"'I love your body,' I said, 'probably too much. I dream about your knees and elbows. I could fuck just your knees and elbows for the rest of my life and be satisfied. Like, I love it how your knees are the widest points on your legs, and how your arms seem all stretched out and too long for your body. You look like an over enthusiastic line drawing. I just… I want to have revolutionary sex with you every day for the rest of my life. And I’m not even really sure what I mean by that, but, well, it sounded good in my head. Sometimes I jerk off thinking about you jerking off. It’s like I worship you or something. God, I’m such a loser. It’s just that… I swear, I’ve never met someone who seems so above life, if that makes any sense. It’s hard for me to explain. It’s like… so for example, you move your hands when you talk, right? Making casual gestures–the sort of ordinary movements that everyone makes all the time. But when you do it it feels different: better, more spiritual. It feels like there should be an orchestra accompanying your every movement. It’s like you’re not real or something. When you open your mouth to speak I half expect pearls to come out of your mouth instead of words. Ugh… maybe I’m making too much out of this. It’s just that, you’re really beautiful in an end of the world kind of way. Is any of this making sense to you? Like even when I squint my eyes so hard that your face is no longer a face, and you just become this messy, flesh-colored smudge, even then I think you’re the most beautiful smudge on the face of the earth.'"
Only a few people know about this blog I keep and I didn't think they'd feel off-put about this kind of sexual and weird post because they're the best people on the earth. I wanted to share this because it meant something to me the first, and the second, and the third time I read it. That's important. I've read every page of 'Slutever' and it's embarrassing and exciting and hilarious and most of all it says, fuck it, isn't this what the Internet is here for? Let's stop pretending to be coy. Here's my life, and fuck you if you don't like it. It's brave and stupid and naive and annoying and unapologetic, all at once.
I'm too cynical, and too aware of my own cynicism to articulate what this means to me. Sometimes I wish that I could accept the fact that I, too, can feel lame connections to people I don't know over the Internet, and that it's not incredibly stupid. I also wish that I could get over my initial reaction of wanting to push my conventional, unexceptional feelings under a large table. Then, maybe, I can work on not trivializing my feelings. And once I finish writing this, maybe I can be brave enough to not delete everything and start again until I found the voice I want to use.
So maybe this post is about not caring, and not making things look pretty. Or maybe this post is about nothing. And maybe the four people who read this will be like, hey, what's up with your writing, it really sucks lately. Or maybe that's just me talking.
But hey, here's what a first draft looks like, everyone. Enjoy it, I guess.
Karley Sciortino: http://slutever.com/emotional-avalanche/
Only a few people know about this blog I keep and I didn't think they'd feel off-put about this kind of sexual and weird post because they're the best people on the earth. I wanted to share this because it meant something to me the first, and the second, and the third time I read it. That's important. I've read every page of 'Slutever' and it's embarrassing and exciting and hilarious and most of all it says, fuck it, isn't this what the Internet is here for? Let's stop pretending to be coy. Here's my life, and fuck you if you don't like it. It's brave and stupid and naive and annoying and unapologetic, all at once.
I'm too cynical, and too aware of my own cynicism to articulate what this means to me. Sometimes I wish that I could accept the fact that I, too, can feel lame connections to people I don't know over the Internet, and that it's not incredibly stupid. I also wish that I could get over my initial reaction of wanting to push my conventional, unexceptional feelings under a large table. Then, maybe, I can work on not trivializing my feelings. And once I finish writing this, maybe I can be brave enough to not delete everything and start again until I found the voice I want to use.
So maybe this post is about not caring, and not making things look pretty. Or maybe this post is about nothing. And maybe the four people who read this will be like, hey, what's up with your writing, it really sucks lately. Or maybe that's just me talking.
But hey, here's what a first draft looks like, everyone. Enjoy it, I guess.
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