~~ the proof, part 1.

So I'm going to make this post related to rubydebrazier's recent one wanting believable enemy-to-lover H/D get-together fic. I kind of lost half of it, so I have to retype, but this is a different angle, not as meta, more just gut feeling and blather. So, as I often do, I was thinking about proof (especially as it relates to H/D)-- just proof of love.

And then, as these coincidences tend to happen, I was re-reading some of Bec's fic (`Easily' and my favorite of hers, `H(x)/D(x) = x^3 sec(x)'). Most people don't see where I get my utter fascination and adoration of that fic. I mean, just stylistically, it rocks me. But it's also very very meta, actually. Hee. And I'm a sucker for philosophy disguised as poetry disguised as sex, what can I say?

But anyway, `H(x)/D(x) = x^3 sec(x)' is all about proof, kind of. The need for proof and the impossibility of proof. Believability aside, proof itself is in the doing. Impossible things happen and no reason can ever be found, really, because it's self-referential like that. The reason is, there is no reason. The proof is, there is no proof.

I want to prove the delicate theorems presented by the bare isosceles triangle of hipbone, the inverted hyperbola of parted, kiss-swollen lips, the sine functions of undulating tongue and pelvis and spine.

I love the idea that desire exists outside of reason and sense entirely, that there is a different geometry there, a different universe of self which is possibly more real and possibly just completely surreal. It's -of the body-, and no "romance" and plot and expectation of performance can possibly affect it. Perhaps this impacts those "they're-so-close-already-they-must-be-fucking" slash pairings and the slashy het, etc. I think, then, desire isn't really a function of -a- or -b- or -c-. Maybe it doesn't matter how much you -love- (or hate!) someone as far as how much you -want- them, at the basic animalistic level of you.me.bed.

I think the reason I love `H(x)/D(x) = x^3 sec(x)' so much is that there's no -faith- in it, no romance, really, all inference and drive and no destination. I think you could sort of tell Bec isn't an H/D-er, but that's what makes it great-- some of my favorite H/D drabbles were written by anti-H/D people, who just sort of regurgitate the givens: hate/want/need/hate. The equation completes itself in my head, because I'm the balance, I'm the X factor, I make H & D divide.

In a way, I think any long proof will lose me, because I will find a way to disagree, to not see it quite that way, but the most concise summation will always have me because that's what it comes down to: bright colors, flashes of light, intuitive understanding, YESYESLIKETHAT. The geometry of the body translating into a map of the heart. Just two bodies and and ocean of need, fill-in-the-blanks-and-go. In the end, it's all about the spaces between words (for me), the internal rhythms of desire and innate belief, something dark and real and universal and -mine-. I don't -ship- it, I -am- it, I become it. Emotional believability, yes, but in the end none of it ever makes sense. Life, I mean.