“Despite all of our best efforts, Eros will not be silenced. Eros is still here whether it shows up in secret shameful desires or secret shameful eating… in rebellious acts of sexual delight or lonely acts of sexual desperation. The erotic is in our buildings and bridges, our high art and low porn. It is what the body wants and what we refuse to give it… It is the desire swept so far under the rug that we can’t even name it anymore, yet it is still here. The erotic is waiting, curious and hungry, growing impatient for our acceptance. […]

Blue Eyes of Desire

Desire… passion… lust… ardor… love. These are compelling emotions. When they rise in me, like a wave upon the sea, I must hang onto something if I am to maintain any form of balance. This wave sweeps me into a cauldron of turbulence long before I land into anything formally familiar, such as peaceful serenity. Quite honestly, desire is like a compulsive urge that takes over my otherwise clear focus. Gone is reason, sensibility, or the certainty that I know what my life actually looks like, for in the cauldron of desire I am rendered somewhat helpless. And, I must

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