Between Fuck and Needs
Wherein I leave liking sex...
Between Fuck and Needs
Of thresholds I've built to attempt to like sex, some thresholds remain notable works of art.
Gallery Brochure
Plants can be quite sexual, some're asexual or somasexual; the human is a quotient of photosynthesis; therefore, the human embodies landscapes of asexuality.
Where you are (bee in my emotional landscape) is likely in a place all plants are reproducing asexually. Though you are, of flow, free to make this about yourself, as bee, it's hardly your fault! I likely see you more brittle star on coral than fruit fly on orange grove. Colors of my flag serve well here: the black is for asexuality. May the other colors shine, babe.
As you buzz through these thresholds, may you recognize them for what they are - attempts to connect. Attempts that took energy. Attempts rest asks from.
In our "challenge accepted" culture, such a gallery is likely new to you, all the asexual life in photosynthesis scrubbed from the human experience long ago.
Your being here serves as connection. I need you enough, not pollonating. Some periods are microsemicolons.
Gallery Proper
In one attempt at connection, I define sex as intercourse after a number of encounters non-intercoursal. In 2014, that number was 30 hours across 90 day. One suiter went so far as to call that control freak behavior. Perhaps that strike's why you fly through what seems to be in a heap.
In another attempt at connection, I define sex as various verbs: standing together, speaking, playing games, holding hands. Some cis-white once said "I seem to be a verb," may you add six words of your own, and exist in this attempt to connect. For what context it holds, I can't say, but mine might be: "fuck me as one, or leave."
Another attempt still, I define sex by negation; Sex, what fails to violate; consent (that's sex). As charming as "consent is sexy" is, it, too, has its range. Reality can't ask the planet's consent to transform...
"Oops,"
- 🌄 (dawn)
...so, too, the occasional invitation to state my needs will constitute as sex. All attempts at connection. Too.
The Gift Shop
As you leave the gallery, be invited to note your path.
Words you read, or, dare, even said: did they exist prior to this moment; note the sun ((outside the hydrothermal) all illuminated surfaces). You may know attempts at connection include pores, pupils. Idle attention. Get it here.
You may feel without purpose, lost. In attempts at connection, my need: for you to be enough. To feel lost, too, is connection, though not one this gallery meant to grant. Here, take my notes, from need school.
On the house. I thank your attempt - I'll see you out.
Notes from Need School
To need fish, I must first learn that needing is possible. This lesson may take me several lifetimes.
Today we practiced pointing at things without apologizing for our fingers.
In class, I note how the fish want water without asking permission. This was later on the test.
In town, I'm asked what my needs are. I respond "to know what needing feels like." They get quiet. I ask if my needs are valid; they sob.
I was washing dishes, when a shooting star fell. I wouldn't interrupt the flow, to practice needing to know if falling needs make a sound.
During recess, I trade my need for a thousand other's needs, only to find out needs aren't met by those that outlive them.
After class, I'm thanked for doing the dishes, but that it won't be enough to continue classes.