I splash upon you gently ; tornadoes whirl through goblets of Dionysian laughter. Making sense is folly when reverie transforms words into clouds. I drink your eyes as a desert madman at an impossible oasis. Sails ascend from fleets of ships seeking your foreign shores, and billowing, I blow myself breath by breath towards your distant presence. Carelessly, walking is a kind of stumbling, a falling forward again and again ; life moves forward nought without falling, as I fall in love. Surely this motion moves more than vain treadmills drawn out for us as success ; my success is in the wine of our company and excursions. Many a time have I sought excursions upon your skin, and oddly imagine my fluids as fruits I squeeze and burst as scents and flavors upon your gasping and hungry meat.

A colorful and rude peasant in your arms, I stroll through old towns and drink from their fountains while you chase pigeons ; alas, a thousand lives are led with beautiful intensity, everyone of them ours, yet this place, this awful city which cages our desires, speaks none of them, and the hordes within starve for lack of spontaneity or art. Yes, it is true : when we love, Ancestors hold orgies between us ; even quarrels are secret legacies of ghosts we cannot see. Be therefore Many with me, my love ; the city is but a bad metaphor for the metropolitan nature of the soul.

Our lives rot for lack of Imagination and Daring ; your absence breeds dreams of conspiring with you to create Impossibilities and Textures of Abandon and Rebellion. Like scavengers in an apocalypse, let us scatter like rats into the catacombs of secret shrines, gardens, and communes of beauty, making nonsense our only salvation.

Dreams will not fit into measuring cups ; and desires are cut and wounded sifted through schedules ; it takes Madness to liberate us from overcautious prudence, a sad pragmatism which prohibits abandon with careful doses of fear. What is possible is what is Dared! Let this love be impossible as we dare the world to be as well, opening ourselves to let Universes churn through and warp the assumptions. I dance for your eyes' delight, my exhibitionist fantasy crying out for your voyeuristic salivation ; sing, sing, sing upon my limbs and curves with gracious tones of heat that probe my pores for greater dancings! I want the seekings and advancings which lead to chasings and surprisings ; make history upon this bed, and let revolution upset the court into furious revisionings of aristocratic ambience : let us all be sultans and sheiks, tho' self-declared --- we rule the world from our bedroom!

I transform immensely in your arms ; indeed, I await the hour when defenses drop and traumas from past lives release their hold. Then, resplendant, our lives will scintillate fragrantly and gloriously like ripples in a pond reflecting fireworks ; this excitement weaving a garment of ecstasy between us. Only further and further Inspirations ; and when darkness arises? Ah, then, Sadeian tricksters, we masquerade and make the darkness delight us, too.

My palms cup and hold Happinesses I have never known ; carefully I nurture every possibility my life may hold. Gazing, skrying, I smile at the Unknown and wish it sensuously to penetrate our lives with mystery and fortification. Building us in Great Strength ; our love, a Proletariat refusing all direction and regimentation, Unstoppable. May your heart flouresce and blossom ; even now, I smell the sweet aroma of your irrepressible and inevitable joy. (un)leash

I really miss you. I'm missing you, and I'm missing getting to know you. I feel lonely and I want to share myself with you. I want to do the scary thing and be vulnerable and see how it feels, I want to hold and be held, I want to take your cigarettes and fling them to the wind in exchange for a thousand kisses. Words fail me. Or I fail words. I become excited thinking of you. Then I think of your absence. Then my excitement becomes suspended, becomes anxiety? becomes loneliness? becomes confusion. A week from tomorrow and you will be home. Surely you still exist because you write me wonderful letters, and this apartment surely didn't furnish itself out of nowhere. And I remember looking into your eyes when we make love. Will I be able to do that again?

