Art, Romanticism, and Nerdiness

sex is not just sex. it’s the closest we get to seeing the divine in someone else without losing who we are. it’s a kind of sacred ritual, a moment where time slows and all that matters is connection. but people turned it into a hobby. something casual. something you check off. and that breaks my heart. because sex should be reverence. it should be something that shakes you, that humbles you, that reminds you we’re not just bodies on this earth but spirits needing to be known.

we’re told to separate the body from the soul, to shut down our feelings, to treat desire like a deal or a game. if you want more than that, you’re called too sensitive or naive or emotional. but sex without spirit is empty. it’s a hollow echo where loneliness grows.

porn and capitalism destroyed the sacredness of sex. they made it a show, a product to consume and forget. we touch but don’t really meet. we give pieces but never ourselves whole. and we wonder why we’re still hungry.

but when it’s real, when it’s sacred, sex is baptism and surrender. it’s breaking open and holding together at the same time. it’s the place where wounds start to heal and souls talk without words. it stays with you like a prayer burned into your skin and your bones.

sex should be more than just sex. it should be a holy dance where we find ourselves and each other. our bodies are temples, wild and aching, filled with light. we owe it to ourselves to honor that.

I have folded my arms around myself and called it home.

I sip from my own soul and taste devotion.

I have stitched my name into love letters and signed them with grace.

In the quiet of longing, I became the answer I was searching for.

My heart beats to a rhythm I now serenade alone.

I learned to bloom in my own light, kissed by no one but my own becoming.

I have taken myself to bed with moonlight and kindness.

No longer waiting, I became the romance I once begged for.

It can almost certainly tell different species apart based on the shape of those air bladders. And it can tell if a fish has something weird inside it, like a metal hook. In Hawaii, false killer whales often pluck tuna off fishing lines, and “they’ll know where the hook is inside that fish,” Aude Pacini, who studies these animals, tells me. “They can ‘see’ things that you and I would never consider unless we had an X-ray machine or an MRI scanner.”

This penetrating perception is so unusual that scientists have barely begun to consider its implications. The beaked whales, for example, are odontocetes that look dolphin-esque on the outside—but on the inside, their skulls bear a strange assortment of crests, ridges, and bumps, many of which are only found in males.

Pavel Gol’din has suggested that these structures might be the equivalent of deer antlers—showy ornaments that are used to attract mates. Such ornaments would normally protrude from the body in a visible and conspicuous way, but that’s unnecessary for animals that are living medical scanners.’

"Walkaway", by Philip Gladstone

"Ragazzo nudo sulla terrazza a Posillipo" 1899