163

the temple of lust and desire

Recorded on Friday 30th of June

00:00:50 English
00:47:30 Poem: Dear Winter…
01:07:29 Deutsch: Kurze Lesung »Die Formel«

————————————

Below is the poem that was read in today’s episode, I began to write it last week on Thursday at work, when most of the time we were alone there in the room because our other colleagues were out. Then at the end, when you were getting ready to leave, I felt sad but also glad for having spent this time with you in this silent entanglement.
There is no gap between materialism and idealism, they are two necessary sides of the same coin. Without material, there can be nothing to touch, grasp, no reality, no reproduction of our basic needs and our bodily functions; without ideas, we weren’t able to communicate and to use terms that indicate something concrete in the material reality in order to work together, for example to search for food, for berries and nuts in the earlier prehistoric times or to produce goods with highly sophisticated machines like today.
By means of speaking, the ideal sphere plunges out into the material world. This is the communion, therefore it feels so shocking at times and I’m so reluctant to do it, at least at work or with my friends and family, because somehow I always feel oppressed and outside myself. Just here in the podcast where no-one listens, at least not directly in the moment of talking, I feel like a bird, »federleicht«, light like a feather.

But also when not speaking at all like you and me nowadays, there still is a material connection, I can see you with my eyes, hear you and try to catch the impuls of your movement, to sense your mood, speculate about your thoughts.
So there is no definite border from which on we were entering the material realms, it’s always a mixed reality. Neither kissing nor talking or touching or the »vulgar« sexual act would be anymore material than this experience of standing or sitting there more or less close to you and working.
Of course, these activities would be a different degree, another taste or variety of the great material experience, the living in the outside world — which is not so easy nowadays, because in this vulgar, vile world of struggles for life and death, one might often feel like going home, locking up oneself and living only in the mental world, the ideal space we create for ourselves and the members of our bubbles like on social media.
The bourgeois world we live in is so ascetic and idealist, it doesn’t have a concept of dialectics, the entangling of the opposites. So lots of young males rather watch porn than to dare to seek a real girlfriend. And girls might oftenly be overly depressed and devastated by a failed love experience and now condemn all men and rather stay single, to keep their ideal harmony of mind — we boys must be swinish in a way, the structure of the discourse and the vectors of talking directions between the genders sentence us to it. We must talk and live up to our potential, to also being as swinish and confident as other boys, being masculine in a way girls could find attracting. But these general explorations only serve to give some relieve to the masses, try to create a socialist love theory; these problems don’t interfere in the holy union we share, Winter, at least in my perception.

Silence = Sex.

Dear Winter,

Thank you for today
It always feels like having sex
Being with you in a room
Sitting there silently

I'm working against a certain impediment
It's my nature, my self
If I didn't program this trick into my habits
Then I fear I might explode
Be crushed by my bursting productivity

Man, how stupid shy am I?
Wanted to say "Bless you"
When you sneezed
But didn't dare to
You sneeze very often
Just let me know, what could help you
Cause I'd do anything
For you
To protect you, please you
Be at your service and mercy
I need you
Like a plant needs the earth it's planted in
And the water and sunshine
You are all to me
I don't even need to eat anymore
Basic needs
Are too vulgar for me nowadays
In this phase of mental love
Spiritual unity
With you
My flower
Will you bow over
To me?
And show me
Your blossoms?
Your daring eyes
Your glaring face?
You radiate and shoot at me
With your sparkling flashes of divinity
These occurrences that divide me
Part me in half
Please, tell me what you need
To be healthy
And not freezing
I can warm you
With my arms, my body
I will be there for you
And give you your medicine
Or cook some tea
Just let me take care of you
Care for you
Think of you and your desires
Your hunger
But here's the deal:
While it's easy to cook any meal for you
More complex is the thought of
Satisfying your sexual appetite
You're such a hungry girl
Excuse me
But that one time
We were out in our lunch break eating
Two boys and one girl, you, my unique flower
And there I thought we would walk around the lake
As I always did, it's a habit
But you said you were hungry
And appeared uncomfortable, watching out
For a bench to sit on
There we sat
Because of course, we boys need to obey
To the female desire
And this day you showed you had a lot of hunger
Which was great,
It's natural
To feel and express the needs of the body
And noone I know can be more genuin
Therefore I shouldn't be nervous
Thinking of having sex with you
Touching you intimately
Feeling your shapes and organs,
Your knees and liver and kidneys
Or ribs
Anything you give to me
Show me
Would be a gift
Of unconceivable greatness
And worthiness
Uncalculable
Maybe not for you
With your powerful brain
And numerical education
But certainly for me
So teach me,
Show me,
Take me by your hands

—

My dearest Winter,
All I think about is
That I want to see your face
And touch it
With my eyes or hands
Feel your determination
Your will power
You are so mighty
And I want to lie with you
Besides your long, straight body
To palpate, scan, feel your body parts
That are so complemantary to mine
I can’t help thinking about this
When I’m exhausted, tired of writing or thinking
Just let me sink down besides you
And hug you, put my arms around your neck
And shoulders and on your hip
To register each mountain top, each summit
Of your natural envelope
This seashell that covers you
Your skin, I mean
And all your surroundings
That guard your inner treasures
Your liveliness and bursting youthfulness
You are so bright
My candle shining for me
Wherever I go
Your shapes are not that feminine
Not that round as the stereotype of femininity suggests
But this is perfect
Because you are hard to find in a multitude, on the streets
Where you look different than inside a building
There your androgyn forms give you
A touch of a masculine appearence
But please don’t take my words so seriously
Masculine or feminine, I just have this sureness,
This burning certainty
That we must clutch together
In order for the world
To make sense
Pressing you and feeling you pressing back
Would be the perfect union,
Infinite harmony
Of course, this half year now
Has been neurotic
A game seeming absurd at times
But this is the lesson about love and sex
That it’s always double-knived, two-faced
There is no easy way to get around these
Ambivalent realms once you enter the temple of lust and desire

Now this has been enough theoretical work
And it is time to get back out there
Maybe make a walk at the lake
Where you can tell me
About your hunger,
Your desires and thoughts or dreams
Your sister
And everything that is inside your complex being
Every impression running through your unexplorable brain
I want you
To pour everything, every last bit
Inside me
So I take your whole character, your being
And guard it
Mingle it with my own
And somehow we can create a synthesis
A new concept about the new way
Of looking at us
At the unity
Of you and me

——

This text I read in the beginning:

Winter, simply want to be friends with you.
Cause everyone else I know is a boring idiot, as Slavoj Zizek puts it adequately, describibg the nature of the plebeian masses. But you are different.
Everyone else - except my ex girlfriend - is of this plebeian nature.
I want to know you but not be lovers, cause love is too fragile, too special.
With you, I feel common, feel like I'm a normal person who is granted that unique pkeasure of talking to you, looking at you. And that's enough. If you want more, well, show me your feminine hunger, give me the sign and maybe I give in. But this part is not my favourite, you are my favourite, spending time with you, familiarizing with your habits, thoughts and movements. Just want to perceive you closely while you draw or watch your favourite series. Please don't be afraid.

https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2012/jun/10/slavoj-zizek-humanity-ok-people-boring