One of my tasks has always been integration, and it's a very difficult and dynamic job, probably for anyone, but especially for someone as complex as me. I want to be my whole self, not just the moment or the remainder, but my whole momentum. So I circle back and try to reclaim old moments and reintegrate them. Therefore, I went through some old journals to try to appropriate their thrust, but it can be very exhausting. It can be like living a whole time period over again in a very short amount of time. I start to get burned out, and feel like, what's the point? what have I accomplished? And yet, I know I'm accomplishing something by doing what I'm doing. Not many people have this high ethic of mine, this ideal or value of Integration. Most people are quite comfortable living in denial, running, running, living this moment and fuck the past. But I want to be every me I've ever been. I am now and I am 1977 and I am 1969 and I am 1994. I am all the people who've influenced me. I am all the people I have loved. I am all the people I have hated. The more I integrate them, the more me I become, and the more I honor everyone I've interacted with. But it is a phenomenal task. It's like mandala work. Where you try to compress all of your different psychic forces into one symbol, one circle. It's like I'm doing that again and again. It's a moving, changing mandala, like a kaleidoscope. I'm engaged in a kaleidoscopic process. Sometimes when I get exhausted by this process, I wonder "Who cares? No one cares that you're doing this. No one understands this ethic. No one values it." But then I remember Nietzsche talking about the creation of values. The superman creates values. And I think of Gene Roddenberry, who wanted to create an ideal or an ethic for the future of humanity. It is the strong ones who create a new value that no one understands. Yet they set it so it can become a beacon, something alluring, something one wants to reach for.

It must be so wonderful to be simple, to not have so many things one is reaching for. When I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I used to say "A Renaissance Man". I want to stretch to the ends of the world with my capacities, discover all I can discover, reintegrate that into a creative synthesis, give back to the world, give, give, give. I want to digest the intelligence of the world and collect it within my breast as thick, nourishing milk. To become a breast, to give, give, give. Suck on my tits. I want to nurse you with intelligence. I want to be a Niacin of fascination, flush you with a head rush, feel the world circulating back upon you in endless feedback loops. I want to be a glorious failure, a loving friend, a poet in the wind, a dashing lover, a teacher and a scoundrel but most of all a learner, someone who learns. Not passively, but actively. Learning as making love. With the world. Learning as something generative.

Ok, ok, I know I'm going off, but I have so much passion inside, and sometimes it's so hard to articulate it, and I want to share that passion with you, I want to play with you, I want to be difficult and marvelous and bratty and see if you will play along. I want to be exhuberance itself, and invite you inside me. I want my fingers to become transmitters of images, feelings, messages. If my fingertips could take the feeling of a soft pillow, or my eyes could look poems of draperies blowing in the window breeze, or lick your cheek and you would taste my shiverings at feelings I don't even understand ; or, my fingers deep inside your wombspace, feeling your thick, gorgeous muscles pulsate against me like some briny anenome of the deep seas, I would lap at your clit tickling you into laughters that pull me inside you, laughter that says make love to me, laughter that is inviting and frightening. I could place you on an altar and worship you, then demand the same from you. Reacquaint me with your soft pleadings, your rippling flesh, your deep cavern that grips and caresses me so lovingly and desperately. Let me learn your lips, your eyes, your lobes all over again, again and again, in a breathless eternity of reverie, a place where nothing is but this breath, a place where we become as children, huddling, shivering, big eyes. The Dragon emerges from the earth and takes the Billygoat. The Billygoat craves the fire of the Dragon ; the Dragon cherishes the independence of the Billygoat. Your Billygoat, my Capricorn, takes my Scorpio Dragon to the heights of mountain cliffs, leaping, leaping, from rock to rock, its nostrils steaming in the cold Alpine air. Your Pansexual goatfur nestles me, cradles me, sets my Dragon's scales on edge, shimmering within you ; you are the virgin it must have. Your lusty goat drips for the fire of my loins ; I want to give you all the treasure I have in the world, then dash you off to my lair. The Rape of Persephone : will you spend six months in the shadows with me in my kingdom? Then surely I will spend the spring and summer in your Alpine meadows, smelling the flowers, and leaping gaily from rock to rock.

Do you see? I'm foolish, I'm useless, I'm utterly absurd ; a Wilde boy crying out to his Lady in the midst of Europe. Let me do cartwheels in your museums, let me sing serenades by your statues.

