What I wanted from sex I wanted from writing: to be more fully inside my body without encumbrance, to experience embodiment as something other than a catch-22. My body felt so thoroughly overdetermined by forces outside of me, yet it was the source of my livability, it literally coursed with life even as life was something I was being deprived of. Love, art, these were small portals, they allowed for transcendence. Maybe there was a kind of danger in how ravenous I was for that which placed me beside the present. It was too late in the day to fully pursue this epiphany to its logical end,
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