I have a fantasy. (ramble #21)

smut to make america great for real

Hi everyone,

First of all, I am so excited to welcome a lot of new faces to GARMI. I’m so happy to have you here.

If you’re new, my name is Sanjana, and GARMI is my little storytelling adventure. GARMI means “heat” in Hindi, and my North Star here is that

~the planet is getting hotter – but so am I.~

GARMI is a monthly newsletter weaving together current affairs, pop culture, and personal growth, with an eye to transforming the poisonous into the medicinal. The vibe here is auto-ethnographic (meaning using my own life as a way to analyze broader social, political, and cultural phenomena – hopefully encouraging you to do the same); it’s experimental (meaning, I color outside the lines and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t – we integrate learnings and continue on); and it’s a little not-safe-for-work (meaning…well, you’ll see).

Most importantly, GARMI explores how we’re each the frontlines of the change we wish to see in the world. Personal and planetary healing are one and the same, and our thriving futures are deeply and deliciously intertwined.

The ideas here will evolve but the core value is really about empowering us all to participate in building a world of liberty and justice for all.

As I’m learning how to do that, I hope y’all will learn alongside me. Changing the world is way more fun with friends.

Today, I’m going to share something a little different with you guys. A true experiment.

NSFW

So I have this fantasy.

And it’s a fantasy I’ve had for a while and I decided it’s time to share it. It’s a little bit risqué, but I feel like there’s been so much craziness going on in the world, in our country, that it felt like a good time to share some smut. Something that turns me on, something a little bit explicit – I don’t know, might get banned, let’s see.

I’ll set the scene.

It’s a Friday night, around sunset. I’m getting out of the shower, freshly shaved legs, jasmine body oil, drops of neem feeling dewy on my face. I just went to the gym and hit a great leg day, so my muscles feel strong, my ass feels juicy.

Music plays in the background – my “Peligrosa” playlist, which unfailingly sets a vixen vibe.

Usually it’s when POP! by Adanna Duru comes on that every cell in my body is like oooooof, yes!:

“Not a beauty in the world you ever seen like this

Tell me, do you wanna watch me move my waist like this?

Got the sweat drippin' off of my chest like this

Make it bounce, and a jump, and a rock like this”

I’m applying my makeup and it’s one of those nights where you know something divine is in the air because you get your eyeliner wings right on the first try. (Guys or non-makeup users who are reading this, the only comparison I have is that it maybe feels like the delightful satisfaction of hitting a perfect bullseye on a dartboard.)

So I’m feeling good.

The face is snatched. My curls are moisturized, bouncy. And I think what I’m wearing is like a drapey, red silk miniskirt and matching red silk top that’s sort of tied up and asymmetrical.

I’m a red girl. You guys know me. My nails are stiletto tipped and painted my favorite shade of red. Oh, and a red lip while we’re at it. The shoes are lace up heels. Also: red.

And most importantly, because I’m a sensory gal, right, so I gotta smell good to feel good – I’m spraying my perfume, and as soon as the scent hits my nose, I feel unstoppable.

Which is exactly how I want to feel. It’s a big night: it’s my birthday.

All I know is I’m meant to be at my favorite restaurant at seven o’clock. It’s one of those ethical, sustainably-sourced-everything kinds of places, where the ambiance is earthy and the crazy awesome staff is familiar with the menu down to the molecular interactions between key ingredients.

I’m running late, as always, so once I’m sure I have everything, I finally step out, lock my door, and walk outside.

The evening air is so fresh, so clean. I can see every fucking hue of the sunset – the oranges and pinks and reds. Some indigo edges its way in as the sun sinks a little lower. My lungs sing and my eyes feel drunk on the vision.

It’s only a couple blocks to the nearest metro station, and then I’m on my way, zipping through LA on the metro. This line is fairly new – it took over an old major road. The construction period was a total drag – traffic was terrible – but it’s been a couple years and I honestly feel like the roads are emptier and the metro is more packed now. It’s never going to be like New York, but it’s way closer to it than I ever imagined LA could be.

I get to the restaurant twenty or so minutes later. When I walk in, the hostess takes one look at me and grins. She’s been expecting me. She has me follow her towards my favorite part of the restaurant – a large open courtyard with a big tree in the middle. Lights twinkle like fireflies from its branches. Off to the side, hidden behind the foliage of the tree, is a wall lined with bookshelves that showcase bottle upon bottle of mezcal.

