Love/Hate
The trouble with being blessed with a propensity towards finding solace in written words - is that too often, it leads one to a form of solipsism - one that distracts the male libido away from the tawdry bar-life, the one that is real and fornication-ary, and yet also so very beyond this screen, this page, this echo-chamber of pervy poets.
The truth is that I still have a love/hate relationship with the written word. The truth is that I often hate words. Is it because it's really hard to type long passages on an iPad?
I ask myself: "Are those my only choices? A real, libidinous and accessible pungency, or digital, perfect and inaccessible beauty?"
I tell myself that I don't need you, but I'll probably be back in a few hours. It's a love/hate thing.
The truth is that I still have a love/hate relationship with the written word. The truth is that I often hate words. Is it because it's really hard to type long passages on an iPad?
I ask myself: "Are those my only choices? A real, libidinous and accessible pungency, or digital, perfect and inaccessible beauty?"
I tell myself that I don't need you, but I'll probably be back in a few hours. It's a love/hate thing.