We drank slowly when we thought empty was an erogenous zone we would be called upon to map. At our interdisciplinary height: our inhibitions. The thing we are best at doing everywhere is not doing. What we had wrapped tightly of the body talked itself up in all our favorite papers, our billboards, in our centers and our education, in our writing. I mean that highly accessible, popularized and permissible sex everywhere is the absence of sex anywhere. A representation is necessarily false. The erotic exists as its persecution does. And only when its persecution does. Protestantism in check is wonderful for sex (don't forget that both the classic catholic school girl fetish AND the daddy fetish are born of this particular constraint). Protestantism without its stick; unchecked and perverted into militant veganism (think abstinence, think lent), political martyrdom (Sacco and Vanzetti died for our sins) and cleanliness (workshops for hipsters on the proper way to sterilize our recycled-material, toxin-free vibrators).
Every time you eat a gluten-free, dildo-shaped cupcake, a young person looses their hard-on.
The R in MARS