Episodes

Lately I find a horrid fascination in these carnal episodes that take me by surprise randomly, yet increasingly often. I have long understood and accepted the grandiose and confusing polymorph that is my mind, but it seems, a new characteristic is unveiled as of late, playing with my nerves, intensly exciting the mind before swinging rapidly into another, darker direction.

Youth, I am told, experience something similare as they are coming of age, though nothing of that sort ever happened to me. Sure there were the usual, common stirrings of an adolescent mind, longing for things and acts it cannot even fathom. And while there is some truth to this comparison, it lacks the distinct, intense qualities these episodes manifest, stemming from a mind awake and aware of its' own workings, a mind alert to its' every movement, a conscious learned in its' own ways. For in youth, the mind is completely and utterly absorbed into the vortex that is carnal lust - it is devoid of any level aware enough to study and articulate what is happening to itself.

I am both fascinated, raptured and horrified by these episodes whenever they happen - yet not horrified in an anxious way. Not passively taken away, but consciously letting myself be carried away, consciously surrendering control to that ancient part of the human brain that defeats all logic. It has become a game without rules - a game about control and mental impotence, a struggle for power between two parts of the same thing, a tug of war without a rope.

As unknown as the rules, is the width and breadth of the time window this struggle is delimited by. Randomly, by an internal or external trigger, the game is started and it ends when ... when does it end? This is increasingly unclear, yet not a theme of concern, for the game seems to widen the phenomenon that I identify with my 'self'.

During such episodes, my mind is capable, more than ususally, to conjure up false images, dreams, delusions - however you want to call it. So real they seem, that the force of being pinned down, actually makes my muscles struggle in vain against my opposite. Every touch, pain or playful is physically experienced. And even the breath of this dreamt up image against my neck upsets the rythm of my heart and breath. There doesn't seem a detail that eludes itself.

Yet, nothing ever stills the hunger, that dreams up these illusions; nothing is ever real, but rather super- and subpar; no feeling is ever enough or missing as it would be in the special configuration of reality that we call 'real life'. However, devoid of motivation to painstakingly seek out the agents capable of rendering these delusions 'real', it seems, that for the time being, I can but dwell, feed and despair on these episodes, every time I let them take me by storm.