I do apologize for my excesses, my dear ; and believe me, I would much rather be droll, but without your arms and your lips and your eyes and your face and your ears and your legs and your belly to grasp and hold and be expressive with, I must do a clumsy job with these phonemic concantenations. Playboy, I, arrogant as hell, knowing full well he could have any woman he pleases, am pleased and proud to have this one, grandly awaiting your return for blessings and bestowals of the most royal and dastardly sorts, servicing you with my loyalties and attentions, most faithful while you have been gone, wishing your every moment ecstatic, your every absence a missing presence that floats through my bloodstream shedding question marks asking "when?". And now I know it is but more than a week, I resign my heart to the cultivation of this wine with which, although now sour to taste these feelings of miss, I hope to get foolishly drunk with you when you return.

your Jester, Lover, Hare, and Monster,

(un)leash

burning for you this burning consumes me and i, a shining star, desire to be consumed by you. this astrology of the body pales supernovas as orgasmic geometry scintillates across our surface and creates electric beings whose sensations are emotions whose emotions are organisms whose organisms are spirit. And right there in the salt, not the etherium, there in the salt, I feel you, salty, briny, pulsating with me ; heart open, vulnerable, eyes in another dimension... is this folly or religion, chaos or perfection ... to grasp at perfection, no, to glide across it, to know it, to sustain it, on this plane, the plane of your skin -- these are dreams worth dreaming. i know not what they mean. but my mind is stretched by possibilities shown in our cradling that baffle me with awe to no end. (un)leash

Love,

What I want is love, of course, always I want love, it is consistent... I really liked your letter, it was very vulnerable and authentic, and sharing. I too have felt frightened of what I must do. It can feel like a burden. Maybe the acorn gets intimidated by thinking of the big oak it will become. I too await your blossoming my dear, with patience and love, because I want the best for you. when you really feel that you're the apple of someone's eye, when you feel it deep within, then flirtations and connections don't bother you -- at least not as much, if at all. I wish I could be the apple of your eye. I know sometimes I'm helpful, and maybe I'm a good companion. But I wish I had the power to make you come alive. Well, I guess that's trying to push the river, it must flow on its own. Does any of this make sense? Anyway, I will trust you, I do. And thank you for sharing with me. It is good to care for people. And we do need diverse energies.

I am happy for our potty humor, our wisecracks late at night, our making funny faces at each other, our holding each other, our laughing at the world, our making love, and our talks. Rest assured I am studying the texts you enjoy so I can come to know your world better, so I can share it with you and talk about it with you. I know I read so much, sometimes it seems the only pleasure I have, but I do make time to read what will help me to know you and love you and appreciate you even more than I already do. And I am willing to go to museums and look at paintings with you. I'll try to stretch my visual sense. Sometimes it's so powerful I can only take in a little at a bit.

You ask me if we have a child, can we name her "your majesty". We can name her "your majesty", if we can name the next one "the troublemaker". *Wink* I just want you to know, that I am scared of life, too. So we will hold each other and figure it out together, if you would like. I am so ruled by fear sometimes it is insane. I try to create little pockets of courage. Maybe we could pool ours together and do something wonderful.

