Kazuo Ohno, the Japanese creator of butoh, used to say that you have to treat yourself like a flower, otherwise nothing will work. 

My penis is gentle, just like a heart is, testicles – prone to pain. When I spread my legs, I reveal the inside of the flower. A knife penetrates my body as easily as it does into that of a woman or a child. I also have holes – anus and mouth are specula right into the Middle. You can put a gun barrel there, you can stuff a tongue, a penis, a finger, a piece of glass. Even encased in muscle armor, I can feel. When the war comes, everyone can take care of themselves, but I, like Antigone, cannot cross invisible borders. 

I know enthusiasm and stubbornness. I stand, build and program. The droplets of my sweat dripping down my grease-soiled shirt do not turn into pearls, and neither does the shot of my ejaculate when the heart beats harder. Yet you see the glow of these ephemeral treasures everywhere. 

I would like to be trusted again, admitted into the community – with my fragility and crap, with a whole box of puppy quirks and a love that I don’t want to hide anymore.

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