Diving In Unobstructed (An Essay)

The thing about being energetically erect and intact (one’s natural state), and not playing (making moves) unless and until it’s still, is that it perfectly fucks with whatever matter I’m currently holding on to.

The exact shit that’s here to be burned by the fire of ME.

It also perfectly fucks with the shit of whoever I’m playing with.

If there are any strings of attachment (hoping / waiting / needing / trying / expecting / victimizing / or whatever other bullshit that needs to go), I don’t touch it.

Because it’s an energetic turn off.

But if I feel turned on despite and because of the matter, it means that the shit is ready to get fucked up and I’m the bitch to do it.

Ultimately though, I play where it’s clear.

Where I sense no limits, no restrictions, no actual end in sight.

Just a wide open space to dive into unobstructed.

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The Intimate Gallery of Us (An Essay)

as he and i deepen exponentially

it inevitably eclipses that which doesn’t hit as deep

there’s been this narrowing

a honing in

a natural devotion to THIS

and last night

a stunning and mind blowing masterpiece

was added to the intimate gallery of us

and all i knew was stay here

because here with him

is truth

and when i left his place to go dancing

to be the Mandy i’ve always been

i left this man

for the very first time

as his

and he

as mine

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Love Is When Nothing Remains (An Essay)

My experience of love is contingent upon what’s stripped away;

not on what’s added up.

The amount of time.

The layers of meaning.

The stories that are amassed.

Nah.

Seeing through lies.

The stories that die.

The dissolution of matter and meaning.

Accumulation doesn’t impress or interest me.

I prefer things light; not heavy.

(Peep this Mandy Bite)

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