Man Hunter

Hunger, conquest, a calling. There is strangeness in the touch of the other. A moment of startling realness, the moment a hand caresses another’s cheek, the instant fingers run through fur.
Can we ever see the Other as it is? Or in our blindness will it always be another ourselves, presumed to feel and operate as we do until something Real collides with our projections.
What does it mean, to seek one's own transformation through the mirror of the Other? By touching the Other do we seek to be more like them? Or are we merely thrilling at the experience of other as expressed through a touch, through fingerprints on the eyes lens, talcum powder on the thigh?
The scenes that run through the secret most chambers of your own self, what would it mean to open these chambers to another being? What does it mean to keep them closed and inhabit them even in the presence of another?
Tell me Tiger, why do you burn so bright? Is it from hurt that you hide in the closed chambers of your heart? Is it hurt that makes you strike?
Hunger, conquest, a calling. The desire to touch them, those out there, those who won’t touch you, those who are Other.
Are you now becoming? As you prowl the forests of the night are you stalking the lamb, or fleeing from its terrible strangeness. Attracted and repelled, seeing yourself through their eyes, their eyes whose light you stole. The broken mirror cannot transform you.
Tell me Tiger, tell me, do you want to see yourself or hide from yourself, and if you are hiding, how will you be transformed? With a broken mirror, how will you transform, how will you reach the wonderland if the looking glass is smashed?
Seeking your solace in the arms of blindness, in the cool acceptance of darkness, you prowl. Watching them and waiting for the moment to strike. The moment of startling realness, the moment a hand caresses another’s cheek, the instant fingers run through fur.
Whole villages vanish in the wake of your hunger. Is it a need? Is it a desire? Have you confused one with the other, watching, watching, watching, watching them as you do?
Can we ever see the Other as it is? Or in our blindness will it always be another ourselves, presumed to feel and operate as we do until something Real collides with our projections?
What does it mean, to seek one's own transformation through the mirror of the other? What does it mean to be burned, to be burned by the Tiger burning bright?
Hunger, conquest, a calling. Strangeness in the touch of the other. Is that all you want? All you ever wanted? To touch, to be touched, flesh and flesh slowly merging.
You seek unity. But you take it with your teeth.