Today I watched a movie, in the beautiful afternoon. It seems sometimes there are things that should be shown in broad daylight, and a film about erotic art and our habit of hiding it away seems exactly the sort of film that needs light of day.

It is no surprise that erotic art could be considered shameful… least, not in this country. Some is simply not noticed for the most part, there on display with no attention. Some is intentionally under lock and key, in secret cabinets. There for the looking (sometimes), but a person might have to know to ask. Some works remain visible, but censored: a fig leaf, an amputation, an intentional turn toward the wall.

I walked in late, just as the film was paging through works of French literature. At once, I was reminded of the thrill of PQ, where I hid in the stacks, devouring tomes of forbidden images, words–yes, in French…

Apollinaire loved Lou’s ass. I remember this, remember wondering if I read it correctly, then being absolutely fascinated and turned on by the discovery, the thought of a man dreaming of anal sex while frightened in the trenches during World War I. Yes. I discovered so much of myself in these words, uncovering the uncoverable–I was young, uncovering myself. The erotic, the possibilities, the spreading of my body, open, my fear, a finger planted deep in my ass while my own poet fucked me. Yes, yes, I came as I never knew I could.

This exquisite pleasure was hidden my entire life, penises cut off in so many ways, as they were hidden in drawers somewhere in the Vatican, maybe other places. Our sexuality shameful? No, so beautiful, so essential. So much still to find.

If you have the opportunity, see the movie.

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