A Clockwork Orange
On a philosophical level, the general idea served to the masses says "for every lock there is a key," but in reality, you are expected to accept any pin or wedge inside of you or else you are a prude or an egocentric feminist, or to force yourself inside of an unmatching tunnel just because it happens to be there or else you are somehow impotent.
Yet, to me, the attraction is not just about the mind, the heart, or the soul, seen as the opposite of the physical attraction.
Inside of me, there is a whole machinery: the fine clocks and locks in a neatly order, that all need special attention. The totality is an enigma and a riddle and once you manage to wind up one clock or pass through one door, there is another task waiting for you, and in my life, I have not met a single person who has managed to solve more than two problems before blowing themselves up or meeting the deadline and pure failure.
Still, I have felt the highest form of love and delight, but since it’s not just about the physical attraction or a question of mind, soul, or heart, the others have viewed me as an insane person and a sad woman. The divine love breaks the barriers of the material world, it’s 4D, and it’s the love supreme that is in the One and yet, separate from the One, giving you the sensation of individuality and the owned feelings of attraction.
You could say that the machinery is equal to the quality of the dhrupad instrument and there are not many if none who can handle it, to play something soft and sweet, or you could say that it’s a bomb and not many are brave enough to try and dismantle it and these are the reasons why there is a silent tension between me and the boys every time we end up in the same room and they cannot handle and understand the fact that there have been two men who have managed to get the things right without ever meeting me, and what makes it even more bizarre, is the fact that one of them has been dead for 67 years, and the essence of attraction from my part has not been erotic at all, but I have had in him, through his texts, a brother and a platonic caretaker of my uneasy soul and mind, something I never had in real life.
The two mathematicians, Wittgenstein and Kaczynski, have managed to unlock the doors and make every clock tick with pure silence between the marks on the paper and with the right beat of the thought, and I know, it’s an impossible task for anyone around here, in this shitty country, to achieve what they have, but it doesn’t matter to me since I have had it all and it doesn’t matter that the relationships have not been real as you view real and my life has not been from the picture book sold to you by the government where the woman can smile only when she has a house, a husband, the two kids, and a dog.
