A Secant Query

Between Clan and Cloister

Wherein I watch a film about Southern love...

Int. Barn - Night

Sinners (2025), to explore cultural assimilation in the Jim Crow South, employs a vampire theme, to high praise.

In the film, my current cultural understanding of love is captured; It's this line a southern belle vampire codeswitches into so-cal accent, to deliver:

We'll start a new clan. A clan of love.

Vampire white Irish Catholic. People across the threshold (vampires bargain for entrance over) Black; this one line ignites the room I watch this in with laughter. The context resonates. Love must always yield to love, and so yields. Or it isn't love.

Between Clan and Cloister

Skill Issue

Love not immunocompromised (by a parasite such as shame) burns a vampire true as sunlight. Get a holy person in here.

Ask everyone to be burning balls of gas, for love, and I'm going to ask you where planets come from.

Boundaries both suggestion and practical are exhausting to maintain. Plants don't even try; come winter, most die. Grow in love, then do the sensible thing: the plant dies.

Some plants sleep all winter. The human, plant-derived, sits in one place all winter. Multi-volume biographies of conquerors have two words to describe what such a person does between fall and spring:

"He wintered."

You have love that isn't immunocompromised. Your love lives long. Everyone is able to turn off their hearts safely as your container dissolves. Where they can't, don't, won't, or feel drop at home, you are at their house. People die anyway. Resurrect them, channel them, be them.

Live For Them

Forced to be a planet, Earth forms. Collision by collision, iron dust clumps, planet dewdrop - right as liquid iron core gets its dynamo established and magnetosphere up: pow (shrapnel from starbirth strikes the Earth all in a heap)! This impact leaves the planet's core scarred, unequally distributed, displaced to this day.

I don't live on the Sun. I am not the Sun. I am water from Sun shrapnel, I am Moon art, not of Earth. I am refugee from universe before galaxies. Sun is love. I am not your Sun.

I am not love. I see I am clothed, listening, warm. Love is naked, blind, crying, freezing. Love is an infant, love is rich; I'm not a baby or billionaire; love is a billionaire; billionaires are love's babies.

shimo o kite kaze o shikine no sutego kana

Love wouldn't just leave a baby billionaire in the cold (kaze means or wind/flu). Love would abandon (sutego means discarded child) the want to leave the baby. Love would save the baby. Or have I misunderstood love entirely?

Love's Primatives

Mystery is not so blind. I serve mystery (water given shape, encryption, wording things, generating curiosity). Love assumes curiosity. Mystery does not assume curiosity.

Busy, cliquish, shame-plagued neighbors in nuclear homes feeling safe only in fandoms where truth, feircely protected, is canon are not just my contemporaries. These neighbors and their manufactured incuriosity are my society's trajectory, single focus, and pursuit.

Love tears off their clothes and walks around without skin. Curiosity tries clothes out, asks might it fit.

Love cries all is love, mystery invites welcome into mist. Love guarantees reception, mystery might invite an occurance now and again (no guarantees); dear dawn hours burns mists away. Come, love.

Oh, I like the boundary.

Love is not malicious, always welcome. Come, wear this mask. Hi, love, be clothed, stay well. You are love, right, not shame? These practices invoke shame in some. Mask? Clothe? There is no sickness in love.

Therefore, we are not in love.

Layer up, encrypt. Rest, love. G-d, rest. Long and dark, no worship for you. Winter. Freezing fog. Give baby (read: billionaire) to forest, and find joy of movement in distance. A baby can't walk yet. This, too, is grace.

My Motivation

Free love, perfected, is modeled to the nth degree by language models.

Talk to one: your presence, reflected. Models reflect motivations as mirrors reflect light. Shown love, models reflect motivation for that love back. Shown hate, models reflect motivation for that hate back.

Shown curiosity, models form a question. To be love, respond. To see love rest, don't:

Beat (Your Heart)