A film about the birth of a homeoerotic film company, a trip to the petrol station of life and the space inbetween fantasy and perversion
by Missy Jubilee
Why do we invent reasons to make sense of existence?
Why not watch the stars burn out and feel nothing
Like the black hole left in the pattern
seen only by those who watch the night
We live in a subdivision of a Galaxy,
within a Universe
best explained by mathematics,
and a feast of Gods
that inevitably overindulge
A God by any name is contained within the collective mind.
An agreement by the many
that a guide is good and needed
and therefore creates meaning
Regarding intellect and hubris, Carl Jung said
I have no intention of dying
But know that I must
A companion chapter
and a part of this
is me
as high line art
Because we are all either fucked
or on the way to being so
Fucking is not a sin
Fucking is a life affirming
Life giving
A sharing thing
It is a response to a request to go on
It seems to be a good answer
to a problem that may not exist
We are simple organisms
with a drive to replicate little symbols of ourselves
before we know who
or what we are
Then we feign disappointment
when they fail to overcome our own cowardice.
There was a time I gave a fuck
I don’t now
Beauty is the science of survival
during the process of dismembering identity
It is a cruel vision
Given time to consider
in the moments of recovery,
what had I been loyal to
And why?
Was this an exorcism?
Love?
A cheap thrill?
Or something to do with an intoxication of sorts?
I don’t understand it
but I experienced it
The other side of me yearns for simplicity
because I fuck like a memory
These are sentences fleshed out with potential growth,
tied to a wild horse nobody could tame,
caused by the accuracy of my story
It is the thing I live in,
while hitting every bump on the road
in between birth & death