She moves towards the shelves. She stops at one in particular, picking up a beautiful green bottle, opening it, and beginning to pour mezcal into a lone earthenware cup that sits next to it.

When the liquid reaches the one ounce marker, the bookshelf begins to slide to the side, revealing a clandestine back room. It’s still, quiet, dark.

I’m standing there, shook at this mezcal wizardry.

She hands me the earthenware cup, encouraging me to tip it back. I do. The smoky liquid burns, then blooms into a rich palette in the back of my throat.

Then the hostess nudges me forward through the hidden passage. I take a step and can feel the anticipation in my breath. The minute I’m inside, the bookcase slides shut behind me. A warm orange light floods the space ahead, and all I hear is a chorus of voices yelling: “Surprise!!!!”

It takes me a full minute to take in the sight in front of me. Here, in a beautiful terracotta room, lit with glowing candles, scented with honeysuckle and cedar, are all my favorite people. Old friends from high school, college, adulthood, new friends from LA and from work and from play. My local friends are here. My friends from New York and DC and Ohio and San Francisco are here. My friends from around the world are here. It’s all the people whose lives and souls feel so intimately and exquisitely and irrevocably interwoven with mine.

It’s all of you.

And as I take you all in, I feel just fucking transcendent. Like holy shit, this must be the best birthday ever. And may I say, you all look amazing. I can’t take my eyes off of you.

Sparks fly between us. The energy is so electric, so heady in this sensuous space.

You invite me to sit down. There’s a stunning table laden with food – so colorful, so full of texture and flavor – like heaven for the microbiome.

We eat, we drink, and eventually, you tell me it’s time for my gift. I don’t know what more I could possibly want than just to be with you all, but you assure me you have something for me that will take my breath away, something to tickle the spiciest corners of my desire.

And so I sit, transfixed, as my gift unwraps in front of my eyes:

One by one, you go around the table and you share some words with me.

And as you talk,

I realize you’re right.

This is,

by far,

the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Because you’re not telling me your favorite memories or what you love about me – though I would welcome that just as much. Instead, you’re telling me something naughtier, more scandalous.

What you each tell me, as you go around the room,

is about your lust

for a better world.

You tell me that you are so attracted to a life where we all thrive – so drawn to it – that you couldn’t help but search for and eventually find a political home. A place to get cozy and learn alongside each other and engage in direct action and build – through imagination and then material construction – a reality where our health and safety is supported by the systems around us.

And I blush. I blush because it’s so luscious.

Your words are more intoxicating than the wine in front of us. You tell me stories about how powerful you are. And how your power to mend yourself, your people, your planet is so irresistible that you couldn’t help but give in. You tell me how you weave magic. You tell me how participating in mutual aid, in futurism, in radical curiosity and joy is so intoxicating, you don’t think you’ll ever stop.

Don’t stop, I say.

You tell me how you read and distribute banned books, how you learn about degrowth economics, how you find language to invite the naysayers into our blossoming movements for a thriving world.

You’re talking about how you’ve graduated beyond the books and into real physical spaces. The books support you, but the people energize you. You tell me you understand and stand with Palestine, you work with a tenant’s union, you support your urban farm and community fridge, you share your skills and your stuff with your community. You’re telling me about how you’re making change from the inside at your job, normalizing conversations and interrogating the status quo. You tell me how you enjoy life so deeply, how precious you find it, how much delight you infuse into your daily existence.

We talk about how just a few years ago, some people had billions of dollars to their name, but you grew your class consciousness and helped me grow mine. And we realized together that it’s not left versus right but top versus bottom. And even when paralyzing fear beckoned us, we participated in the righteous ruckus of the moment and helped lay the cultural groundwork for policies that have since made billionaire-level wealth accumulation impossible.

You tell me how your wealth transcends the quantitative – you are wealthy in health and spirit, community and confidence, ecology and wisdom and somatic embodiment.

And in that moment, I realize my political kink is bravery, imagination, participation. Because there’s something so hot about people who give a fuck and use their power to help out.

You tell me that for you, participation is a social norm. You remind me that we find courage together, in community. That we learn how to engage alongside each other.

The more you talk, the more I feel the heat rising to my cheeks and blooming in my belly.

I have never been more turned on in my life.

…