Between the mindless transmogrification of sexual vagaries and the norms strutting social harmony lie my fantasies of role-playing and sexual dominance. Give me a minute’s worth of your import and in return, I will give you the seemingly-baseless imaginarium of a world where the overlords are domineering dominatrices cocooned in corsets of leather and garters of silk—a world where slaves labour day in and day out to please their masters lest they suffer the dreaded whiplash—where the only place for fair-tongued diplomacy is in the aftermath of orgasms—where pleasure is both all-creator and all-destroyer.

He who can destroy a thing controls it.

Paul Muad’Dib, Dune (1965)

What would we know about power then? Would the dream of powerfulness still be the lordship of all man- and womankind? Or would it be the contemporarily constructed anathema of letting our own minds free, to reign and rule as it so pleases? One way or another, in a world without cages and prisons, there are no men or women; ha! how wonderful that there are no people when there are no prisoners, when there is no oppression, because only when we turn against one another do we know the black man from the white, the sisters from the whores, the beggar from the altruist—in our own anguish, we teach ourselves to hate and love. Why don’t we face forward, for once, and look the future in the eye? Why don’t we look and see nothing but the reality that faces all of us and not our own eyes in the iris of another man?

Freedom lies within us and revolutions are only excuses: every morning, I tell this to myself not out loud, but as a thought, a passing memory that flits in and out of focus as I brush my teeth and look into the mirror. It’s not a poetic world: all these words are just reflections of myself in myself. Am I scared about where my desires are taking me? Am I scared about where I am leading myself to go in the name of being free? Am I scared about seeing myself breaking away from my family and being who I am just in response to how I was never me all these days? I couldn’t be more terrified—but I know it’s something I must do. Why would I die without knowing me fully? Why would I choose not to look into a place that is outside of all this “human” darkness?

I don’t think these are real questions. These are answers. The question always has been, “What are the right questions?”

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