Kissing the stomach
kissing your scarred
skin boat. History
is what you've travelled on
and take with you
We've each had our stomachs
kissed by strangers
to the other
and as for me
I bless everyone
who kissed you here
Tuesdays are my long days. I left my house at 8.30 and got home at 7. One presentation, 2 papers complete. 2 more papers to edit before I fall asleep on Thursday night. I am so content and satisfied with everything right now. I guess happiness is not exciting. This post is boring, but a nice break after having finished editing and sifting through a shitload of theory and my own convoluted thoughts.
When I was fucking you, earlier, I scraped my knee on the window sill when you grabbed my body and brought me closer. The skin scraped off and I now have a large bruise decorated with torn skin. My body is a collection of bruises.
When I dug my fingernails into your back the nail on my left thumb ripped off, right where the nail hits the skin. I bled on my sheets.
Both of these events excited and aroused me.
What would Freud say about that? I know, but I won't say. I am sick of writing about Freud and Lacan. I love Derrida. There is no center!!
There is also absolutely nothing to be afraid of.
ps. this blog got me in trouble. Fun shit.
Photos by Lina Scheynius, who is amazing, found via somerequired.