Between watching David Lynch's Lost Highway, and having a cold, I've hallucinated into clarity all my lust and adulterous feelings. It's emptiness--it's all sadness balled up into a few quick glances and dreams of arreolas and waking up next to one another in the hope of feeling not-so-lonely anymore...
Lust is a loneliness vessel, carrying through the deep and dark all the loneliness we only want to admit subconsciously with glances and thoughts and plans of love and hard-ons and cervices. It is inner-and-outer loneliness contained within our eyes and minds.
But when the story's over, you're still lonely. When the story's completed, you've come back around to tell yourself that you're still alone, you've circled out in front of your face, and back in through the left-ear, with the same old story: you're lonely and adulterous until you've found her.
Her is the one that will finally see that apparition that circles out of your right ear, and she will grab it and consume it, and drag you into her, and you will grab hers and consume it with all your life. And your two adulterous and longing and lonely souls will be one forever.
That's why I'm still a virgin. Why I'm holding off until I marry. I'm only going to go the distance with Her that has my soul within her belly. And when I have hers within my belly. And we are content like wolves...
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