The moon dances with her star
Burning for him from afar
Her shadow lures his light to surge
Cries of love and war converge
Chaos sings its fateful claim
The rhythm of the world aflame
From whence its heart is torn,
Erosia is born.
A friend wrote a post saying she won’t be offended if a man talks to her. She won’t feel like due to the patriarchy, he thinks he’s entitled etc. I completely agree with her, and I find it depressing that this even has to be said. This patriarchy-bashing and man-hating has reached a level of complete insanity.
Men talking to women, men holding the door, men asking you out, being a little determined – so what? Get real people. Masculinity is a REAL force in the world – if you choose not to honor it, you’re living in a fantasy land. Cuckolding entire sub-cultures won’t do you any good; it won’t help you find a balanced relationship. If you want a man who is strong enough to handle you, then stop squandering male expression at every turn.
Unfortunately, both conservatism and liberalism are responsible for this particular modern disaster.
For the record, I’m not anti-religion. However, there is a tendency in some religions, especially more conservative sectors, to want women to cover up. In some cases, forcing them. This is across the board – Christianity, Islam, Judaism. There are sectors that care less about this, and then more extremists and orthodox who cover people up – in some cases, they cover up people of both genders. But there’s a strong focus on ‘modesty’ for women and not being presented as a sexual object, which of course brings to light the problem that it’s ASSUMED that men will otherwise do bad things, think bad thoughts etc; if we present in a sexy way. This makes a sexy woman, or a woman AT ALL – into a kind of ‘taboo.’ Which makes it exciting, titillating, sinful – to get just an inch closer to her and then go home and whack off.
Personally, I’m a married woman very in love with my husband, who is my soulmate. Anyone that has seen his picture would understand why there is no way in hell that I’d want anyone else, and I mean that on every level; superficially, he looks like a supermodel; more deeply, his intelligence and sensitivity is palpable. I am completely loyal to him, and him to me.
Yet both of us enjoy being admired for our beauty, our sexiness. We both encourage each other to wear whatever we want in public. If others want to admire us that’s fine, but we are also compassionate and don’t play games with others or with each other, so we make it clear to anyone we talk to that we’re married and monogamous.
Yet beyond that, why not be admired? It’s a basic human instinct. Knowing I can go out in sexy clothes and the world can be my stage, is a motivator for going to the gym, eating healthy; it also makes it FUN to go out. Usually we go out together.. we have no desire for a ‘separate social life’ – so we make an appearance as a pair. But on occasions where we must be separate, like around work, why not come home with stories about people who admired our beauty? Why not feel good about ourselves?
It’s a human instinct to want to admire others’ beauty and be admired. Some people feel this less than others, which is perfectly fine, but for those of us who get a thrill and connect on the basis of beauty and mutual admiration, and who see life as an art; why not indulge it? This kind of thing – for those of us who want to do it – DEMYSTIFIES the appeal of sexiness, of womanliness – and shows how it’s human. It demystifies the sexual undercurrents in conversation, since there’s literally nothing wrong with lusting a little as long as boundaries are set. Healthy desire leads to inspiration and excitement; breaks the monotony. Honoring the desire to be sexy makes for a more honest psyche, where people aren’t ‘cheating and being freaks behind closed doors’ due to all the repression they force themselves into every day.
If someone WANTS to be modest, let her. Let him. I don’t care. But making cultural rules about it, will never work. There will always be people with high sex drives, with soulful styles, who want to sing like the birds even if they are taken, just because that song and dance is beautiful and beauty is inspiring. There are people who just enjoy being looked at. There are people who are not monogamous. So what?
(I already anticipate the response: STDS! Pregnancy! Yes, these are real issues. I am saying this assuming that in a world with less oppression, there would be MORE focus on how to be RESPONSIBLE about sex, rather than shoving it under the rug and pretending it doesn’t exist, only to have people cheating the system behind closed doors and finding themselves infected and pregnant with unwanted children, which is the real outcome of sexually repressed sub-groups and societies. There are individuals who are pious and are exceptions to this; but forcing it on a wide scale clearly does not work.)
