Sleepy Kundalini “come fuck me”

Nov 05, 2020, 04:13 AM

Teach me how to need emptiness: pain.

“Numbers are dangerous. I knew better than to play with them. I knew you. I know you see everything. Do you see me? Where do you need my body? This is all that I need to know from you. Did you see the sky last night? I lay on my mattress and stare at the moon, all the way up, run outside, all the way down. A ginormous hunk of metal flies jerky circles around her; it was flashing red. Do you think this color means anything? If I were you, I’d pay special attention to the colors. They’re directing this dream. Red means stop, says blood; flashes danger. Danger! Danger! There’s blood! No baby, they say in blues and yellows, that’s just rain. That is supposed to be there. Be quiet darling. Stop singing so loud. We’ll kick you out. You don’t want to be out on your own. Do you? Did you ever think that maybe your own was they key? Just maybe, if you went far enough into your own flesh and bones, you could step out. Is waking up a normal thing? What if I’m always sleeping? What if dreaming is the closest thing to escape that we’ve ever tasted? Would we devote ourselves to stillness? Do you paint in red? I do. Red is a threat: don’t you dare! I do. I don’t care to speak in your dangerous language of colors given names and names given seals and bodies given numbers, assigned to permanent placements. I think your words are sickening. I think that you a very fucking sick and you should leave everything and jump naked into the red sea until you lose the use of letters, all together. Come on kiddo! I know that you hate this shit. I can see it in your baby eyes. You look so tough. You act so mean. But I see everything. You’re only crying. There is only sadness and violence here. This is how it’s always been. Don’t you know? The moment love went away, we started killing everything. We were never quite the same again. Without our love, we are motionless monstrous machines. Red is heart shaped. Red is love? Red isn’t… Stop! No. I won’t give you control of my ability to mix colors: my time. I have set this aside for creation. I was made to create. I cannot be created. You must make your own. You must leave me out of it. You must leave. Or love wins. The sacrifice is you.” 
“Baby boy, you are it. I can’t leave you. If you want me gone, you’ll just have to kill me.” She bows into her thighs. Kundalini is projected on a dark wall. Copycat baby. I can teach you how to move energy enough to jump dimensions. “Come fuck me.” I stop staring out the window and find her thighs spread in my room. Sticky toes under a dark green yoga mat; she folds deeper. She doesn’t look at me. Not at first. “Please.” I drop my chin to my naked chest and look up at her. “Look me in eyes and tell me you don’t want to fuck me. There’s more to life than bowing over baby. You could be ruling everything. Why do you bend to these ideas so effortlessly? You don’t even like them. Are you too comfortable? Are you afraid that I will be a cause of unhappiness for you? What of sadness scares you so? Don’t you miss crying when you don’t? I do. I’d rather be crying than fucked by you. Just kidding. If it were my way, it’d be both at the same time. But every time, it would be you. Don’t make me beg. I’m too old for that shit.” 
She wakes up from a bad dream and starts weeping. She remembers a man. This man is lying alone in dimly lit studio on First and Palm. This man is painting butterflies. This man is not what she imagined. He created himself. His presence is pure chaos. He refuses to let anything stand upright. Feel the suffering of this world so deep inside your guts that you must keel over and scream! Don’t be afraid to feel, baby girl. This man was created to embody your love. He is not expecting your cooperation with his destructive tendencies. He is anticipating a war. He is waiting endlessly. You are adored. But you are not expected to love me. I am a man who loves you. Nothing more. My arms are eternally around your core, pressuring you to create. Create my love. Don’t let me create you. We’ve already been down that road. It didn’t work out. 
“I have an idea. You sit and beg. And I’ll create an entirely new route to this room you speak of. Red is pretending. Love is a dangerous thing. The moment I open your door, we begin tearing each other apart again, from the very beginning. Do you want to be constantly destroyed? I do. Rebirth is the only high I need. The space below and above is infinite. It only requires a genuine curiosity in both directions. Go ahead bratty baby, cry; teach me how to wait patiently.” 
Teach me how to need emptiness.