Love, (un)leash

my love, stars in my eyes shine brightly at the sound of your voice gurgling in my ear like the rushing rapids of my heart starved for the sounds of my love ... each day has been an unopened package i wait for your clothes to strip off in merriment upon your return. my belly misses your back and my lips crave delicacies 6000 miles away, yet i hear a little girl wanting to absorb home and not come back so early ... my love, much as i crave you and wish you here with me now, you must follow your heart and listen to the voice inside ... please, set aside the capricorn for the moment and listen to what your heart tells you ... it is so important in life to do so ... if your heart truly desires for you to stay with your mother longer, screw the practical stuff of "getting stuff done" (which I can tell by your email your heart isn't into anyway). I will of course prepare (y)our house for you, but I want you to think seriously about feeding your need for mom. Any mother would love to have her daughter longer. You are so assertive when it comes to anything else. You are so "Don't tell me what to do" about little things ; be so for your heart. It matters. Whatever you decide I will support. Tell that little girl I love her immensely, and I have been keeping her pictures by my bed. Remember, the only hope for an authentic life is to follow your heart. If you violate your self, then what will you have to share? Your heart is so weary of violation and betrayal that you must seek it out. When she is moody, she only needs attention. Yes, of course, I would love to come and make love to you. If I could become an owl and fly over the north pole, i would land in your dreams and run through the flowers with you. If a virgin devirginized is "deflowered", then, my dear, as we made love, I would re-flower you again and again, till you were bursting with blossom. Please excuse these words which cannot touch the desperate desire with which my lust and gusto reach out towards you in mouth watering anticipation of your downy embrace. my bride, you are a swan ; glide gracefully and regally across the moors of love. I, a scoundrel, pursue you endlessly, but then, mischeviously, I disappear, as a gift. A gift so you may find me missing, and have the pleasures of pursuit yourself. Oh yes, my love, come to my door and enter our special hallway, looking at me with that joy in your eyes, that desire-which-cannot be held back. Just try to read "Death of A Salesman" and see what dastardly and delicious inflictions I may mount. Mountainous, I mount you, heaving geologically as I buck against your rear with earthquakes and shudderings of sheer passion and wild abandon : my mind gone, my spirit soaring, my body inseparable from your hungry and frenzied flesh. I would play with you! I would run through a thousand spontaneities with you, stealing you from the habitual cells where sometimes you cower while older and more responsible ones within take charge with desperado. With this map of murals I will whisk you from location to location, where we will imitate every pose, and slyly, invent poses of our own! We shall capture flowers and throw them at passersby and autos, dancing through the streets with colored crepe paper streaming from our prancing shoulders while we laugh furiously, our laughter a sound the muggles will come to fear! For I would share such joy with you my love, joy your heart has been held back for for so long ; joy as you have never known since you dreamed in the womb ; come with me to that prenatal state and we shall regrow each other into such creatures and monsters of marvelous insinuations! No longer held back by being "human", you shall feel your body transforming, and know what it is like to be a shapeshifter. your imagination shall become a sword with which you shall cut through the dross of this society, and beaming, you shall be worshipful. modeling for your marvelous photographic contraptions, while you photodocument my delapitated and effulgent street theatre and performance art, we shall become the envy of many! yes! what better art than to create a romance so invigorating, so self-recharging, so in touch with the currents of life, that the mouths of lovers everywhere water with inspiration! Create with me a thousand eccentricities, yes, my love, i want to turn our nights together into terrible conspiracies where we remake the world in our imaginations, leaving no stone unturned, conjuring utopias both incredible and perverse ; and convoluted, with a baroque sense of ecstasy, leading each other maze by maze through treasure hunts and labyrinths with hide and seek games