Sex. We all want it. We all need it. It’s all we think about. How to get it. Where we’ll do it and most importantly, with whom. The whole world revolves around it, energy pulsing through the earth because we are on our way to have sex. Or we’ve just had sex. Or we need it and it’s frustrating.
If we were to put a sound to the feeling of sexual frustration it would be something like a pot boiling over with steaming, hot water, so hot the water eventually starts to evaporate and disappear. That’s when things get dangerous. That’s when things begin to reach a drying point. A time in which no animal wants to exist. What we want is cool, soft and slippery like ice cream. Refreshing connectedness that unblocks our mind and anchors us to pure psychics. That’s the fundamental objective we all exist for. To fornicate and evolve. But what happens when the human existence decides they don’t want to evolve? That sex is enough? And the idea of littering the earth with grubby kids who don’t recycle is toxic thought.
Does the decision to stop evolving and just fuck limit our potential in divine existence? Isn’t the direct use of our bodies to reproduce? If it is, then are we depriving ourselves from scratching the deepest itch of our lives. Who the hell knows, yet, the idea that at this moment a woman could fall pregnant at any time is the way of life as we know it and to consider this thought is among the common consciousness identifies what a remarkable being the female is. What must be considered before any act of desire is an extremely calculated choice to ponder, when the body is demanding attention and satisfaction. Quite the dichotomy.