It's 5am. I just got off the phone with one of the world's most famous beauties. She is stunning, really — one of those people who looks as enchanting at 2am with smeared eyeliner and boxers as they do on the silver screen and glossy magazine covers. Ah, the fiction of it all, the fantasy wrapped-up in the empty calories of strangers' sperm. How much we swallow in one lifetime. Me, drinking from the sweet rivers of a woman's nectar. How intoxicating is the taste of the creator, her soft, warm, hard, woman flesh, her woman's intuition, her soul in a swirl underneath the flesh and bones. There is so much more underneath the flesh and bones, between the flesh and bones. We roll around together and talk of being queens, of having lost our power and how to regain it or having more power than we know how to handle, sharpening ourselves into the rising. I have to become harder, she softer — we balance out each other with wolves' eyes.

Emotions are not limited to the rich or the poor, to the spiritual or the logical — the conscience does not fit within the science — the way that we feel inside rarely reflects the outside. I think we can have it all. Let's try. Ok, now. Let's go to sleep first. I love you. I love you, too.