I only like to write in the quiet, lonely hours of the night, when all the other lights are put out. I sit, and the imagery comes to me more swiftly than before, when the sun was high. I was thinking today about virtue and desire— when does appetite become a tumor upon the moral conscience. If you know your own heart, does that purify the act, or merely decorate the decay?
And then, out of the blue, I remembered the song 'Smell Yo Dick' by Riskay... thoughts at this hour travel in strange areas of the unseen world. But it brought me back to a thought I've held mulling for a long time. something raw and real beneath all our perfumed performances: the intimacy of scent. Not just recognizing how someone smells, but wanting it. Being settled by it. Isn’t that romance in its most honest, animal form? To be drawn not by words or gestures, but by some deep, cellular call? a genetic whisper that says here, this one, here is home.
why not so romantic - to have your pairing fated by some twist of genetics and the development of an individuals olfactory senses and preferences?! too weird? maybe so. we ain't nothing but mammals, says the rapper. all of us animals, whether we want to believe so or pretend not. dressing ourselves in fancy words and postures, pretending we’ve evolved beyond the truth of what draws us. are two legs better than four? my spider friends don't think so. I like to remind myself that I'm just a critter too, no better or worse than they are, and we live together in harmony. nature's mosquitto repellent when the dragonflies won't come by.