Please, someone kill me..
so I can come back as a Bonobo. They’ve figured it all out—chilling all day in a matriarchy (which, in mammals, tends to be very polyamorous), having an absurd amount of sex. Not for reproduction, not for power, not to win or take, but to bond, to connect. There is no rape among Bonobos.
I’ve thought about why they’re my favorite animal. Sure, maybe it starts with the fact that I can get no satisfaction—good sex is hard to find. There’s an endless queue of doms who would love to spank or choke me but can’t hold eye contact for more than a second. Too many see sex as a way to disconnect rather than merge. Even pleasure becomes a competition.
And that pisses me off. Maybe my envy of Bonobo orgies isn’t just about sex. Maybe it’s about something deeper—a longing for real community, for genuine connection.
“The self is not some thing within us that is in a state of crisis, it is the form they mean to stamp upon us. They want to make our self something sharply defined, separate, assessable in terms of qualities, controllable, when in fact we are creatures among creatures, singularities among similars, living flesh weaving the flesh of the world.”
— The Coming Insurrection
This resonates. All the so-called “strong characters” who need to dominate the weak just to feel strong. All the ways we’ve been conditioned to see ourselves as apart from each other.
Maybe it’s not enough to break down our own egos. Maybe it’s time to break down others’ too. The rigid, inflexible vision of the self keeps us caged. Meditation in a spacious flat in Prenzlauer Berg won’t bring us closer. If freedom isn’t universal, it isn’t freedom at all. This isn’t an individual journey; it has to be collective. It has to be dissolving into the harmonies of a choir, losing yourself in the body of a protest, the crowd moving in sync—not apart, but as one.
Probably what I’m trying to say is: let’s have an orgy!