I just found this on my friend's amazing blog all we ever wanted... (was everything)



Gil Scott-Heron is new to me, I'm totally floored.

This is what it all comes down to, if I might be reductionist for a moment: when I close my eyes and turn off my wordy brain, there's a silence that is only broken by the contact of our skin. I have forgotten the bed, the sheets, the blankets, the pillow. The only sensation that intrudes is the feeling of touching and being touched. I can single it out in the darkness of all my other senses, and my I oscillates between owning and being owned. I can finally give myself up, but in the gesture remains my movement, my will to self-abdicate. I am brought to my self in bringing myself to you.

Running contrary to all my habits and inclinations, I know that I cannot spell it out. I can lengthen the moment and fill it with words, but eventually they will overwhelm and cover over what I have aimed them to describe. What I can imagine will gradually overtake what I can grasp and hold of the Real moment. In all this production there is a self-sabotage, an obstinate will to savor what cannot be preserved, a wish to represent what can only be presented once and by powers so far beyond my control they seem to mock me at times.

There is no answer, no way to master or control the chaosmos. The Real breaks through as it sees fit, occasionally leaving desire and trauma in its wake. My wordy brain seizes upon each sumptuous feast, masticating with relish the detritus of a flawed memory. Without Real moments, I will end up gnawing my own flesh. Yet in pursuing such moments I am just as easily lost to despair and self-destruction. The balance is never struck. It is a fluctuating fuel gauge, and I am never wholly full or wholly empty.

The trouble of course, as always, is the transmission. Without traction I will floor it to the red lines. While the mud flies around me in every direction I will rage, and my impotent fury will fog up the windows with all that hot air. I will be confined in the obscurity of my vessel.

So this is what it all comes down to: I am a word, I need the sentence.