Fractal hearts and the joys of a chaos theory of sexual harmonics

My body, sacred walnut that it is, feels a little beat; it holds tension like a magnet sponge and so I went to the gym and did everything and I have a bit of Nyquil haze so my digits are moving slowly.  I have a thought or two, an idea for a sculpture based on my post heading; a heart that’s composed of little pieces of tetris like pieces almost like legos but they suspend slightly apart from each other so the heart appears to have holes yet there is a visual rhythm to the pieces that creates a whole object and the seeming randomness inside can’t help but organize itself.  I guess that’s the heart and Love to me, a masterful bumping and grinding between the Knowing (not the Nicolas Cage movie’ let us be clear) and the Mystery or Mysteries.  As I stated in my writings, Love is a science and an art;  and with knowledge comes Knowing and one can pass through suffering through ignorance through Art of Noble Suffering which is holding the heart open with a car jack or other metal twig to keep it pulsing wide and far for those who can respond, like having the aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind barking out signals from inside your heart hoping someone else is listening. Outposts of the heart are smiling agonies when not met with response.  After a solid solo piece I saw tonight I walked across Union Square and heard a conversation from the air starting ‘How are you?’ Someone I love dearly doesn’t like that question and if someone asked me that tonight I’d agree with her.  The answer is I don’t know. It seems to change; from what level? Am I healthy? Yes.  Do I smile when I see a caterpillar? Yes.  But there is a great ache and the rest of my happiness is sitting inside someone else right now. Sure, I have joy, I experience moments of bliss but that’s not true happiness.  There’s an explosive almost Babylonian pristine undercurrent I can hear and smell around me and it flows right through my heart, like an aqueduct that overflows. And those droplets make me feel more than something usual.  I am a romantic but this is almost science. It seems very immature in modern society to say you can find truest happiness with another but I feel like I am approaching the end of a long path and from that comes a knowledge of sex and divinity that cannot be denied and will make it’s way here one way or the other.

America hasn’t been born yet; this is my feeling and we’re gestating like an orgasm that has graffiti of the great future artists painted on its sides, ready to land in someone through sex and create a new palate;  sexual healing comes first in America; once that starts, and properly, with that awareness, then this palace will air itself out.  It’s all sexual, something Jesus knew.  It upsets me they left those good parts out of the Bible and we’re left with ManScraps. I can’t imagine how much better puberty would have been had I known what really happened.  Thank god for Jessica Lange in Tootsie.  I am grateful to her for launching my puberty submarine right on schedule. Pre Jessica and post Jessica are two entirely different timelines.  She was the hottest fractal on film.

Once again, I’ll attempt to get this blog in ten lines or less. It gets away from the censors in my fingers.



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