I spend a lot of time preoccupied with notions of community—how to foster, improve and sustain them.
I was raised in an insular, religious cultish community. It was neither the best nor the worst situation; it was just another thing that happened to me.
Somehow, I managed to survive it.
It’s now just shy of two decades since I cut ties with that life. It has been for the best, without question.
But I would be lying if I denied frequently feeling rootless—a tumbleweed tossed wherever the fuck the wind blows.
It’s not the group sex that gets me—although I am not opposed to that by any means; it’s witnessing the shame and stigma my former community directed toward any expression of sexuality transmuted into a sublime collective experience.
Acetylene Eyes 
