Sometimes.

Sometimes, sitting in class, I daydream about being Godzilla. I sit there, and I think. And my body is restless. And something crys out to throw the desk across the room, to roar. Kind of crazy, I know. Boom. Boom. Stomping little cars. Not even for entertainment. Just because I have these things in my head. Its how it works. Grr. Phospholipids. Molecular Biology. Then...Godzilla!

Yeah. I know. Weird.

Truths.

I am no judge of Perel’s practice, but I am a judge of our sexual culture, and it seems to me that we are talking ourselves to death. We are talking our desire to death. Rather than make stilted little shows of transgression, perhaps we could regain some of sexuality’s transgressive energy by remystifying our eroticism rather than by demystifying it, by reveiling our desire rather than by rehearsing it ad nauseam, by rediscovering the power of wit and suggestion, sublimation and caesura.”

— Cristina Nehring [stilted little shows!] (via nvc, who writes well and digs up some seriously good shit.)