Night one..

I’m 30, laying in bed, surrounded by islands of snack wrappers. A lighter. A fifteen- pound pocket pussy . Lube. A dog-eared Dostoevsky. Olivia Dean dripping drops of poetic, soul-healing moans mixed with honey and melody. This is post-nut, post-hit clarity. I had this thought and figured I’d let it fuck paper and maybe produce me an heir. Ha.

My therapist, that sexy psychopath who thinks attempts to fuck are healing, would suggest I’ve unearthed a repressed feeling about not having kids. But this is not that.

This is about how we spend life searching for our first cage.

Our first enclosure.

We hunt spaces... holes fascinates us.

Fuck...homes, cars, boats...atms.to be our vessels. We yearn for belonging, to outsource the work, to be fed and heal freely. I hate to bring up the orange-faced guy and his lectures on economics and policy, or imperialism, or that ugly stepmother, colonialism. Those bitches aside...this predates language. Predates being understood.

Fuck, we all started life expelled. Yanked out. Lifted. Dragged between flabs of flesh.

And we keep repeating this shit.

We reenact the same move. Leaving rooms. Leaving people. Leaving selves. Leaving years. Leaving traffic. Leaving condoms on nights in therapists’ apartments.

We go in to come out.

We go in knowing we must come out.

The search for “out” feels like freedom, but it’s really memory working backward. We mistake escape for progress because confinement came first. Every door feels like a birth canal in disguise.

Fuck, that weed is good.

We search for enlightenment. We pretend light was our first friend. We lie and say we asked to be here.

And the ending twist matters.

We do not return to light.

We return to dark that can hold us.

Darkness is heaven. Across the river. Soil is not punishment. It is containment without demand. Familiar. Home. Shit ! The earth calls us home.

The earth does not ask us to be more than we were in utero. No need to improve, explain, or exit. It just receives.

So fuck it.

Maybe the arc is not womb to world to nothing.

Maybe it is enclosure to exposure to rest.

Darkness again.

But this time earned