Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

part of my body. Occasionally it will fixate on my arm, or an organ, but
it never sits still long. The craving is itself restless. My attention is a
thinly focused beam, red-hot, impossible to pin down.
I go for long walks but my mind still won’t stop whirling over and
over itself, like a top trying to find equilibrium. The fragments of other
people’s ideas share equal space in my brain, bounce into each other,
cross-pollinate and become my reality.
Fragments bubble to the surface. I feel like I am speaking to everyone
through a simulacrum hand-puppet. The attention required to interact
with these internal personages makes my external presence just a fleeting
shadow. It’s the need for a mirror. Without the mirror of others I am
unable to gauge relative distances—thinking of “distance” in its emotional
qualitative rather than quantitative sense.
I find the time to pump out twenty pages of text a day, and long desperately
for someone to find me in it—prowling the hallways, late at
night, hoping to catch just a glimpse, find someone that will distract me
from this building momentum. As mass increases exponentially with
velocity, I feel like I might collapse under my own weight.
This hunger wasn’t what I used to experience in terms of desire for
sex, or money, or possessions. I was sucked into the undertow beneath
those urges, dealing instead with the currents that shaped them.
What I craved was the electrical hum of life itself—I see an image of
a surfer, riding along the crest of the wave, in perfect balance with it,
suddenly losing balance and realizing that the only way to not get torn
apart is to let go and let the fall happen. I’m in that dive into myself, and
the further I follow this thread, this obsession with relationships, the
more I cut myself off from life in the present. This pushes the craving up
a notch. I relax into it, dive forward…
But I need a way that I can understand the ultimate bottom, the underground.
What is the basest, most prefiguring drive that gives all the rest
their life. What did I find?
That underlying compulsion that kept me whirling, that itch, expressed
itself first as sexual polarity. Subversion of the sex drive is the
beginning and end of civilization. This is what gets you out of bed in the
morning and gets you on to the next job. Not the idea of sex, nor even
the act itself, but the simple polar magnetism of it. Put bluntly, the yin
and the yang of the universe want to fuck each other. And this is what
sets life in motion, and what turns you to mulch.
It’s universal. The underlying need that keeps you moving from experience
to experience, pleasure to pleasure is not at all unlike what drives
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