Every time I see Kurt my hands start to shake. I know I've written about him before but that's the bad thing about writing is that you're never out of words, even if you only use the same ones over and over just mix 'em up a eensy, tiny bit and you've written something completely different.
I'm not posting this video 'cause I think it's that revelatory or anything, I just like looking at him. My eyes well up, but not with tears—I guess it's sorta my whole body wells up like that. Looking at Kurt is the only thing that makes me feel the exact nerve that connects my prostate directly to my heart, and then my heart pumps that feeling all over me.
And that's the place where art is supposed to hit you. It's not supposed to be argued about or theorized over, it's the space between cumming and crying.
When the art means enough that just the sight of the artist can find that hidden orifice on you, reach in even though you're bleeding and not care, and start to rub that—well the only thing I can think to call it is the "clit of the soul"—nothing else will ever mean more than that.