when words aren’t enough
Nothing like thinking about love to make you feel like a teenager. Monosyllables, arm crossing, huffs. In a profound way I literally don’t know anything about it. At all.
Rather than use this as proof that I’m an idiot cousin when it comes to intimacy, I’d put money on this being a common experience when you are put on the spot about love. Reading a love letter between Freud and his fiancé Martha, full of silliness and desire, you realise that even for the father of psychoanalysis putting love into words is really hard.
So my experience of love this week will be conveyed to you through fireworks.
This was my first attempt at visualising emotional experience online, based on my love of fireworks.
It started with a teenage fumbling in Luton. Category 3 pyrotechnic course by Fantastic Fireworks, tagline “25 Years of Wow”.
This was literally the most enjoyable day of my life. Me and my mate J running like maniacs around a field in red boiler suits and hard hards blowing stuff up. Health and safety delivered straight faced on ejections, ejaculations and the pulse of pyro. Party in a box. Glitter splitter. The Beast. Eight hours of relentless laughing my stomach lining came out through my nose and I’m not allowed to use a gas gun again anywhere in the UK.
This puerile beginning led to a deeper love of fireworks and their capacity to fast track me to a state of love, lust and longing. Sometimes words don’t crack it.
Surviving Work, qualified pyrotechnic and lover of big bangs.
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