18.09.2025
Dearest Alfonso,
It was a certain time in the night. The thoughts would come.
But then, the mind rebelled against the absurdity of it all.
After all, what is the fruition of desire? Friction. That’s all it comes down to. Friction. Two bodies colliding against each other randomly, meaninglessly. That’s what we call sex.
It is absurd. However much you love someone, that is the consummation of your love. However much you connect with someone, that is the consummation of your connection.
Your whole adult life as a man you seek out the act. It is the prime motivation in your life. The act sculpts out who you are, who you become, what you want, who you want.
However complicated life becomes, however complicated society becomes, however complicated the brain becomes, at its kernel lies one simple rule: touch.
Beneath everything, in spite of everything, we are bodies. We are absurd. We are meaningless.
They like to talk about civilisation. What is the story of civilisation? Sex.
They like to talk about the arts. What is the story behind the arts, the story of the arts? Sex.
They like to talk about happiness. What is happiness? Sex?
And this act itself? Villified, misunderstood, cheapened, even, foolishly, resisted and deliberately prevented. In a culture of repression the act loses all of its beauty, its joy and its giving of joy, its ultimate significance as freedom and connection. I myself am almost succumbing to the false picture that they paint of sex.
The struggle is to retain a sense of the act’s urgency, its importance in life, the happiness of the act and its role in creating happiness and healing. Against the denigration of the act, against its attempted exclusion, its supposed meaninglessness.
The struggle is to fight against the construction of the act as a giving and a taking of power, as an abuse in and of itself, as not being important in its own right.
The struggle is to see the art as not absurd. As necessary. As light. As guidance. As the realisation of beauty in this world and all worlds. On the walls of the Indian temples are adorned the acts of love, the energy of sex. The power of union, the power of connection. The amalgamation of the divine feminine with the divine masculine. The meaning of being a god or a goddess. Shiva as the lingam. The Mother Goddess as the yoni.
when skin channels skin
when we just are
and stop crying virtue or sin
when the animal regains the flesh
then
then there will be no fear
then will come the freer
then the bodies will truly mesh
Poetically and prosaically, above all philosophically and loverly,
The Tiger.
diary of a lone man 