where now you run, now I chase, then now I lead, and now you follow, down into murky grottoes where dark goddesses are worshipped! These we can dare! Dare all with me, my flower, and six thousand echoes of a siren's seductive cantaras will explode as flocks of birds each seeking out their nest. the key to fate, good destiny, is weird ; this is the ancestral secret I share with you from my Germanic ancients. For magic is only found when we habitually unhabituate ourselves and seek out quirks and eccentricities that labyrinth us into delights. That bubbly, brewing, brimming, scheming, bouncing, light!sense!of!mischief! makes the world go round, shhhhhh don't tell the scientists! the more we weird ourselves, the more our destiny comes to us, deep and fulfilling, bringing secrets and surprises. let's open them! we'll make christmas everyday, as halloween as well! furthermore, every day thanksgiving, for we will be full to the overflow, with gratitude a delight in creation itself! A fairy lives inside you, you must find her. How many creatures hide within your walls? o! your walls are flesh, and how i would storm those walls! blowing trumpets against jericho's walls, i climb and spy your naked form bathing, whisper, pssssst come away with me! the city is about to be overthrown! let us go to the forest and the hills where lycanthropes live, where women turn to wolves, and the moon becomes us! My bride, how beautiful you were that day at the wedding. Do not let the awful return from that trip dullen and darken that exquisite weekend. We must get away more often! And how proud I was to have you by my side, with oh! the way your eyes admired me! And I knew, knew full in my heart as every man should know of his love, that you chose and love me to the fullest, that your pride was brimming in me as my pride was brimming in you. let us walk away from this dark night and onto the ballroom floor again, my dear ; spin me around, and look up into my eyes so I may kiss you! let us theatre your incubated rage and dark resentments from years past so that you and I shan't must be played by them in wounded love. play or be played, let us play, as active creators. my love, my love is ambitious ; i seek dynamic monogamy which scintillates and dances and co-evolves together out of the static into the ecstatic : with one bold leap into creativity and mutuality, we lead each other, out into excursions that refreshen and embolden. Never have you gardened my love, but my Aunt Angela gardened, and I watched her, and learned the secrets, the very secrets! it is a tale seldom told these days, but life grows and renews itself if allowed to deeply be what it is! what a precious and important secret! come out with me into the garden, and you will see. You will see plants you have planted growing and becoming on their own, in wild and wooly ways you never anticipated! something in your heart will turn, and against all betrayals, you will come to trust the deep impulse of life itself! this i know! and once we have tasted this fountain of youth together, never ever shall we be forlorn or hopeless again, for even while one of us lie crying, the other's eyes brighten and dance with visions of new hopes and mischiefs! this we can do together, our marriage a continual mutual midwifings into new births and incarnations! these words are true! these words are fierce! these words are feral and escape my control, like bloodhounds in the darkness seeking out your scent! seek now conspiracies of imagination and delight ; this magic you love in Harry Potter we shall create in our own lives and I swear it my love if you will commit to the adventure of radical growth and continual evolvement! yes! I promise you! let home come and reside in your heart, and when your heart calls, return to me, unveiling, enraptured, lost in our embrace. Then share, share with me a taste of heart's home, the fragrance of mommy that now transplanted grows alive and autonomous within you. take the time for your soul and it will reward the both of us a millionfold! sink deeply into your experience ; truly this moment is eternal, and if you lap it up ecstatically enough, it will be available for you forever. i want this for you, my love ; i want your exquisite and decadent development and unfoldment ; i want you to become so astonishing and seething that you worship yourself! As I, too, shall worship! and lost in those groves, we shall discover each other. your naked ass blushes as i daydream its impact against my groin. enjoy for it is joy i wish for both of us with great admiration and respect, with uncapturable desire and loving lust, (un)leash

