Pure desire needs no reason, no sanction, no rights, nor is it hindered or berated or tampered with by a righteous set of wrongs; it needs no means beyond the sweet hymn of its organic verse.
Pure desire is desire devoid of every petty thing that would otherwise taint its expression, its confession, the profession of its harbored pangs. It is not beholden to guilt or obligation or circumstance; it is liable to dance around tradition and emerge as silently as a dark angel in disguise; it arises without word and urges every bee, butterfly and bird to lie sedately in the plush fold of its warm death. Pure desire is bereft of fear, shame and temerity, as well as any frivolous, fickle and finicky ideals; it steals us away from duty and absconds the laws that otherwise flaw its fulfillment. It shuns arrogance, intolerance and prejudice for it is all but deaf, dumb and blind, as it is the kind of sentiment that rests and wakes and takes us away from the fears and feelings that would leave us behind. Pure desire is enlightened ignorance and the knowledge of bliss, for pure desire is almost always that first kiss without all the inhibiting expectations that follow.
It is the problem and the solution, it is the beginning of evolution and the result of revolution, for pure desire is as much Form as it is real.
And so entertaining pure desire for me is as much about being an aesthete who finds everything from bustling nature to the inanimate synthetic as riling as a mere peak of skin. For there is as much a lonely man inside of me who is piqued by these simple and sometimes sordid things, as there is a connoisseur of life who dissects each moment with patient and pedantic poise and subjective objectivity.
Yes, pure desire is the desire to live and feel and see and be part of everything around me, as if ensemble we are one big, buzzing mass of anxious and excited molecules.
Yet, as detailed as I may profess its allure, I am sure that pure desire remains equally undefined, for it flows uninhibitedly upon a stream of subjectivity that takes me everywhere and always to explore and touch and muse upon everything that desire is evolving into: every little thing from all that leads with violent sway to a single woman’s ecstasy to lavishly awing over the lush violet and velvet plush of the lapping petal of another of my favorite flowers – the regal iris germanica.
There is no Good, there is no Bad;
These be the whims of mortal will.
What works me weal, that I call good;
What harms and hurts I hold as ill.
They change with place, they shift with race,
And, in the veriest span of time,
Each Vice has worn a Virtue's crown,
All Good was banned as Sin or Crime.
~ Translated by Sir Richard Burton
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