– 6 –
And then the narrative runs away. Nearly ever a mix of caffeinated alcohol, the disaster of stories unfolds. We yield them occurrence in time. Over time. Across locations. We do not make them this way, or rather, the making falsifies them so. Their occurrence is now. The moment of happen. And the telling is here just as well. The moment: reflect and create, concoct and remember. The moment of happen, and never “again.” “Re-“ is convenient, untrue.
Yet sometimes the rowdiness settles. We arrange as a movement, install, and be/have. Construct forms to obey. She stumbled, or stuttered. Appeared in a robe. When it opened, she stayed. For a while, as a present, be-coming, bright way.
Not undone. No undoing – just fall shy. Language requires alive telling, there to mean – intersection, Interstice: a coupling, a groove and a rhythm. An inexact mirror, a multi-frame change. She (you) and he (I), it (us). Reciprocally linked and unstable, an active, dynamic exchange.
See the couple coupling. A gruff and clumsy wrangle and tussle. Huffs and spurts and clawing. The heaving bodies appear to be taking, eyes lolling back in themselves – the necessary separateness, retaliation toward pleasure. Bodies in command. It’s grotesque. Whoever’s on top is the rider, begun in devotion, become animal. She seeks to please, retreats and surrenders, gives up and in to his thrusting. He becomes tool for her desire, working herself to a frenzy he fears its hiatus, self-conscious, stripped of his surging in fear of mistake. They work it out – a to and fro – back and forth – moving in, leaning back – never quite mated in psyche.
From inches of distance the movements are grueling. A repetitive taking advantage. These bodies have each other, these bodies desire, lust, demand, these bodies know what they want, what they need. The fish flaps on dry ground. In a terror. A panic afraid that relief will not come. Release. In order to experience it fully, each gathers and turns in interior worlds – “this is happening, now – to me, to my body – I must be there for it to occur – entirely.” But there is an other. He/she senses the lover’s retreat. The moment of most coveted convergence, conjunction. They depart to their bodies while they clutch in their rigor. Asynchrony. What needs, needs its doing, is done. Syncopated Interstice of the guttural grotesque…
From one angle.
See the couple coupling as animals. The dog, the bear, the wolf. The bird or bee or dragonfly. The distance. The unawares. What if the lion leaned into the neck? What if the squirrel caressed? If the snakes lay entangled. The cats licking flanks. The stories would pour into morphing. What have we seen? During thrusts and grunts and contorted visage, he melted his nose in her hair, he inhaled and received. Her hand trailed down his back, not in clenching but care, some tender aware, some giving. His palms opened hot on each angle and curve, of the shoulder, the buttocks, the spine. Knee kissed, ankle read by the fingers, mouths meeting again and again. In the angelic grotesque of the bodies is consistently sewn something else. Animals humping and huffing, not by instinct alone, something more. Intercourse – intersection – aural and visual, scent taste and touch.
In distinction, then, from the buffalo that he appeared to be. From the feline receiving her guest. There is more taking place through the need. The senses talk back, they converse – speak and answer, and whisper / respond. Bodies converging in dialogue. Reciprocally linked and unstable, an active, dynamic exchange. Suddenly the gruff and the klutzy seem streaming with gift and create. The blind lust is perceiving; the grasp also heals; the smother mingles embrace. What’s engulfed is also what’s offered.
We muster. We glyph. We resolve. And solve again without solution.
Tangling a language of bodies – a coupling, a groove and a rhythm.
The narrative runs, a disaster of stories, the moment of happen is now.