plastic stilettos, holding my slippery, plastic lip gloss covered plastic phone case—it is as if I am priestess of my own petroleum-based baptism. Crude oil is the sacrilegious lubricant that greases each and every one of my prophetic dreams and blasphemous visions.] Think of a shark, driven by pure instinct. Absolutely reactive to potential prey, the scent of blood, external temperature, the lunar phase. Think of a cell; how specific chemical reactions cause it to operate, and solely can it operate by that set of molecular rules. If a cell “chooses” to disobey, suddenly, and very sadly, cancer occurs. Conformity is a survival instinct. Conformity is protection, armor and defense; but no matter, all throughout the chain there is need. There is the need, and the desire to fulfill it. The way one must be used and another must use. You want, so I give. I want you to want, so that I can want to give. Am I allowed to conflate need and want? I want to. I’m going to. I need to. I will.

To take example of the cell, it must consume. In order to function, it needs, and it wants: oxygen, nutrients, water, metal, etc etc. So, of course, you think you want all of that too. If only you could find some water. Civilization started because everyone was so thirsty all of the time. They just wanted to live next to something that would keep them from dying. Water is magnetic and irresistible. Not only does it nourish, it also attracts. To live near water is to live in a communist utopia alongside the rest of the animal kingdom. Plus, you’re able to hunt and kill one another as you need, as you like, for nearly all animals must drink and will eventually arrive. You can even share the carcass, fight or help one another to get the most succulent piece. Virtue appears amidst the bloody chaos, and we’re all working together to tear the corpse apart, limb by limb. Because you need to, you want to, your pregnant wife needs the extra subsistence. There is no question. It’s pure instinct. Every second alive is a second superimposed between dying and living. You want it because you might not survive without it. There is no time to reflect. Someone could take the rest of the remains and you’ll have nothing left. You can’t be fast enough, you can’t hunt enough, there is never enough. You’ll always want more, you’ll always need more, and more, and more, and more, and more. You’ll even come back to life out of the pure desire sprung from the lack of anything to want. Buddhism says desire the source of all strife, but to me, desire is the source of all life. Kill your desires if you want to kill yourself, lol.

“I must be valuable, because he robbed me
My true love would commit crimes to possess me…”

I keep my mind locked in a safe at night, but during the day, I put it on display, beneath a large military grade surveillance and security apparatus. There’s a spotlight I’ve rented, which I use to highlight my every thought and perceived sensation. Gushing inside of that glass prison, passersby regard and covet my sparkling and endlessly overflowing psychic fountain. I’ve even seen a few go so far as to secretly lick the window, pretending they were ever so closely, merely innocently staring, but they’d stick their wet tongues out, and slowly, so longingly, they’d drag it across the sensor enhanced bulletproof surface. Then, when their saliva started to drip, they’d discretely retract their moist tongues, and tightly close it back inside their mouths, as if they were part serpent. I’ve had multiple attempted burglaries, copyright infringements, piracy and counterfeit imitations. Unfortunately, for the entire world, and for all of human life, both future and past, the most precious gem is impenetrable, invisible, and eternally inaccessible; it is insulated, locked, sealed, and buried deep within the most abyssal reaches of my polluted and pillaged, ravaged and contaminated, simple little human woman’s mind.

From within, a fire burns, and the only thing it requires is an endless supply of oxygen. And somewhere in the atmosphere, the membrane, in the gray zone between external resources and interior consumption… For example, your mouth. Your mouth is a gray zone between inside and out. Most spaces in the human body which are superimpositions between in and out are wet, maybe all of them, though I could be mistaken. We bleed when we’re injured, whenever we’ve created an absorptive gap, and lubrication makes it easier to absorb and either swallow or eject. In those kinds of spaces (membranes)… … … … I checked my phone, because I wanted to hear from someone, so I forgot exactly what I wanted to say, because I want someone to want me to think all of this. But there is no one. I always have to think for myself.

I think I won’t remember where that thought was going, so I can only pretend to know. Even in those membranes, there is a want. Their purpose is to exchange, to give and receive simultaneously. Being a woman makes you so sensitive to this, because you’re aware that in your center is an always opened slit. One that takes, but gives a product that is too valuable to fully understand. It doesn’t just excrete, it produces a gift. Nevertheless, those spaces only seem to be either/or: either full or empty, but in reality, they’re bridges infiltrating and recycling between worlds, and I think it’s probably important to acknowledge that they’re very often lined with watery substance. Any sort of space like this between is very much like an ocean shore…

I feel tired and so sad tonight. I miss people who I cannot regularly have in my life. I’m depressed because I get too excited and ruin things, and when I’m expected to be happy, I’m not enthusiastic enough. 💔💔💔 I don’t really believe in karma because I’ve sacrificed my entire life ten million times over, and for what? I don’t get what I give in return. It’s like being the ace of cups surrounded by cavaliers. None of them can hold even an ounce of what I continually bear. Sometimes I pull the guillotine blade, too, but still, no one has yet cared to come take off my head… Sorry for having such a huge ego. It’s because I need to, if I want to continue to survive.

