προσδοκία ανίκατε μάχαν

η γνωριμία μας: ένας ενθουσιασμός 

και ένας κόμπος στο λαιμό.

-δεν μ' είχε εκτιμήσει άνθρωπος ως τότε έτσι-

μεγάλος φόβος 

να μην τυχόν δεν σας επαληθεύσω

μ' έπιανε ίλιγγος στην θέση που με είχατε καθίσει

μα ξέρεις, ήταν λογικό... 

όταν παίζονται οι προσδοκίες μας 

κορώνα-γράμματα

δικές σου- δικές μου

τα παίρνει όλα ο χαμένος εαυτός...

-δεν μ' είχε εκτιμήσει άνθρωπος ως τότε έτσι-

δεν θα φανώ αντάξια

το είδωλό μου εκεί ψηλά που τό' χατε, 

δεν θα το φτάσω

μ' ένα τσεκούρι θα το χτυπάω ευλαβικά μέχρι να σπάσει

να σπάσει σε χιλιάδες μικροσκοπικά κομματάκια

που τίποτε δεν θα  θυμίζει την αρχική του εικόνα

-και στη μνήμη του να κάνουμε πορεία

"Ενάντια στην Μνήμη της Προσδοκίας"

και όλοι μαζί θα τραγουδάμε:

προσδοκία, ανίκατε μάχαν
εσύ που φόβους επαληθεύεις

τις ανασφάλειες γιγαντώνεις

και αυνανίζεσαι ναρκισσιστικά 
με την μίζερη δικαίωσή σου

affectivity

"Think of a field with a fence around it in which there are horses with adjustable blinkers: the adjustment of the blinkers is the 'coefficient of transversality'. If they are so adjusted to make the horses totally blind, then persumably a certain traumatic form of encounter will take place. Gradually, as the flaps are opened, one can envisage them moving about more easily... Let us try to imagine how people relate to one another in terms of affectivity".

F. Guattari



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZg9Da3Tl6I

unconditionally

“The difference between the who and the what at the heart of love, separates the heart. It is often said that love is the movement of the heart. Does my heart move because I love someone who is an absolute singularity, or because I love the way that someone is? (…)

That is to say, the history of love, the heart of love, is divided between the who and the what. The question of Being, to return to philosophy - because the first question of philosophy is: What is it “to Be?” What is Being? The question of Being is itself always already divided between who and what. Is ‘Being’ someone or some thing? I speak of abstractly, but I think that whoever starts to love, is in love, or stops loving, is caught between this division of the who and the what. One wants to be true to someone - singularly, irreplaceably - and one perceives that this someone isn’t x or y. They didn’t have the qualities, properties, the images, that I thought I’d loved. So fidelity is threatened by the difference between the who and the what.”

j.derrida

sex isn't a test

Sex is not a goddamn performance.

Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.

It should not require confidence.

Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.

Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.

You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.

It’s not about being “good in bed.”

It’s about being happy.

One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.

What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.

Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.

Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.

I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.

I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.

It’s originality.

It’s passion.

It’s joy.

Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.

I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.

“Good in bed,” what.

You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.

Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.

This isn’t a test.





(from http://i-amr.tumblr.com/page/2)