Love, We all want healing to be instantaneous, but the real life within us is organic and can't be forced consciously, though it can be nurtured. How true your dream is. Sometimes in order to get home, we have to get out of the one room we're in. It's so easy to get stuck in one room. But home is the whole house, the entire mansion, with all of its rooms and multiplicity. Home is the outside grounds with its gardens and trees. Home is the woods surrounding the gardens. Perambulation is the key to health : walking around and through the labyrinth of our multiplicity. Only in the maze do we discover the a-maze-ing. Only in that simple walking do we find our simplicity. You are too amazing to remain in any one room. And the call to come home is the basic call of spirituality.That's what guides us to our path. And when we walk our path, we bless not only ourselves, but the entire world. We become the ingredient "God" needs to make a delicious recipe of earth. We all know spontaneity can't be forced, only tended to, like a garden. When you are ready to speak what is in your soul, you will speak. And know that I await your emergence with relish and celebration. I think it's odd, but sometimes sadness marks the birth of the new. Some beautiful things are only borne into this world through melancholy, but once they are here, they blossom. Think that the most beautiful weather is often filled with that sense of passing of life, the ephemeral and melancholy nature of existence. Sometimes when we're sad we're feeling parts of ourselves pass away and other parts pass through and within. Sadness is one part of the alchemy of transformation. I know there is so much in you that is dormant. I hope I can be there with you as you midwife that into expression. I will hold you in my dreams. I will sit with you while you collect your feelings. My body really needs expression. I think I will make a habit to go to a club by myself at least once every two weeks from now on. I haven't been to a club in months. I need that dancing to get my body into celebration. I think embodiment is very important to me. I feel that if your body doesn't get all the expression it needs, it expresses itself through symptomology. There's really only two things that help me feel alive and sane and embodied, and those are : running wild (like I do at clubs), and sex, both of which at their best are reinvigorating cases of going totally insane. I need that kind of "physical insanity". I don't know, maybe I really am a sexual person. It seems like I need this kind of expressiveness several times a week. I am going to try to do some breathing exercises, stretches, and bouncings, as well as dancings, to try to get this all out. I am really like a storm, my love. If I don't get all of this out regularly, it wreaks havoc inside. But I have found through dancing and making love, I can turn this storm into a beautiful form of art. I think there's parts of me that are starving, so I have to figure out how to feed myself better. It probably has to do with getting out of the one room I'm in, so I can find home, too! But I think marriage can be a spiritual partnership where people can help each other find the energies they need to prosper. It's like permaculture : you have to design the garden so that there is enough diversity that spontaneity can prosper ; otherwise, the full "nutrition" -- not just physical, but energetic -- is not available. But once the right alchemy is there, the permacultural garden runs on its own, it replenishes itself naturally. That is what I think we are trying to do : to learn how to replenish ourselves naturally. By shedding old habits and trying to learn new patterns that take better care of ourselves, habits that bring us both into better communication, interaction, and caring, the system begins to run itself without getting static, remaining dynamic. But we are such children (not just you and me, but everyone in modern culture), and it is so, so very difficult to be in touch with our many sides and satisfy them. It's difficult to learn how to balance all this. To learn the alchemy is the most difficult task. I hope I am making a good stab at it. I get impatient. And sometimes that impatience is good. It's sides of myself that I am neglecting telling me with force their importance. But I need to remind them that manifestation takes time. There is always a gestation period. I think -- and this may sound crazy but -- when people do bad things, it is because too many beautiful sides of themselves have been neglected for too long, and they emerge into this world with violence and carelessness rather than caring. It's so easy for people to get lazy, because it can be difficult to be aware of all the energies moving amidst and through and within oneself. Yet this awareness is precisely what is needed to be able to effectively midwife and bring into balance all the necessary forces. Unfortunately, many people stay out of awareness until things have built up to a head, and then whammo! all this stuff comes out. It's also difficult to remain aware in a culture that is built for denial. It can make it more difficult to function. It's like, shut up world, I'm trying to figure out how to be me. I know that if I can figure out how to be me, and everyone else does likewise, then this world will come to work on a principle of spontaneity rather than a forced labor camp. And it is its functioning as a forced labor camp that makes a farce out of all our creativity. For how can creativity function in a world where the basic assumption is that of a gulag? Well, these things take time to work themselves out ; a good proportion of humanity has been struggling with this long before you and I were born, for the past 8000 or so years, but I know that people like you and me can begin to be the soul places where changes and transmutations occur. It really is true, though, that civilization itself is living through us. There is an entire historical process that lives itself out through our lives. Thus the wisdom of cultures like the Dagarra where they tell couples that the bedroom is filled with ghosts of ancestors who want to incarnate. It literally is true. We are enmeshed in a drama that will play us out. But through awareness, we can balance these forces so that they don't take us over. Or rather, since that is a rather distancing approach, so that when they take us over, that possession is ecstatic and world-renewing, rather than continuing the legacy. I will be awaiting your arms with eager anticipation. I hope to be devoured, and in turn, to devour. I will soothe you with my gentle breezes, and release the storm in rages of ecstasy. I look forward with hope to the next creative stage of our development, funded by new insights and dreams, replenishings, tendings, spontaneities, fulfillments. To further feasts and festivals of romance!!!

