Jacob Lawrence, "The Lovers," 1946
Jacob Lawrence, The Lovers (1946)
Can a Game Be Literature?

Mark's Pages

December 28, 2011:

I found sex with her off-putting. All that ego and looking in the mirror.

"I blew him away," she'd say, as if friction were a personal accomplishment.

This isn't nice. There is of course far more to sex than physiology. But that's exactly it. The personality she brought to bed was vain, centered on her private ego satisfaction. Non-collaborative, non-communicative, entrapped in a personal head space. A vision that was selfish in its generosity.

That's not paradox. At the end of the day it's evil. A vampire's vision of satisfaction. I'll take you to bed to feed my head.