no record of joy can be like the juice that jumps through your skull when you are perfect in sex. you position your spine until it waves. your hands run to spots that feel different breathing tells the person what to do. you try to stop because that is the fun. then you squeeze and become unconscious near whomever which is the dangerous thing in the world. at the end you do not want. you carry this sensation to the cruel places you go.
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| — | jenny holzer |