Externally, it’s fairly easy to notice all the subtle ways that shape the desire to be desired. Especially for women. As Andrea Dworkin subtly intimated, being desirable, often, is sometimes the sole route to avoid becoming invisible, even if the price of that visibility is violence, coercion, and assault. You may not be seen as fully human, but at least you’re seen as something. Other women will always see you, but other women have less power and authority, and we’re relegated to our [not really inferior, but ‘commercially’ perceived as such] “women’s world.” And no matter if you’re a physicist, or renowned molecular biologist, you’ll still need to be pretty, and look good. You know everyone is wondering if maybe you just got into scientific inquiry because nobody hit on you enough. Pretty girls don’t need to be intelligent, didn’t you know?

As far as wanting to feel personally desirable, it’s not much different than from wanting to be bought. Someone is willing to pay. They’re willing to use me. They think I have some resource that can be instrumentalized. I don’t want to think about the external when it’s like, My Black Hole Is Worth More Than The World’s Combined Debt.

Earlier today, I was thinking about how degrading it is to simply be the means to someone else’s end, but it also seems that’s all we can ever be. We complain about each other’s ephemerality, and that no one ever stays, but to remain is an impossibility when the only certainty is infinite mutability. We are not meant to stay. The problem that arises is the violence with which we consume one another, the ingratitude we hold towards each other’s gifts, the entitlement we feel to possession, the fear of being reduced to a pawn in someone else’s game, and the disrespect with which we disregard our once coveted objects. Over-consumption has pervaded and poisoned the way we ingest one another, and the way we treat our trash is as devout and as holy as we can ever possibly love each other. Everything else is fantasy. The reality is that we’re are all garbage. Which is why I love garbage so so so much!!!!!

Why does it even matter if I’m desirable? Who cares, really? What do I get out of it? I want to put everyone else aside, and truly, truly, truly, only think about myself. That’s something most men can never understand. They think women are selfish, when we’re simply trying to find ourselves while triangulated at the mercy of others. There is no “me,” without you, my darling love, my truer than true soul mate, my 666 trillion million billion suns, stars and moons of each and every of my reincarnated lives, my everything, my always and eternity, my most charming prince charming of all enchantment and bliss.

What I like is benign enough. I like discovering others, I like seeing their faces, and studying mannerisms. I’m inspired by everyone I talk to. I like the similarities between people. I like the way men all try to manipulate me. They all have their not always so unique strategies. I think I’m getting bored of it now, and just need to reflect on it, but I liked to challenge them. Did they notice the way I evaded their advances, or were they intimidated when I was more direct? Most don’t like when I’m the predator, they prefer to belittle and chase me as their prey. I should’ve made it easy, and played the damsel in distress, instead of making it hard and pretending I was without heart. It wasn’t just about ego inflation and flattery, though. It was also a test to see how much I could expose of my true interior before scaring them away. Who would be willing to play my game, and how long could they go on trying to enforce their own? When the game got too intense, who runs off the quickest? Who gets bored first? I don’t know… 01001101 01100001 01111001 01100010 01100101 00100000 01001001 00100111 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100001 01111001 00100000 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110010 01101111 01110101 01101110 01100100 00100000 00111101 10000000 00111100 00100000 00100000 00101110 00100000 00101110 00100000 00101110 00100000 00001010 💀🌠 . . .

It’s also, morally speaking, I think everyone has an obligation to try to be as charming as possible, and to make anyone you like feel as cherished as you believe them to be. If they don’t like it, then, like, c’est la vie. My philosophy is always to give everything (because I’m always spilling water, as you may have noticed), and if ever I feel I must hold back, I know it’s not meant to be. Even if I saw how beautiful their garden could be, if only they would’ve let me…

Just because it rhymes, doesn’t mean it’s true. Sometimes I just have to type the words like that because they sound like a melody.

⛓️ In the interplay between desiring and being desirable is a place not unlike the gray zone. It’s a power exchange between people who choose to stoke and fuel each other’s flames. Once the game is over and the fire is doused, one is left to reflect on the still-burning embers, until finally, all alone, even those die out.

Once something as private as sexual desire is made salient, it makes anything else up for discussion too, and there’s few things I love as much as uncovering the taboo.

I feel quite blue and confused. Really lost, to be honest. I hate my eyebrows and I hate my face. The weather is so cold and dreary, it makes going outside a genuine burden. I might be falling sick, too. My sinuses hurt a bit. I’m paranoid about dying from one hundred covid infections in a decade.

🪽 Maybe we should all play our roles, and make each person we come across feel like they’re more than enough, that they’re, in fact, everything, and more, so much more than anyone can ever know. {until they ruin it, of course} We can use each other up with dignity. Turn landfills into gardens, and factories into castles devoted to maintaining beauty. Whatever. Who cares, it’s all impossible fantasy anyway. Now I know for sure I can focus on work because I feel absolutely disgusted with myself for everything I’ve just written. It’s only that I really need… I really really need! Please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  • I feel like I have a 1,000 things I could say here. #1 is that I enjoyed reading this, your writing feels ‘free-flowing’, but poetic, and a tad like puzzle-solving at times. Thank you for sharing it.

    You made me think a lot about the honeymoon phase, its peaks of passion. But fleeting. It’s so intense, we might go “that’s it, that’s love”. I don’t think so. But, yea, yo: It sure is fugging nice.

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