Why I Write with Others

I've made no secret of my fascination with human communication as a way to deeply connect with those around me.  When I was a child, growing up in a family dominated by a father with bi-polar, our emotional lives were tossed at will and capriciously, with whim and abstractly, and so there was never a way to predict what was going to happen next. He was a violent man, and his inability to predict his next mood made him dangerous since he would turn whatever was at hand into a weapon. To this day, I carry and manage at least 4 weapons on me at all times.  When I walk into a room, as I was trained, I find at least 200 objects I can weaponize within 15 seconds.

I moved around a lot and I began becoming a mentalist at age 4, following watching the death of my sister right in front of me in the arms of my father.  I began learning to become aware of things before they happened, and my major pathway was to smell and sense emotional content, and this rapidly turned into language use. I studied anatomy, body systems, handwriting analysis, and everything from reflexology to phrenology. I look at eyes, pulse, and a pantheon of criteria.  My first favorite book was "Intimate Behavior."  To see a person, and then to talk to him or her, to read the words, to smell them, to have human contact, to be aware that another person existed, to project the potential for the existence of life on other planets, these are all wrapped up in my sense of the sexual. Every thought and every nuance is a dance on something that is way beyond any fuckability scale.

I often have been with people and pulling my full powers into view, seen like "Slaughterhouse 5" the entirety of a life in a flash.  My favorite author, William Blake, saw the life of those around him to the point of death, even the method of their passing.  This is the way I see others.  I see it all at once.  When I write with someone, I am Powder, touching so deeply that who you are in my hand is what it would take in "Ground Hog Day" terms a billion movies to know.  Every moment to me is "2001: A Space Odyssey." You cannot imagine what I feel.  And when I write with someone, I become and they become a part of a whole that is one thing, and for that moment I know in such a way as to touch and to be at peace in the turmoil of their word choice.

Every nuance of diction and semantics, the semiology of their presentation, the iconology of their omissions, the bare and unutterable nakedness of their defenses: I see way beyond this.  It went past whether I was intellectually advanced enough to comprehend the magnitude of the topology and nature of what I felt. It was not that I have a High IQ; I spent 5 years studying that with people who are really smart, 9-9er's, the few thousand above 164 IQ.  But they were not interested in my subject per se. And so I went to study with others, and it came down to EQ:  Emotional quotient.  I simply have a high capacity for emotional relatedness.  Extremely high.  So much so that I have had to re-engineer what it means to relate to others.  In my world, if we say hi, we just had what I think of as sex.  People often think that my form of sapiosexuality means I have to talk about sex to be sexual and that I have a high tolerance for sexual discussion because of that, but it does not matter what we talk about. I'm up to my eyeballs in seconds. This is off putting for some, and I have had some people offer to beat me up because I seem to see right through them. It renders most defenses useless. Others have refused to talk to me because my invasive nature of being so damned inquisitive is so seemingly undeniable.  I am like a blood hound.  Once on a track, I am all about it.

I have gotten into conversations with total strangers under every conceivable circumstance. And I always go for the juggler.  I want to know everything.  Eventually, I ask how their love life is.  People reading this may think that is totally off the wall and invasive.  It is totally disarming. And if it sets off an alarm, I can read it all right there like a front page.  So, I have been charged with mental rape and all sorts of heinous and entrapping defenses.  It is a conversation, and it is a free country.  If you walk around without a shirt on, people will see your chest, like it or not. If you walk around with a chip on your shoulder and you point it out by acting out, everyone will know it, if they are paying attention.  The AWACS have nothing on me when it comes to intelligence gathering concerning emotions.  I am a walking interrogation. I want to know everything.

I am not sure you fully comprehend what that means to a person like me.  When I say fucking everything, I mean exactly that. I can go molecule by molecule with every biochemical produced in every duct and pore in your body if you have the time, even the past, and in every relationship.  The amount of pressure on your lips during your first kiss and the impact that had hormonally on your skin as you reacted to the elemental charges roaring through your neural pathways and the thickness in the back of your throat as your body booted up for a further investigation, that can be broken down into an infinity of nuances and subcontextual patterns impinging on the values your parents gave you and the root sense that who you are and your identity were being overhauled in a cosmological way that sent you on one or another pathway for life.  This is how I think all the time, and my thinking is the extension of the rationalizations of how I feel, which is a complexity of oceanic and translunar fluxuations and parings with other realms of beingness, non-corporeal understandings, and historically lost esoteric mythologies of the heart and mind but brought into consciousness through meditation and mystical study.