Eve and Adam, Isis and Osiris, Hathor and Enoch, Juliette and Romeo, Heloïse and Abelard, Iseult and Tristan, Guinevere and Lancelot, Laure and Petrarch, Chloe and Daphnis, Viviane and Merlin, Camille and Rodin, Bonnie and Clyde, Elsa and Aragon, Simone and Sartre, Brigitte and Vadim, Jane and Gainsbourg, Marge and Homer — plus all the forgotten ones — the law of love has bound them for the eternity of the living.
Forever in our human memories they will remain chosen of love, dreamed celebrants, attractive antennas, magnets that attract us, lovers that we admire and dream of envy. Feeling the power of the bond that connects them opens up the appetite of the seeker-light and the guard-envy. For envy keeps alive.
Do you know this guard of envy? It comes to life in two hearts and in our lap it takes off. The sublime comes out. I ask for more. Everything changes into gold, a wonderful setting, the hunger of our bodies is dance in harmony: the great art comes out of it.And not the great saur herring as is written too often.
What will they live in the next chapter? What will they invent? Will they sing behind the glass? I would love to hear them! Silence sleeps me, love awakens me again. The pages of the open book have turned their white backs. Two married, separating a little to better fit. Words will coo. Here is what they say :
Let’s go fishing for shells, Breizh my embers with snails, your love eyes carved from a block of light. Pure and sweet squire, are you the expected messenger? Oh my beautiful knight, fin’ amor suits you as much as it delights me and I want to sing you his reign in madrigal.
This is what they say to each other with their hands, skin against skin, beast with two backs, also between bellies, no story will return the softness of your fingers, I enter the den of love where you court me.
Unperfectible happiness: it is already perfect.
Beware of everything, the matrix is everywhere, but not the Resistance. (Lao Surlam)
Let me tell you, shout from the rooftops the love I have for you. In secret. On the rooftops. We all deserve it. One humble time, at least, at the bend of the path, your hand takes your hand, delicate, evasive and the sky disappears in lascivious vapors. Erotic gift of a good god, if he exists, Eros is his first name, his mother is Aphrodite, he seeks us everywhere to give us the desire, the mad desire to love while we are alive, love is religion, ecstasy and paradise. It was a god who said it.
Chastity is only valid if it is followed by bestowal, mad love, rediscovered pleasure. At two as at two thousand.
Each is a whole sexual identity. (Edith Post)
Eternity (and more if affinity)
Okay. You’ve got it; it’s about love. It’s about a very specific, special love. Rare in power, hard in intensity, strong in resistance, unusual in type. A bond that only breaks with death — and more. It is a bond that holds the body as well as the heart as the soul. For the man and for the woman, for the trans without dance, for the triumphant children. A drama with dense action. An explosion of calm. An abyss raised like an inverted abyss. Justice finally done for the forbidden fruit. None is excluded, each according to his due.
Ease. Benevolence. Carelessness. Difficulty. Cruelty. Even more if affinity.
There are beings like things. Some fit together so well that it is folly to undo them. Is there a bond so tight that no one can slip the nail? Is there a denial of the beauty of jugglers? The terrifying ardour without reason or season? Some beings are moved by a strange, rebellious, frightening force. Their union is only the first step. Beyond is a checkerboard of fabulous treasures. They melt the inner gold. They unite and their union becomes mystery.
Better read it twice. Three is free. The fourth is Force. (Lao Surlam)
An ordeal with a delicious verdict. Fire is the one that consumes the belly and the heart. God’s judgment gives pride of place to cosmic lovers. Their wives light the world. They sow golden petals around them. We hasten, we believe them or so, we want to see them, we can still drink them in person, vibrate at the edge of the heart and body, credible fate, alive or dead, impossible agreement that theirs, however, can and will be long.
These lovers are cosmic because all bestowal is for them fusion. Without confusion. They no longer know where they are, but they know very well who they are. Even if the physical limits are abolished.
I don’t know where you start,
You don’t know where I end up.
You have scars
Where I’m hurt.
You get lost in my beard,
I got your kid wrists.
Georges Moustaki sang with a heart made for love “and ugly face and hairy hair.”
Cosmic is their love, comic is the return of flame and desire that we cultivate at leisure. That derives in pleasure. Couple of twin children like Isis and Osiris. Don’t be afraid of words: he leads us in his hordes. He holds us by the waist and gives us time to wait. Don’t see any malice, he fights in the tournament without the police. There is no rule for him, except the one that blossoms in the eyes, in the faint heart of this magnet, passing the loose glue that leaves you astonished. A crazy lightning that spits in the black sky is gonna blow.
The alchemical couple is doubly magical: closely bound by love, it has free rein. He moves more; he radiates an infinite light. He inspires, he energizes. Fuse, he burns his breeches. Muse, he gives and enriches. He gives to enjoy as he enjoys to give. It is a bond that liberates. A bond of autonomy. Alchemists are not glued to each other, they evolve as they please, free in their body — their head is in their heart.
“For those who follow, go ahead. It is your turn.” (Lao Surlam)
Nothing explains the sublime attraction within such a couple. Nothing. Little nothing makes a great whole in your faitout. Kiss sweet, risk everything. Let go of the line where no fish goes to hell. The prison that releases. The line is false in real life. It’s just a hyphen, an enchanted sling that wraps up or goes away. A knot that doesn’t hold.
There is no need to be united. His hair is a nest of quarters. Your heart pulsates in him. You feel his heart beating under your delicate breast. Like matriochkas you live nested together. He feels you in each other in the depths of you. You see your good apostle in the most secret of him. You sow through him. He loves himself through you. We dream through what? We palpate, we snort, we wake up, we see each other, and wonder! We believe ourselves.
Who is free? The being or its clothing ? (Lao Surlam)
We swim gooseneck illustrated with a smile, open shirt where a teasing eye points, Astonishing naughty love, and from the bear to the shark your canopy bed will long remember the sheets make it as much confusing love away from the disgusting duel that the lovers of yesteryear make full time.
Are Miss Robote and her male robot almost as beautiful? No. By far. Of a flawless love for the elect of Sapho who once won Carabosse over Lesbos. In the sky of Nubia the Greek gods were bi. They were flying in their helicopters. Disguised as shepherds, they ran the shepherdesses. They tamed the damn Shrew. Look at her meowing! See what she looks like! I’m going to give her a proud kick in the butt that will make her sing the verses of the breviary and the Mass in Latin. Sweet treat of the whores. Good waking in the morning. Moinillon accomplished that comes from the complies the air brush and the mine blossomed. He wouldn’t be so proud if he hadn’t said yes. His shocked confessor — sweet Jesus! What did he hear! “Turns into a stuttering parrot whom he has enjoyed. This shocks the nuns, nuns without love.”
The space is infinite where you fell asleep, but the space in your body is much larger still. (Lao Surlam)
Everywhere you will be told that such a couple is so united that one is nothing without the other and that the other is lost. That the absence is terrible. Separation kills. Are we alone? We are naked. When we are far from each other, we die. We don’t like everything. Barefoot on the pebbles, the horizon becomes ugly. We no longer have a project. We are deaf, blinded. Only one person is missing and everything is depopulated.
Fadaise! Insanity! These common places are invented by those who have never loved. The lovers of an alchemical couple will each go their step, will each live their life, because they have their love that carries them.
This couple holds only by the identity of both. It is easy to do without his presence: he sleeps deep in the heart, in the fibers of the body.
There is no difference in kind between the human and the divine. Just a difference of degree. (Lao Surlam)