#2:49am

[ajyal-azez]

لمستكَ المجنونة التي تمتلكها أصابع يداك،

وحدها نغمة منفردة لا تشبه البقية.

[rustycottoncandy]

Gonna start the night eating some half-burnt cookies with my plushies around like if we were summoning something because it looks weird.

[begayeveryday]

Just wanna cry but kinda don’t have time for that shit🙃🤷‍♀️

[un-invierno-eterno]

Pintar un cielo con estrellas en tu espalda para repesentar nuestra pequeña galaxia...

[mifushikaa]

Malapit na matapos pero sobrang sakit ng puson ko, itulog ko nalang muna. Hays

[pocodormire]

Nella mia vita il dolore è stata l'unica variabile in grado di controllarmi

[awe-riz]

Why did I wake up in the middle of the night.

[in-the-candlelight]

Quiet howl

Daniel Craig hungrily kissing Drew Starkey's chest activated my longing and hunger, on top of the grief I was already feeling. So I guess I'll take it there.

I love tall, muscular tattooed men. Tree trunks and mountains of men. I love back pieces that extend all the way to their lower back; it's like a tramp stamp and I find it sexy. To lift their arms and see peeks of it under the tail of their shirt. Adore it. Crave them so deeply I can feel the ache in my mouth. I never cared much for pretty men when I was younger, but now I love them. Pretty or rugged, I just crave handsome men like any other woman. Full lips and pretty skin, beautifully shaped eyes. Eyebags and crows feet from smiling too much in the sun. A body so perfectly sculpted it would make Michelangelo cry. When I admire men, it makes me understand his devotion to creation. I took an art history class two years ago that focused on the Renaissance era in Italy and we studied some of his works, most notably 'David' and 'La Pieta'. I'm still in awe over his depiction of Moses and the muscle in the arm that appears when the pinky is raised. I saw a picture of the Sistine Chapel from a ground-level view looking directly above and it made me want to cry. I could muse on and on about him, but I truly believe that he was a genius. One of a kind, one in a couple million. But his devotion/obsession with depicting the male form as perfectly as possible lit a little bulb in my head and made me think "Wait. Was he gay?" He didn't sculpt women nearly as much as he did men, and my admiration for men isn't platonic or solely aesthetic either. I feel closer to him in those moments of awe, like I understand what was behind his hands. I could just be projecting.

For almost my whole life up until I was 27, I never understood girl's obsession with yaoi/boylove since it didn't appeal much to me. Internalized/conditioned homophobia made me repel it despite being a supporter, but it was also hard for me to desire something where I felt like I had no place. What place is there for a woman where love and desire only concern two men? There is none, so it felt like intrusion. But I understand now. "Rotten" feels rooted in homophobia though, even though it's kind of fun to day but I never call myself that. It's gorgeously delicious. I arrived late to the party last summer, but I understand now and it's driving me crazy. My desires are consuming me and I fear I'll never live any of them out. I lack the words to describe any of it. My mouth fills with an imaginary feast and all the words I can't find.

Men together looks like art to me, disgustingly gorgeous forms twisting and entangling and their beauty hypnotizes me. The raw magnetism between them magnetizes me absolutely. There's this strange desire that I find impossible to articulate, a deep need to be enmeshed within them, but the thought of being included doesn't hit all the way for some reason inexplicable reason. It's like hitting the target, but it's a few degrees east. Seeing men flirt (even if only a "joke") triggers a bad desire and longing, and it's followed by this strange and irreconcilable dissatisfaction that exists within the desire somehow. My presence as a woman alters it in a way that I can't explain, it makes it less than what I want it to be. Frustratingly amorphous, abstract, inextricable. Totally undefinable. But the desires lives and lives and persists on and on and on. Haunting. It bites, claws, squirms, ravages, hungers, and tightens the throat in an effort to scream but nothing comes out. Wrong time and place. No place or time to call and cry out. It mutates on the tongue and in the teeth and gums and twists around in my mouth like two animals fighting. Tearing and breaking and almost enmeshing in its own insatiable nature for blood and something else that is both tangible and intangible at the same time. It's close to tangible in the body, but cannot be grabbed or contained in its own presence. Palpable is the word I might be thinking of. There's a destructive part of me that almost wants it to slam me into the ground like fine china and disintegrate me into nothing. Dynamic movements that accelerates and pushes forward before it dissolves. I'm spinning again. I see them and want so badly to inhabit that space with them, but without altering it. I want to be enveloped with them and by them and I want them to feel the same hunger as I do, hunger for me even more than I do for them. Where it twists and aches and witnesses and begs for relief and understanding and affection and absolution and annihilation and tearful catharsis. Exorcism adjacent. This string of voracious intangibility is reminding me of two things. The first is the ending of Lana's video for 'chemtrails over the country club' where her and her friends turn into werewolves at night. One of the women is in bed with a man during this part. I don't know what she's said about the video, but it felt like it was conveying a woman's inherent duality, or maybe how transformative and dangerous/powerful female sexuality is. Not sure, but I never forgot about that part of the video. The other is Howl by Florence where she goes

"Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl

Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground

Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins I want to find you tear out all your tenderness"

I was maybe 14 when I first heard that song, my sexuality was nowhere near formed and I had no real understanding of what I was drawn to, only self-satisfying. But the intensity of the lyrics and how it described love and desire as this violent, visceral thing akin to the amoral nature of an animal rang out something inside of me. I've never forgotten about it and I understand it even more now at 28. Especially the line about teeth. Whether it's rage or stress or desire, it manifests in my teeth for some reason. A need to bite and tear and scream. But it never comes out.

I can't about forget those two bikers from last year either. I don't know who they were, if they were together or if they were just friends. I never even saw their face or heard their voices, but I could tell they were guys by their body type and disposition. Maybe early twenties. They stopped briefly and the passenger put his hands on the driver's shoulders and it felt so gentle, intimate, and familiar. I felt this soft, funny mix of softness, affection, arousal, magnetism, and admiration. The pull itself felt like a gust of wind guiding me towards them, similar to how the wind moved in 'colors of the wind'. Or like an invisible rope was tied around me and was slowly pulling me towards them. I couldn't help but admire and watch as they paused and then continued forward. Late afternoon in the summer, light breeze and the sun was still hanging. Triple homicide. That soft pull was followed by the thought "... can I join...?" I wanted to be there with them and included so bad, but the desire wasn't crushing like it usually is when I'm alone and in my head. It didn't set off any panic or alarms, it only felt like a signal. I've always loved men on bikes ever since I as 14 and the sight of them together did me in even further. I didn't feel sad when they left and the whole experience of witnessing it wasn't crushing for me, it only reinforced my newly-formed desire. I've loved bikers and motorcycles since I was 14 when I saw Lana's music video for 'Ride'. I don't know if it changed me on a fundamental level or if it just unearthed what was already inside of me, but I still wish to live out what she did.

"Cigarette" is a part of this. I struggle with limerence and don't wish to say or think or write his name down, so his name is Cigarette. Goddamn fucking beautiful. Gorgeous lips and skin, tattoos and dark hair and a handsome face and a cute smile. I can't listen to 'got it good' without thinking of him. 'Strange desire' was Marlon's song, 'Crybaby' was Tim's, and that song is his. Young and beautiful and cool and sexy and successful and confident and everything I want and want to be but feel so so far away from. I see in my head a gothic castle at night softly lit by the moon that sits behind the clouds that surrounds it, and I'm distanced by rolling hills and streams and fog and whatever else that stands between me and it. Beautiful and cold and far. I'm completely dwarfed by it and by him. A suffocating awe. Jealousy and desire colliding into each other again. I'd rather not worsen the obsessive attachment, so I'll bury it there. But he's envined in all of this too. I want to devour him. Claw the sides of his face, bite and kiss his pillowy lips and feel what it would be like to melt on top of him. That's it. For him at least at this moment.

I could go on and on. Exploration is difficult when I feel so limited and unsure. Unconfident and left behind in life. A little masquerading as a woman and I'm trying not to be found out. The dilemma and insurmountable wall of feeling like my sexual body and expression is being chained and caged behind my own undesirability. And who would want a caged, grotesque animal? Not the kind of men I like.

Maybe I just need a threesome with two hot bisexual men and get it out of my system. Maybe this is all the result of internalized sexuality that has never been externalized past self-satisfying. But I'm so hungry and I fear I need more than what the flesh can satisfy. It feels like I'm begging for both a possession and an exorcism. I'm thinking now of when Guillermo del Toro said "Mexican, Spanish, and Filipino Catholicism is extremely gory and extremely sexy". It resonated so badly within me and I understood what he meant. The Ecstasy of St Ruth II. Maddened behind a steel mask.

Just annihilate me. On hands and knees, I beg for absolution. Please. But that also begs the question- who could be capable of that?