Vim in a Vacuum

“The affect is an energetic quantum which is to be defined as cathexis energy or impetus, which originates from endogenous stimulus sources. The ego perceives evident fluctuations of the energetic level and tries to reduce a demanding quota of affect. Preferably, this happens in a specific action, that is to say, in a drive-satisfying act or in mental associative work”

My eye is watering and can’t be stopped. It isn’t because I’m crying. There’s a stray piece of something wispy—like a string of hair or straw—inducing lachrymation, but not lactation (unfortunately, for it is my time). Walking along the street, I spy the only people I’m looking for: Repulsive old lechers (young, cultivated individuals don’t stare. In fact, they give me no attention at all). They think they have the right to stare because they’re almost dead and must cling to the last luscious strands of life—as manifested by the pedestrian persons of me and my good friend Sarah—or maybe they’re just stupid.

I’m always unsure if certain indignities are born of malevolence or ignorance, though I know it doesn’t ultimately matter if undesirable actions (lusty stares from sleazeballs; prolonged maltreatment) are intentional or not. If an indignity is undesirable, it’s best not to attempt to understand its origins but to run the fuck away. Or rather, gauge from a distance, among keen, kind and trustworthy compeers but not in the moment, alone; what’s the point of putting yourself on the line? Of futilely engaging with people unreachably bent on fucking you over? No more martyrdom! It’s always ladies who have to carry the pain of the world. Nevermore! Old lechers don’t have the right. No one has the right. Age is no excuse. Sex is no excuse. There is no excuse for indecent behavior if the receiving party dislikes what he/she is receiving. It’s plain golden rule stuff.

However, though I know that everything’s relative and this annoying pain of being made the unrequited erotic object of sleazy old geezers is no less present than any other, I do feel somewhat guilty for complaining. Why do I feel guilty? Well, for one because I’m not physically injured. Two, I carry on. Three, guilt has buoyed me aloft so long. And yet, I’m disappointed, even though I believe that my sensibility is such that anyone will do. Or maybe I don’t believe that. That old directionless desire; cathexis without object. Or just libido.

Did you know that junket is a pudding-like dessert made of sweet milk and rennet? Whenever I start talking about something that seems too large to tackle, I switch over to foodstuffs. Displacement of desire is safer in public. Therefore, would you be interested in a chocolate-covered key lime pie on a stick? I know I would. Wink.


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