Friday, January 14, 2011

ruthless desire

A few days ago, I was told that to love means sometimes to protect the other from your own ruthless desire.
So I hold my bundle of ruthless desire against my breast.
And it sucks.
It bites.
It hurts.
(Love hurts)

Nothing left to do then, but to dance it out.
The audience does not need to be protected from your ruthless desire.
They have, in fact, paid for it.

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