On a wide ideological scale, conservatism represses femininity (in both men and women), whereas liberalism represses masculinity (specifically in men), thus resulting in a need for women to fill that role in lieu of seeking to love and to nurture. To be clear, men also want to love and nurture. But if men are not allowed to aggress, then the average man will devolve into a dependent pussy sucking your titty. That is not fulfilling for any of us.
Conservatism says “men shouldn’t cry” and “women should be modest,” repressing unbridled emotional display and beauty. Liberalism says “men shouldn’t aggress” and “women should not need men,” oppressing very obvious parts of our nature too. It is fine for ANYONE to assert their will, man or woman alike; and if men are socially not allowed to do this, then women end up feeling undesired or unfulfilled by men who aren’t working, aren’t asserting themselves, etc. As for the men, the suicide rates speak for themselves: they feel cuckolded, uninspired, unwanted, ineffective, creepy. Women, this is not good for you either – especially if you’re hetero – but even if you have sons, friends, brothers, coworkers who are male. An emasculated society is a limp world that can’t get momentum, can’t assert, can’t individuate. Having assertive women won’t make up for it, because these women still have an instinctual desire to find lovers, no matter how loudly they insist they ‘don’t need no man.’ Look deeper. Beyond that, if men in society are squandered due to being told they can’t assert their will, can’t “manspread” and sit comfortably, must squash their balls to avoid female wrath – society will have weak links and will perish.
Sexless women and emasculated men are not ideals. It’s fine if individuals express this way, but praising it as some ideal is not the solution to social problems; it is more problematic than human nature itself. People cry, desire, flirt, ask each other out, assert their will, aggress.. your social constructs will not stop them. At best, you will push these acts deeper behind closed doors, where they will come out in extreme ways (rape, cheating, whoring, etc).
All the extreme constructs do is create more divides, oppression, repression and hatred between people, as they identify more and more with this sector or that, in opposition to one another. To speak for myself, I am not “a white, middle class, chronically ill, Jewish, female, cisgendered, bisexual, right-or-left-leaning American,” I’m fucking Erica Xenne, and I will express as such. If all you can see is a statistic, that says more about you than me.
In this world of categories, ideals and constructs, I find that exploring my own nature is paramount. These rules and games will never tell me who I am, nor will they contain me; I have always known this. If you explore who you are, and you express who you are and observe what happens, you learn a lot about the world and it’s easier to see the trends for what they are. That is my theory anyway. Subjectivity and individualism do not necessarily begin and end with serving the self. If you know who you are and assert it, the world shows its true colors in your wake.
Some people believe Erosia doesn’t exist, and others claim it can only be found in a dream. Some suggest that in order to see Erosia, one must believe in it first. It is up to you to decide what you will, and you may call me mad if you wish. Either way, I will indulge my memories.
|Chapter 1: Erosia||Chapter 2: The Muse|
|Chapter 3: Prince Poison||Chapter 4: Dystopia|
*Work-in-progress – many photos to organize.
Prince Ruby Valentine was born to Queen Onyx Valentine, the best queen Erosia ever had – but she died in childbirth, leaving Ruby with the curse of being poison to women. Early in childhood, he decided not to speak and to communicate only through music, art, poetry and prose, which he used to reflect and consume the hearts of his lovers.
The Valentine family was rumored to have vampiric heritage because they used their magic to control others, but they did it for the sake of community and upholding the values of their God. Ruby disappeared from the palace whenever he pleased and seduced on his own, forsaking his royal duties.
Ruby thirsted for inspiration and feasted on the dreams of others. His magic gift was to make dreams come true with his hands: he lured his prey with music that reflected their deepest fantasies and, as they succumbed to him, embodied their ideal lover. Once he made their dreams come true, he became their only yearning, and they could dream only of him. The irony is, the person they dreamed of was not Ruby, but rather, their own dreams which he happened to enact. Thus, Ruby got bored and left, looking for a deeper fill; someone with enough passion and depth to fill him and make him whole.
Ruby was enslaved by self-loathing for killing his mother and his need to break free from his royal duties.. yet the longer he ran, the more violently these shadows consumed him and the emptier his inner landscape became. As his world grew more arid, he grew increasingly insatiable and yearned to escape into more conquests. Then he met white-souled muse Erica Xenne, whose inner life was so intense and elaborate, he could not possibly drain it dry. She was a never ending well of inspiration and he sensed she might be the one to satisfy him. What he failed to realize was that he could not see her without facing himself.
