A response to Mark Morford

It’s like the Q-tip hitting just the right hard-to-reach itch. The thing that makes your senses come alive so fiercely you remember you were kind of numb before. Your mind gets caught up in things but your body, your body wants you to live in it, too. You can refuse it but it will remind you. The Q-tip will remind you. Or maybe the thought-equivalent of that Q-tip will remind you. A mental stimulus so sudden and so grounded you feel it in your body. Sometimes it’s a laugh. Or a cry. Or an oh-my-god-that-was-fucking-beautiful. Or all of the above in one hot, hot moment. It is a reminder that you are not asexual. That there are things in the world that turn you on, even if it’s more likely to be a lovely piece of text or a thought or an image than a flesh-and-blood interaction with another human being. It tells you that yes, you could live this life. You could live a sensual, interconnected, swirly, messy, hedonistic, uninhibited, unencumbered existence. As long as you keep being given things that do this to you.

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