I am not to blame. Something inside her tells her: something has unexpectedly gone wrong.
The more I inquire into the order of things, the clearer the structure becomes. It’s an assortment of musical scales playing over each other, fooling people into believing that there is no order, but if you listen intently, listen to it, it all follows a pattern.
The oud plays in the background from a dented speaker. She has been treating me like a movie star, filling me with kisses and enjoyment, promising me breakfast and dessert and transgressions in a tone of sexual presence. I find wonders in her. A note played in discordance, unpredictable, bestowing herself to ultimate chance, the lightness which assassinates the demons within. She is the only true assassin I know.
Open up your mind. Live life to the fullest. Life is not a problem to be solved. Life is a mystery to be lived. Never stay in one hole in hope of the same truth. Interpretation is creativity. Dance the dance of Zarathustra and never mind the structure. The structure is based on human minds. Open up the portal to your mind and make the truth important. The truth can only be important if you find it.
My sun, my illumination. Her words are temptation manifested. Her wandering hands travel over my body and dispel the myths of etiquette and manners beneath the table. And suddenly, I feel an urge springing from my core, an urge which forces me to tighten the muscles around my pelvis and anus, I feel an urge to shit.
To go to a pub, to feel free from the source of fear back home, to do the same thing over and over and over again because for you this is how it is ought to be. At home, something always unexpectedly goes wrong. Back home, the sun is eclipsed and there is no illumination. Children of the darkness limping and staggering in fear of the one who does not live, who does not love, who does not see, who does not hear. We walk into fear’s arms and label the punishment it gives us as a misfortune. The fear will never tame us.
Prudence is only a result of injury. Prudence makes us stupid. Prudence is only viable if there are laws. Laws can only exist in the presence of systemized fear. Prudence does not make us better.
I tighten my muscles as much as I can. She whispers in my ear and right there, my illuminative power is stripped away, she speaks of assassination.
No. She whispers. But I am a master, the conquering one, who strikes, even in the darkness, and I’ll give it full force and I’ll strike. The sun will be eclipsed and if she’ll look at me she’ll be blinded, she’ll be silent, she’ll be deaf, she’ll be a stone rock, she’ll be unable of loving, of caring, of being selfishly responsible.
I refrain. I will submit to my assassin, and tomorrow I will not exist as I am right now. Tomorrow, I’ll be stuck in a non-necessary way of life.
A kiss is all that is needed, and a kiss is all I give, and I feel better.
I am not to blame. Something inside her tells her: this is how it ought to be.