writing exercise: i want to c o n n e c t

I want to get under your skin, to be the persistent itch you cannot scratch.  I want to see what intrigues you, frightens you, and turns you on all at the same time.  I want to permeate your proximesis, your personal perimeter, the space between polite conversation and sex.  I want.  I want because I am addicted to the power and the control, the feeling of setting the snare and the moment before I’ve got you.  You don’t realise, necessarily.  There’s a slight tickle at the back of your neck, but you ignore it.  That’s me.  Outside this space I do not have the luxury of this control.  I do not get to indulge in this little game.  So I settle for this imagined half-life, my other, secret self.  Existing in the ether between public and private, engraved for the world to see – for you. 

The writing is both a confession and an invitation: “I’ll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours.”  We’ve never met but I know you very well.  I know that in my dream, we share an intimate connection.  I memorise your face, the shape of your body, your smell.  I record my findings.  I do not forget.  We repeat and repeat until we get it right – that perfect moment of human connection.  That’s when I see you the most clearly.  And that’s when you know the message was for you.  And as long as you remember my face, my shape, my smell, I’ll let you be in my dreams too. 

I am a bit of a cynic – or maybe a little jaded.  Life is disappointing, a bore.  I’d much rather live here, in this haze between sleep and awake, where I am the master of my domain.  No worries, no stress.  Just me, a pen, a wall, and you.  Simple, relaxed.  Outside, I am another rat in the race for survival.  Here, I can move very slowly, I can take my time.  I am comfortable.  In my cosy hideaway, my hibernation spot, my romantic little ‘drawing room,’ I can do just as I please and when.

So here’s my proposal to you, my guest.  Stay awhile.  Let me look, study, and record.  Let’s fantasise for a moment because we don’t have to play by the ‘usual rules’ in here.  Can we assume, for a little while, that you are my dream – that I’ve been waiting here for you… that I left a little piece of me behind, hoping you would see it and know it was for you?  Let me see if reality really can compare to dreams… Or is this all a silly fantasy?  It might be.  It might be entirely in my head.  But fuck, that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.