I'm begging you to be hornier.

The resistance requires it.

“Art has to be horny, regardless of whether it activates the mind, groin, hands, or eyes.”

In January 2025, I was wandering the legendary Museum of Old & New Art in Hobart, the capital city of Tasmania.

There, I stumbled upon this quote by Brook Andrew, a Wiradjuri and Ngunnawal artist. I return to it frequently, even a year later.

In 2026, I want us all to be hornier.

Already, I hear the purity police screaming after me.

“Kim, do you want everyone to get sluttier?? You want folks to succumb to their basest desires?!”

Yes, babe.

I believe horny to be one of the greatest and truest states of wisdom. In it, we access deep and powerful momentum, action, and connection – with ourselves and with others.

Horniness demands embodiment.

It shouts at you from deep within your bones. It begs you to get out of your head and into your body. It preens when you activate your sight, sound, touch, smell, taste, and intuition.

Horniness also demands pleasure.

It ignites an honest relationship to your desire and eroticism. It blissfully marries your body’s intelligence with your wandering imagination. It chases juiciness.

This sort of presence is so unbelievably rare in other parts of our lives, particularly within the context of our capitalistic society. Modern life forces us to live primarily in our heads, our worth tied to our output as “skilled workers.”

Billionaires, megachurches, and corporations profit from us feeling numb and disconnected from our bodies. They create the illness and then sell us the cure – in the form of products and prayers.

Our politicians and governments tell us to ignore, suppress, or feel shame around our horniness, calling it a moral or biological failure. They attempt to legislate and bully their way into our subversive pleasures.

These institutions all fear the bright, burning core within us that crows for freedom. That horniness is one of our most powerful and vital life forces. One that, radically, has nothing to do with productivity — only pleasure.

And don’t get it twisted — horniness transcends the bedroom. To make horniness all about penetrative sex is reductive and one-dimensional. I am a horny being well before I ever touch my genitals.

Horniness is radical embodiment and presence.

It can look like having your coffee with no screens, inhaling the rich espresso aroma as the smooth, warm liquid fills your mouth and slides down your throat.

It can look like frenetically and instinctually moving your body on a dance floor, thrashing with wild abandon, not caring how you are perceived.

It can look like a conversation with a stranger at a bar about your kinks, with no expectation that it will lead somewhere except for honesty and feeling seen.

It can look like painting with only your hands as the tool, like a child, relishing the smooth wetness oozing through your fingers as they run over a textured canvas.

And yes, it can also look like sweaty, delicious sex with other beautiful bodies (or our own!).

Does this mean we are singularly ruled by our horniness? Blindly and endlessly as a form of avoidance? No.

But do we dare listen to our horniness – hold space for it and have compassion for it, perhaps even try to learn from it?

Life – and art, and resistance – requires you to be horny.

It requires you to drink from the firehose of life, even if you cannot swallow it all.

It requires you to imagine and dream and hope boundlessly.

It requires you to activate your body – and honor the desires that surface.

Horniness is wisdom created by us, for us.

Thanks for reading,