I craved her, flesh and bone, I wondered if I could slaughter her, my lewd instincts, prevented only from crimes by the dull bourgeois dependency on stability that I inherited. Never, did I did want to touch her gentle breasts like a raptured lover. I did not desire to smell the blossom of her hair like the returned husband. I craved her like a beast its prey. Does the slave craves his freedom stronger, than the master desires to possess it? The master wants its fiercer. I wanted her, not for her, but for myself, cause I could not live without, as the master cannot, but the slave can without his freedom. The grounded odor of bones, the acid sweat of fear, I wanted it to be mine because I needed her to be part of me.
Within seconds, this murderous sense had evaporated again, my social consciousness awakened, weak again. The insanity of desire gone. This cruelty, God, was all permitted. I leaned forward and choked up. Lost all, all was lost. I had come down from the mountain, and walked into the forest, not wiser than before.
The struggle began anew, fighting to resist, to regain my strength. I put my full weight against the rock, and pushed, pushed with all my force, up, up, my eagle cried above. I was nothing, all had to be invented. The light that leads forward, covered in darkness, the path that guides my way overgrown. The old man, dead. At such moments, I could love and be loved, I could hate. The world was empty, everything about to happen. No one raised their voice, all were quiet. Everyone stared uncomfortably away, avoiding my presence. All and none.
I refused to want her. I rejected her with every effort I could gather. I tried to hate her. I hated her.