Tell everyone of you that I love all of you. And I will see you very, very soon.

I cherish you, bunny!

Yours, (un)leash

My love, I drift gently towards sleep, allowing your words to cradle me. I would sing you lullabies while we cast out pardons for all the world's sins and gave permission slips to everyone who wants to do anything. Cruelly, with whips, we shall march the streets at night eager to punish anyone whose idiocy does not entertain us ; and we shall disarm anyone who tries to stop us. I wish you well on your journeys, even as my cock craves the journey into your sweet, wet cave. Like a dragon guarding a waterfall ; ghostly, I visit your Taoist shrine. O luscious odor of your lust, exhude forward with giggling and giddiness. I will make faces in your face while your voice utters lude noises my laughter cannot avoid. Like drunken queens, we slumber away the night in mad exhibitions and ridiculous vulgarities. Life without your intense perversity is like being starved with bland and tasteless food ; only your Wrongness makes everything Right. You who Mock All Idols, twisting them mercilessly to the utmost desecration, your catastrophic laughter is satisfying to my tastebuds.

I would make of you a Queen. If we will not play with demons, will they not work us to death? A dance of gargoyles in our salacious conversation ; to sacrilege and make love our only joys! I miss your rich festivals of tofu dip and french bread, your carob cookies, your earthy stews. I miss the times that, arrayed on the fur blanket spread on the living room floor, we passed grape juice between each other's lips while breaking bread, a communion of rabbits ; happened not? matters not! We will ; we will indeed my love. Someday I will make you a picnic of nudity in a forest of candy ; you will cry out "chocolate! chocolate!" again and again in abandon. Do you think I am kidding? I am never not kidding, but never again am I not intense in my intent. Reading is such poor congress ; but I do it for one reason and one reason alone : to invoke the most mad souls of history, come, come into our circle and delight us with your Feasts of Cacophony! Someday I shall read no more because the city will be a calendar of festivals wherewith every lost soul dances in the masquerade of Marvelous Conversation, Food, and Sensual Delight! For now, my art, reading, and yours, photography, remain possible, for rare are the fantastic and striking images ; but one day, my dear, our hobbies, obsolete, must shift, for one day there will no longer be a need to record the marvelous ; living everyday, the soul will be recycled endlessly in an ancestral exchange where Memory and Imagination are one and indivisible. Then Village and Forest, City and Meadow dance together in Zorba-like satiety and gusto. May our love be an unfolding of these revolutions, these explosions which burst open like lavish presents on Christmas Eves.

While you play, I sleep ; you relax, I dream. A fortnight hence, these together we shall.

With kisses and butterflies, (un)leash

My dear, Awaiting the pitter-patter of your words raining upon my green meadows, gently drifting with thoughts of your lullabies in mother's arms. I love you.

Love, (un)leash

My dear, It's not Hades which lies at my root, at my heart. It's Dionysus. It's my desire for ecstasy, abandon, fullness of giving and exhuberance of mutuality. That's what's at my heart. Before the violated 2 ½ year old, there was the exhuberant, nonverbal, playful, vitally intelligent infant I was. He is there at the heart. Being a Scorpio doesn't mean that I have Hell at my root. It means that I'm in touch with the unconscious. The unconscious, contrary to christian and new age ideas, is not entirely a tormented place. It's also a place of regeneration. But I'm Celtic. I would know that. In the Celtic Underworld (their Hades), there is joy. That is where the Grail is found. That is where regeneration takes place. The Celtic Hades is much more Dionysian. But even if we look at the myth of Dionysus, it is true that he was born in flames, and then later was cruelly torn apart. Yet he puts himself back together! He regenerates. I too, went through flames and was cruelly torn apart as a child. But I have regenerated, am regenerating. That is not all done, but it is not torment, but a fervent desire for mutuality, connection, and abundant ecstasy.

That is what is fermenting and bubbling beneath my surface. And the desire is so fervent that it comes off as this intensity which others may fear and project onto. Others who are scared of darkness. I'm not scared of the dark and the underworld. That's where plants begin to sprout. They need that dark, silent space to be able to grow. The Underworld is a womb. But let's not forget that while Scorpio can be a fellow crawling beneath rocks and in underworld-ish spaces, the other symbol for Scorpio is the eagle, who soars in the air and rises above it all. So there I am also in the light. Both are my realm.

What most gives me torment is when I work on a creative path and it falls apart. What torments me is when I give my all and the other collapses and is unable to give back. That is my torment.

You will never meet someone like me again. Someone who believes so much in the power of healing, the power of integrity, the power of heart, even in the midst of darkness. I know in my heart of hearts that what we are doing here is real. It is real. That means to me it can't be compared to a "relationship" or "romance" or any other stereotypical scheme that people toss around. Maybe that's also what makes it scary. We are performing an operation upon the world. We are creating a space where something different can happen, where modernity's cruel values of separation and cynicism and selfishness can be suspended so that a space of trust and connection and mutuality can be formed. That is a challenge to the present world order.

It's a vital way for us to say "fuck you" to all the bastards who fucked us in the past. It's a way for us to go beyond that resentment and really create something different. A space of trust. Of mutuality. A space where it is ok to give your all and receive back. A place where if you give all of yourself, you won't just feel like you've pissed yourself down some hole where it's never coming back and then you're jettissoned out into the cold again. A place where independence and intimacy aren't in opposition.

