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Amor de Congeria

June 23, 2010

Amor de Congeria

The sensation of loving a woman is the most sudden surge of concentrated energy the psychological equivalent of a junkie’s first incalculable ecstasy shooting aimlessly out of the barrel of a shotgun as a slug propelling perpetually forward but never reaching its target because that would be the end of its exigency. To have passion is to abdicate everything you had been working toward instantly turns to dust to have passion for someone else is to involuntarily relinquish power and control passion is chosen over food shelter friendship rationality and all other forms of sustenance to have passion is to set ablaze everything you’ve ever constructed and start over again with her as the sun. Every other matter in the macrocosm is pushed aside to provide precise focus on her vitality an all-encompassing specification within which is contained every minute and trivial detail about her flowing full hips set against the backdrop of a tight refined body the color of caramel crimson luscious lips accented by piercing omnipotent ruby-stained eyes that burn when they engage your own. Overwhelmed with insatiable raw unmitigated excitement you become a fiend ceaselessly obsessed with molding yourself into the man she would chisel out of stone and your reality spirals into a conspiring multiplicity of her reverberations from every mote of matter in the universe and the more she carves you away the less and less of you remains and it all becomes her. Feeling her nails slicing downward over your shoulders has become an agonizing privilege and you engage all enemies of your love with the ferocity of a ravenous wildcat with the aggression of a rapacious shark aroused by the sight and the smell of a circle of red. Impulse replaces planning and appetite replaces thought and instinct replaces sense and she governs all that you are, and you hope like hell that she doesn’t need rhythm in her life because the whole song’s one sound in your mind one rude cacophony there is a jumble of noise that you can place no more disparity or order on but it’s beautiful to you a violent tour de force because she created it she orchestrates it she controls it. You become chaos. You become her chaos.

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