For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.

But you don’t fuck me cold-heartedly,’ she protested.’I don’t want to fuck you at all.’Lady Chatterly’s Lover

And she shrank away again, back into her darkness, and for a long while remained blotted safely away from living.

Lawrence is the supreme poet of Eros. No recriminations, no reproaches, no guilt, no ‘morality’. For what’s ‘morality’ but a leash around the neck? A noose? What’s ‘morality’ but what other people want you to...

The fractured self is not something that needs to be rectified fixed and made whole; by freeing thought of the blinkers of representation, the space of fracture, of multiplicity (as opposed to unity) becomes a...