I do want to do something.

Did you see her lips ?
August 6, 2008, 2:19 pm
Filed under: Blogroll

Dear readers,

Yesterday he told me that I was so important to him, that if I didn’t call him by Wednesday he would never talk to me again. I didn’t even know that he existed. This is why I am addressing you these thoughts, in case it was important that I didn’t.

I have been absent, and still am. Ideas have been there, things to write about as well ; on reading out loud, on the economy of give and take, on walid raad’s last show in beirut, on parallel engagements.. although she can’t do anything about it except being suffocated by these thoughts. She started developing affection towards them, like imaginary friends.

Each word can open up a multitude of possibilities, but she doesn’t have the strength to follow any of them. She can’t project at the moment and can’t make love. Try to pinch me, I would have to think before I feel anything. Her words and her breath are breaking up, her skin is mutating, her hormones are masculine.

She is renegotiating her voices, trying to shut some and let the convulsive joy flow again.

I don’t remember the time it ever did, but she does and I believe her.

I don’t have to do anything, just shut up. In this white nebulous period, there are some distant rhythms playing a perverse game with her heart beats. When I loose my breath, she dives deep inside to catch it back with her teeth. I would have to kiss her to get it back.

3 Comments so far
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Such good use of words. Really beautiful 🙂

Comment by Amit

Thanks !

Comment by mirene

‘I am thought searching for a thinker to give birth to me. I shall destroy the thinker when I find him. I am the Odyssey, the Iliad, the Aeneid. I prevent Mars from destroying me but I ate away Mars from inside, from outside so he died. He is a memory and a desire: I am eternally alive, indestructible, indispensable, adorable. I am the force that makes books. My last triumph is the Mind. The mind that is too heavy a load for the sensuous beast to carry. I am the thought without a thinker and the abstract thought which has destroyed its thinker Newtonwise, the container that loves its content to destruction; the content that explodes its possessive container”

(P. 38, Wilfred Bion, “A Memory of The future”).

Comment by Cristobal

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