Erica Xenne was born while two musicians played a song so real and heartfelt that she spawned from it. Her first act as a living being was to inspire these shy musicians to confess their feelings: upon seeing her sprout from their passion itself, they surrendered to their desire for the first time and remained together throughout the rest of their days. Yet Erica was not born of flesh like them and did not fit into their world. She was a muse who reflected their humanity, but lacked her own.
Much like Ruby, Erica possessed the power to reflect the colors of the world, but unlike him, she mirrored the truth rather than embodying illusions. Just as the color white reflects but does not absorb, Erica mirrored the core of people in the moment, then emerged just as before. When looking at Erica, people saw their demons exposed so brightly that they were blinded, but their darkness could never destroy her. On the contrary, she yearned for anything demonic enough to cast a shadow over her whiteness, even for a moment, as it made her feel immersed.
She lived among wildlife in Erosia, singing with the birds like an animal reflecting on the human entanglement she lacked, yet also feeling more at home among creatures who were true to themselves as she was. Her music broke people open with desires more real to her than her life, though her deepest yearning of all was to find someone of her species, who could speak her language of passion. There was no limit to the heavens and hells she would bring to light in order to feel her heart, and compared to these deep dives into her desires, the outside world was grey. The closest she could get to loving was to expose her inner world and allow others to see their own longing reflected in her bare naked disclosure.
Everything changed when she met Ruby. Where once she was isolated and white, he made her heart bleed red. She had always been honest, but he made her REAL.
He feared to touch her, lest he drain her of inspiration and ruin their love like he did with other women. Worse, he feared to reveal to her that underneath his lure, there was nothing but hunger and emptiness.
They played music together, communicating in the language that only they could share, but in the end, they could not resist the temptation to make love. As they consumed one another, Erica began to turn red, becoming a reflection of Ruby himself, with nothing left of her but lust and obsession. Ruby felt empty as usual; he needed to feast on her dreams, but all he could taste was the ashes of her innocence and the false hopes he had fed her. His inner hell had been exposed and reflected back in his face, leaving him more dead inside than ever. He could not look at Erica without seeing himself, and if he could not love Erica, he could love no one. He failed to believe in love and, at once, disappeared from Erosia. He left Erica naked with his guitar, starving for him, tainted red from their love making, doomed to obsess over him for eternity.
She wanted to follow him, but the Valentines told her she would lose her magic powers and that once someone was corrupted in Dystopia, they could never return to Erosia, as they could never love purely again. Regardless, she left Erosia with Ruby’s guitar and turned up in Dystopia, NY. When she arrived, she had no voice, as her singing had been her magic power. She was doomed to speak in a whisper, but did not regret her choice, since Ruby was her muse and there was nothing to sing about without him.
Although Ruby lost his magic power, he could never shake his vampiric nature and his seductive allure consumed women in Dystopia just the same. He slowly built up his guitar skills and used his vampiric attunement to pull people’s dreams from their souls and reflect them in his music.
Erica spoke in a whisper, but desperate songs about Prince Ruby Valentine wrote themselves through her. She sang of her memories of Erosia when they longed for each other; she sang of the loss of her hope and dreams and the emptiness she felt when he left her alone; she sang of the wild sex and soulful songs they shared; she sang of her jealous hatred of the other women he seduced, she sang of his reflection she kept seeing in the mirror. Music poured through her relentlessly, and she had no choice but to let it out. Ultimately she released her first album, ‘Slave to Freedom,’ originally called ‘Freedom Broke the Exile’s Heart’ — dedicated to Prince Ruby. It was formatted as a conversation between her vocals and his guitar.
She knew her obsession with him would consume her, destroy her and rebirth her; he was the only thing that was real to her. Where once she yearned for her fantasy lover, she now obsessed over one she believed was real, who barely slipped from her grasp. Her album reflected her love and longing.. but was it truly love, or was she pining for the shadow of a dream that could never come true? Did she truly love Ruby, or did she love the reflection of her hunger that she saw in his eyes? Perhaps she and Prince Ruby Valentine were two sides of one person, doomed to destroy and inspire each other for all eternity. Theirs is a story of sex and death; their music is rebirth.