ELECTRIC BLACK
I’m tired. Quiet honestly, I’m exhausted. I go to SFSU a few days a week to
teach and I have to leave Lobot at 7:30 just to get there on time. On any
given night, he and I don’t finish fucking for the second or third time until
three or four in the morning. We can’t stop ourselves. Sometimes the
first time is for love mixed with the untempered animal desire of fantasy
that has been building all day while we occupy social space. With that out
of our system, we go at it again for tenderness, which all to often thrusts
us into the rilkeian vacuity together, that death (what is beauty if not
terror). The third time we fuck, then, is a slow and quiet dance to bring us
back into the world, back into the world of ivory. If ivory were a tarot card
it would be the magician, a figure full of potentiality, really, number one in
the arcanum, so the first figure born. In addition, the magician has all four
suits at his disposal: two material and two spiritual, and as an alchemist,
his character synthesizes all the elements. To describe ivory by its
opposite would be to invoke “the nameless arcanum” in the Tarot of
Marseille and what most other decks bluntly call death. What else can
one call it? I’m on the edge of a tortuous climax that won’t satiate. I cum
and I’m hungry. I cum and I want to cut my clit off I’m so hungry. I’m
fucking dying.