The confinement of the body often unravels the darkest shades of one’s spirit. As the body feels threatened that it will get dehydrated it signals the brain to reach out for anything that could keep its juices running. This is probably why we are overwhelmed by a desire that cannot truly be addressed to one face. This obviously changes if there is a face to address this desire to. Indeed, dear reader, I am describing the series of random sexting that you have been exposed to or have engaged with over the past few weeks. And oh so simply, you find yourself in the middle of a debate between Hume and Buddha. The arguments are astonishingly similar, yet the conclusion regarding the action you should engage with is not easy. Should you choose to maximise the pleasure and minimise the pain? Should you experience yet another post-pleasure futility as the bodies shall never unite and the spirits have only shared a polite virtual coffee together?
What is it that urges us to be so unapologetically bold with our biological needs? What is it that allows us to interpret them through the blurriest of windows, yet using words that were only meant to be used in promises that only spirits can submit to? Why am I so obscurely broken? Why do I keep on searching for inspiration and kicking this series of opportunities of meaningless entertainment? I shall dare to approach you with a clean slate. I shall dare to carve on it a “You?” and look at you dead in the eyes. Is it you? Is there a you in my life? Are you a “you” I am allowed to visit when I feel the pores of my skin rising before the emptiness of the room? Is there room for a “me” after the “you”? Should I even start to pick the most fitting of symbols to connect the two? I try to reach you and you dissolve like the smoke of my freshly lit cigarette. I bow my head waiting for the smoke that construes the presence of you that I am allowed to accept to breathe lies and dreams in my torn little mind. Yet you don’t even say a word even if you are standing there looking at your screen anticipating a text from me. And should that scenario be true, I cannot resist satisfying my inner need to state that I respect you for that.
But what do I know about “you”s and “me”s?
I am nothing but a dreamer – pretty eccentric to please.
featured image: Unsplash | Kyle Head | @kyleunderscorehead