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Saturday, February 7, 2015

Had sex with you 2/7/15


I have had sex with you through others. True, we have never touched. But I have the enchantments and the furies, the resoundings and the sublimes to show what our encounters in the ethers produced. I have gone beyond the grossness of body stimulations, beyond physical locality, beyond the ‘us’ business. I have it where you’re me and I’m you and we don’t have gender. I go where we are the makings that environments express as vitalizing, where the sky produces un-expectancies as voluptuous turbulences of inclusion in otherwise pleasant sky serenities. I have gone from ground zero of practical reality in common sense days to where eons kiss from the total-ness of their timely composures. My lungs are the sky filled with inhalation. My chest hugging the roundness of this earth. I whisper into the ear of the oncoming night. I tell of our boldness to leave the enactment, to dismiss all the behavioral parts, to put all of our cells in the bleachers as watchers filled with delight in their meltdown from self-sense and otherwise distinctions. But where we are so, there is no baggage of self or selves, no personage of either of us, no story that propelled us to hear of our honor, no karma heretofore to disrobe from. Experience, for each of us, got to ride shotgun in the getting here, sits with now, facing the past, with its motor running. I have had sex with you through others,
like following a series of luminescent levitating bread crumbs on a journey towards wholeness of being.
Wherever and whenever you were orgasmic-ally combustible, beacons from you sent off pulses in all directions throughout the energetic fabric of the universal field of play. I, in receivership, gathered all of these, your timeless luminary tones into my cathedral made of waterspouts from tears of yearning, until these never-setting tones were as a flock, so rich as to defy space for its lack of modesty, so pure of focus as to spurn time for its contrivance of regimens, so sacred as to dismiss the illusions of polarities, paradoxes and, positionalities, so consecrated with isness as to release locality, personage, and consciousness from their restrictive binds. I have had sex with you through others, was repeatedly written on my clothes, my sheets, my car, the surface of my ethereal contact lenses through the eyesight of my life, the legible patterns that rain would fall in front of my vision, in the flyby arrangement of fireflies on dreamy summer nights in my mind, in the creases of folds, in the pauses between breaths, until there were no more others. Until we all met, way up the evolutionary ascendency. It was there that I stopped having sex with you through others. It was a there that was not of a there, of any there, that had ever been a there. It was a there that had no I, no stopped, no sex, no you and no others. And once there, there, of course, had no I to question any of it forever more . . .

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