Culturally, we are offered two routes at the membrane: withdraw or climax.  We have been trained to choose one of those binary escapes, to lower the volume until we can scarcely feel or to hurl ourselves at release and call it freedom.

Time after time, you steer toward the vivid immediacy of now instead of retreating into yesterday’s safer patterns.

You deserve to be seen not as a pathology to be managed, but as a power to be released.

Women are nodes in the network. Men are the conduits. Eros is the current.

The women labeled as crazy, hysterical, unstable—are often the most alive. The most powerful. 

Their bodies refuse to submit to numbness.

There is no copying, blocking, or competing. You have your own channel. Your own Erotic design.

Where we once merely thought we were condemned to pretending over an experience of being mildly bitter, performing gratitude to cover for the discontent, we will now not be able stop the flood and expression of good.

Do not look for me in
the market of bodies.

I am the scent in the air after touch is gone.

There is a membrane. An invisible threshold. On one side: everything you think you are. On the other side: arousal.

We choose to demonstrate the resilience of innocence. We choose to open and keep opening.

You want to walk all the way in and meet the force itself. You want to look karma in the face and say, I’m here now.