Exploitation

 "How we got there, how we flew up

Heaven's doors are miles away

'Cause you're stuck to the ground

You have to stay" 

Panchiko, Laputa from the album "D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L" (2000)

Titian. The Rape of Europa (1559-1562).

    I was born nestling the kindred spirits of an ethereal gift to observe the world around me. To possess such qualities taps into the mind's eye of perception: the one that allows me to feel the tenderness of the moss and her heart whilst simultaneously being cushioned by the small joys of life around me. Touch has been nothing short of the feeling of draping your fingers into the Milky Way, as you try to search for the long-lost feeling of the secrets you'll never understand; touch is the physical embodiment of love that has been forged to the inelastic nature of idiosyncratic beings. 

    Some action that holds such an infectious sense of romanticism and compassion from organism to organism, should mirror only the best intentions of the giver and the receiver...in theory. However, Greed choreographs her dance into a deceptive number of velvety spite; she can manipulate your eyes to see nothing but a pirouette of glimmering starlight, so she can twist the narrative of consent. You see, bitter fruit can look appealing on the outside and could spoil an appetite, for the remainder of your days, so your fear grows exponentially. It's Greed and her alluring feathers that entice you to draw closer until you become the object of an unrequited affection. 

    Everyday, I attempt to wipe the stains of utter shame that have lashed in flush bruises to ornament my thighs and breasts; yet, it feels like the more I scrub at the wounded spots, the more it feels as if I'm spreading the blood of my guilt in a uniform circle. To the point where my body is no longer tied to my name and my experiences, the pins that constrain my limbs label me as an uncooperative piece of performative art: the kind that reflects on an embezzled choice in favor for temporary gratification. 

    Was it worth it? 

    The few minutes, where any recorded information on maps was wiped and restored with your personal detour of selfish interest: did it sew your wounds of emasculation?

    Was it worth it? 

        Was it worth it? 

            Was it worth it? 

                Was it worth it?