The pull of gravity and its opposite repulsion are--in the end--equally valid forces of "connection." Whether in its incomprehensible expansion or in its invisible minutiae, the universe is the dance of objects in space. Everything is held in place and pattern, the fractal elaborations of a Busby Berkley film: mass in tension (and agreement) with mass, nothingness converted into inertia's perfect slip-and-slide. And the blue horizons, studded with stars, beckon to chase, to move, to follow, while the wide distances hold one wistfully in place. One wants the world while wanting no part of it.
"I am paralyzed by my desire for you,"
Attraction and revulsion are variations on the same theme, containing the same energy regardless if the action is fuck or flight. By this model, in this metaphor, it may seem that a respectful indifference to the other would somehow be indicative of a "lack of connection." But one should not presume virtue in the motivation and tenacity of the previous state; rather that object that spins in the vacuum of space, held in the fluid rhythms of its own ambivalence, neither immersed in the gravity of the other nor wobbling into the nether reaches of space, that object is a ballerina in a music box, delicate and lovely, locked in the dance.
