lateralized

     I find my character divided discernibly of two aspects; a body of knowledge and a body of feeling — I like to call them Left (the body of knowledge) and Right (the body of feeling). Left seeks to know, expanding and progressing, a meteor burning faster and brighter through space. Left only gets bigger, faster, quicker, stronger, and it pushes me to feed it to the point of real consequence both upon my lifestyle and Right herself. Left is beyond gender, Left is beyond humanity, Left is progress, and the unyielding pursuit of all knowledge possibly to be known.

Right feels, she is a contracting and expanding amorphous child of passion and the mother of all that is cruel and magnificent and powerful and inconspicuous in the human experience. Right shows me the beauty of everything, she takes my hand as the wind pushes me down the avenues and alleys of nostalgia and exploration, she cradles me as both the origin and protector of all despair, the only survivor of her own apocalypse. She smiles effervescently in every drop of dew, she screams in every crack of thunder, she is the cold of the wet curb in the night and she is the petrichor of the foggy Monday morning. Right stings my lungs in the lonely rainy night when I breathe her in, Right breathes life, feeling, and preference into me, Right is good and evil, Right is the existential longing and cosmic comfort.

I am comprised in equal parts of Left and Right, as entities of myself. They exist not as my progenitors nor my children, they exist as true and real as the rainbow and as false and immeasurable as its end. 

I find that in seeking to escape the longing, Right gives me a lump of wet sand. Sitting in the place of the longing, I feel this gritty angst. It is coarse and impossible to remove, it is nasty, mean, and depressive. In emotion however, I do not find myself nasty, mean, or depressive — just as I do not find myself eternally chasing the longing as it exists within me. It just exists. I am a net that emotions pass through, and if it isn’t longing that moves through me, it’s wet sand. I can feel it in all the places that the longing would be filling within my character, I feel it in sex, I feel it in my outlook on life, I feel it reflected in the environments of emotional reciprocation like Hawthorne, and I feel it the way that I present myself socially.