You Can't Get There From Here by Jason
Love can be manufactured. A body can be manufactured. Sensation can be manufactured. There is the body. There are the body's processes. There is the reality of touch. Sight is a kind of touch. We have learned not to trust our sight. That touch is a reality would seem to contradict this. Mobs with axes, pitchforks, and torches are performing touch. Mobs with axes, pitchforks, and torches are performing a kind of love, an erotics of fear. The assistant is usually overlooked, has a life of its own, wants also to be the actor, the processor, the manufacturer. When the assistant is not overlooked, it becomes the mob's love object. How dare anyone manufacture? How dare anyone love?
Hey . . .
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