That which most people assume would make me feminine in fact makes me man.

I know that when I ingest the essence of male existence, I am vindicated. That knowledge exists within me. When I feel the venereal pulsation of another, I know it is a manly pursuit, a pursuit with a lineage.

I explore where others have for centuries-moving through nature, seeking out that which my mind (man) drives me towards.
This is how I experience my masculinity, not via the false nature of modern men; but by engaging with the inherent.

Here acts of bravado and dominance are at their most basic and primal. They are functional acts and operate outside of society, as do their hosts.

I feel at home. Men were born of water and moved to trees.

The constant risk of discovery an of conflict drives, again, towards an understanding of intrinsic masculinity.

The ability to camouflage only adds to the feeling of assumed and subjective numinous equilibrium.

The destruction of this environment is damaging.

My world smells of time, of spring flowers, of dead animals, of shit, of piss, of spunk.

My abject emancipation also constrains me, it separates me. My world has become a dichotomy. I'm caged by that which saves me; a fleeting knowledge of my own existence.

I am drawn to the miasma, the chaos of the nascent relationships, possible but unlikely, reflect that of the universe and in doing so offer a non-deliberate discourse on existence, function and desire.