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I want so deeply to touch you.

A phrase I’ve written in bathroom stalls, had dropped from airplanes, etched into the sands of florida’s beaches, painted across my spine, drawn into the fallen snow on stranger’s car windows, hummed quietly to passers by. Its a true statement. Perhaps the only one I know; an intimate mantra. A delicate poem to reflect a fragile existence.

[My work/this] is about the contradictory pain/pleasure of interpersonal relationships. The constant need to connect, to feel, to articulate when your breathless. These texts are often lost in translation... in the hot air that evaporates as we speak. I can’t begin to understand, but I want to touch and be touched. Hold on

I want to touch you so deeply. To know your body and your lyrical form, to breathe with you in the most heated of moments and forget why. This is about the simultaneous tragedy/ecstasy of sexual experience. I am a creature of the night (we are in the shade, throwing shade), but I strive solely to shine brightly: glittered and gilded to the point of failure. To the point of uncertainty and a muddling of thoughts, feelings, actions.

I try to fly. I attempt to defy gravity with wings that have been sleeping idly underneath my bed frame for years or growing longingly out of the landscapes of this earth (pointed directly towards the sky). I am free falling in open air. Its elegant and nauseating to plummet ardently.

I am for an aesthetic of melancholy, a time of private alienation. But if we’re alienated together, maybe we can feel less alone. More whole, more real, realizing the reality were presented with/the reality we construct for ourselves and others. A ‘reality’ in which the vocabulary is shame, whiteness, patriarchy, spiritual control, colonization, racism, homophobia, xenophobia, constant marginalization. An existence where we have not developed sufficient tools to speak with the people surrounding us (the tools for touching).

Good fences make good neighbors. A phrase I’ve come across too often walking this dirty path, this boundless desert. I’ve been busy, mending these walls ever since... It started with a wanderlust, a need to splash, and an opposing lake. rather an opposing ideology surrounding a body of water. Opposing ideology surrounding our bodies. Don’t you just want to scream and break loose?

We could break loose together, if we decide thats what we want. There are consequences however, so much at stake. We could talk. Our words are fragile. My words are fragile structures/futile devices. We live in a fragile era, a space with the potential to rupture at any given point (and it does/it will). This is queer to me. Queer rupture, queer melancholy, queer ambivalence and ambiance. Queer minded flight patterns. I want to fly deeply into cloud formations and bring back a sliver of the moon to choke on. Spit and cum into the girth. Vomit tinsel. Spectacular vomit poetry, oh the theatricality of this thought, this action...

I’d like to serenade you with the very heavens that hang above our heads.

[My work/this] is consistently ambivalent. It is about touching... attempting to grab a hold of what is so easily lost, so easily forgotten. Then its gone, torn down by powers beyond human control.

There, I’ve said it. Tried to lay it all out in words with a clear understanding. But I cannot articulate how... I feel about how... important this moment we have together is. If for one second we could mend this wall.

Alien Moon Partnership
April 2011