As of now I no longer intend to post to this blog. I have said a great deal about desire and intimacy. I think I’ve said enough. This has been a project of self-expression for me, even more so than I originally envisioned, but now I’ve done it.
I do not plan to delete this account, and you are still very welcome to write me here or to send me an email. I’ll be glad for it. It is possible that at some later date I will change my mind and return to this blog. But that will be because I am in a different place in my life and want something different from this space.
Though some of you have assumed otherwise, “Through the Fever” has never been a popular blog. I am grateful to everyone who has chosen to connect with me, whether by enjoying the photographs of me, engaging with my commentary, or speaking with me directly. It’s mattered to me.
Thank you for spending time with me.
I saw the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind around the time it was released in 2004. Eight years later it appears to be a film with considerable staying power. In my online travels, especially here on Tumblr, I regularly come across references to its dialogue and imagery. And so gradually, by way of osmosis, I became motivated to revisit this film, which I myself only vaguely remembered.
As those of you who have seen it know, Eternal Sunshine tells the tale of two ex-lovers, Joel and Clementine, who separately undergo an experimental procedure to have the memory of their failed relationship erased from their minds. So when I sat down recently to watch it again I expected to see a story strongly about love. But Eternal Sunshine, I found, is not that. It is a bizarre and fantastical thriller in which, after a change of heart, Joel’s consciousness races against the technical workings of the procedure across the landscape of his mind, in order to save his memories of Clementine from deletion.
In this, Eternal Sunshine is concerned less with love and more with the loss of memory, as a metaphor for uncertainty in life and the inevitability of death. All our memories will be erased sooner or later, after all. I have long been drawn to stories that revolve around themes of memory and nostalgia and the passage of time. Like Eternal Sunshine, these are stories that approach perhaps the most astonishing aspect of life: Everything changes and everything ends, which is a reality that exists precisely at the convergence of mind-numbingly beautiful and heartbreakingly sad.
In Eternal Sunshine, love does not conquer all. The future is not forever unfolding brightly in front of you. The ground is shifting, disappearing, and sometimes reappearing in strange and wonderful ways. In the end, Joel and Clementine are left with no memory of their relationship but find themselves in possession of all the documentation related to their respective procedures. Thus they know already all the ways in which a relationship between them will fall apart. They know that it surely cannot last, but still they are drawn to each other. Presented with this, Joel responds, So what? Why must it last? Let’s enjoy it while we have it.
When I lay my body over a woman’s, it’s not the most pleasurable position for me because the penetration is shallower, but I like to do it anyway because the angle of penetration causes my cock to slide along her clit and the length of her pussy with each stroke. And so the reaction from her is immediate, and that’s fun. I like to place my legs on the outside of hers to keep us steady at that angle.
(Source: filthywetslut, via andthistooshallpasss)
Among blogs that frequently or primarily deal in sexual content, I’ve often noticed the curious inclusion of photographs of books. Perhaps you’ve noticed it too. Sometimes these photographs depict sexualized persons interacting with books — reaching for them, holding them, lying beside them. And sometimes these are photographs of books alone — shelves, libraries, piles — as sexual objects themselves. I’ve largely assumed that this phenomenon was the result of genuine enthusiasm for the thing and also a dollop of insecurity. In posting photographs of books, sex bloggers suggest that their interests extend beyond mindless fucking, that they are made of deeper and more serious stuff.
But it occurred to me recently that it is perhaps something else too. Though eventually we forget their contents, struggle to remember even their titles, for regular readers each book is for a time an accessory to our relationships, a companion to our intimacies. It is in her hands. It is on her person when we travel. It is on the nightstand when we talk and when we touch. It is on her mind. This is how I find her, in this time with this book. And so perhaps books are imbued with a little of the romance.
(Source: dualohc, via muneca-blue)
I am drawn to both their expressions in this photograph. But when I thought to reblog this, it occurred to me that I have almost never posted photographs of two women together on this blog. I wondered why that is. I like looking at women. And I like looking at two women. No surprise.
But I suppose I do not like the latter all that much. With “Through the Fever,” I try to share pieces of my consciousness, to the best of my ability, and so I believe I tend to choose photographs in which I am, in my mind, a participant in some sense. I’m also, I think, sensitive about co-opting imagery and content that is not meant to include me.
(Source: loneookami, via deviantfemme)
When my orgasm is powerful, I cannot help bucking my hips. It does not matter if I am alone or if I am only in her hand. My body does not know, and it is determined to drive into her, to release deep inside her.
I wonder if women experience their own version of this.