I have stressed for a long time the importance of a creative partnership. Obviously, that is a need for me in general, as I need to reach out and find others with whom to creatively partner. But it is also a romantic need. I have a need to be creative with my partner. And this is important. It is about being generative. Lasting relationships are generative, which means that something creative happens between the two people which gives something back to the world. It doesn't just stay a private ecstasy. It's the story of the moon and the weaver, how their love kept them from doing their real work. In other words, they weren't being generative. This need I believe is deep and biological. It's why in general relationships where there either a) aren't kids, or b) aren't important mutual creative projects, usually don't work. Because we need to have a vital relationship to the world.

My dear, Allow me to turn your question back upon you. Since for me, the question of companionship and you are as connected as the "flash" and "lightning" in a "flash of lightning", perhaps you ought to ask what parts of yourself seem unembraced in my definition of companionship with you. What genuine parts of you seem discluded in my discourse, in my proposals? Where are you missing? For to me I behold you in all your originality and essence. You say, are you sure you do not want to be alone? Here the question to me is one of generativity. What is brought together for creation. The desire to multiply time through companionship, making it fertile. Not wanting sterility. Of course I want that partnership which multiplies essences and brings power and fertility to the land, to the people, to lives, our lives! And I don’t want to isolate this power that I am, for my solitude is mine eternally with or without anyone. So I change the terms of the question. It is not and not ever "I fear to be alone". Rather it is, always, "I desire the fertility of companionship." It is fertility I desire. But I say I desire it with you. Ever then, I seek the fertility of us and not our sterility. To be without you is to be without our fertility. But to be with you in sterility also is no boon. To be with you in sterility is as bad as being without you. Thus what I desire is you in creativity and fertility, the powerful coming together of two poetic souls in the creation of verse which is enchanting, which transforms time into magic. I seek the full giving whose investment sows the ripe and waiting seeds of bounteous harvest. I seek the unveiling of veils of illusion and distraction, the lifting of obstacle blocks that check the fierceness of dancing, the gentle flow of legs and souls in tandem upon the dance floor of our lives. It is YOU I have sought in these dancings. Wooing, you, month upon month ; your question asks if my courting is true. Who is it I have sought? Sought behind the veils and rings of fire? Your heart, the flow of your heavenly nature, I seek to liberate from all hells and traps which hold it back. Only the bravest of knights may seek Brunhild, and I have braved the fiercest of tempests. So if you feel I have not seen you, if you feel this call to fertility and companionship discludes you, say now that which has not been embraced. Tell your poet which verses he has neglected. He offers you the high seat in the hall of creation next to him. It is true he will not allow the land to be without fertility. But it is you he offers this place, you he has pursued month after month. Is that relentlessness to know a fire so intense it may burn? Yes, perhaps, after all, yet indeed also it purifies and burns off the dross that keeps us from our fullness. You may or may not be ready for the full givingness that begins the adventure. Aye, it is true many gargoyles and fearsome monsters gruesomely guard the threshold, keeping one back in abeyance from full abandon. But it is the Quest which brings life and renewal. I can only offer you the opportunity. But only you can take the plunge. Your fears : will you be drowned? Will you be annihilated? Or, perhaps, will you be reborn? What will you have to give up? What will you leave behind? And what will you gain, both foreseeable and then beyond what can be foreseen? This is a mythological journey ; it is your soul asking if this is a true path. Yet if you ask if it is you being invited, I answer yes. But if there be doubts, ask them now my love, for the land grows sterile without the ferment of alchemy.

Your poet, your king, (asking for your hand o queen yet once again), (un)leash

my eyes are deserts
droughts of tears
parched earth
i love you more than you can imagine.
the secret of regeneration
lost long ago
somewhere in a cavern
i love you more than you can imagine
if only miracles were friends
calling everyday
to see how we were doing
i love you more than you can imagine
pain is not a word
that says it all
this severance collapses universes
i love you more than you can imagine
with all my heart
i want you fulfilled
and ready, ready to love
i love you more than you can imagine
be well
my friend

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