At this juncture, love is no longer the subject.
Only an omnipresence, here and elsewhere, like a desire that self-forbids when the other takes on a precise form and is named. The other, a being of language, of speech, and its troubling censures we guard against for fear of understanding secrets.
The proximity of their unadorned bodies, their natural scents, their simple hairstyles that prevent their hair from obscuring their faces, their gestures, the partial fading of their feminine curves, their gazes upon themselves.
In the proximity of their bodies, there is no bride to be found, themselves single, in search of something, rather vague and, above all, tenacious, as if firmly anchored in the psyche.
So, in the distance that has reduced to almost nothing, an extreme abyss is opened, the impossibility of maintaining any self-coherence, if, all at once, this barely bearable void, this unyielding rupture, were to dissolve into aberrant embraces that would lose those embraced, each in their primal affections that they would savor or recoil from with the terror that the almost pure experience of sensations without meanings instills.
So brutal and swift would be the impact that it would not leave time for a single thought, emotions surging, overwhelming everything, including the slightest sign, the smallest possible denominator.
Even the objects of their bodies, no matter how I rename them, the enumeration is merely a list of synecdoches of their entirety reduced to an image: a breast, a hand, the ankle, a shapely buttock, or their prominent pubis, their lips, purplish or ivory, outlined, whose continuous and gentle rustling of their breath I hear.
Since they don't request it, but probably prefer it, I avert my eyes from their gazes, otherwise, embarrassed, they would remain within themselves, forbidden to be anything other than a specimen in an imagery of the feminine.
And the heavy and slow disavowal of themselves by themselves, constrained by a mischievous and falsely clear vision like an obviousness of their female nature, assessable without their consent. Unless they withdraw or expose themselves for "nothing" and to "no one," like a waste of the sterile representation of themselves, of which they are the performative virtuosos. At least some of them.
When nobody is looking at them, even if they remain indifferent to being seen, are they never truly alone within themselves, a singular, unique being who has fashioned itself and proceeds from their own work on themselves?
I have the feeling, as it often happens in my solitude, that a fantasy haunts my self, that they also have this involvement with a particular image, this mother-image, an invisible hallucination, a dark idol with violent adornments like penetrable veils, with flashy and vague ornaments, with the brilliance of lacerating blades, and whose insidious movements hysterize our depersonalizing trances.
At this point where perdition seems certain and one could conclude with a brutally humiliating rupture, which would transform the narrow but abyssal fissure that barely separated us into a modest yet definitively discriminating infinity, the untouchable might become the outcast sent back to their fetishes; however, something else may happen, differently from those carefully weighted gestures beneath language and negating of thoughts.
Despite the personal censures, shaped without our knowledge, acts like a bodily trade, exchanging words, sentences with words arranged in a particular order that is specific to us. Our mutual disembodiments load our words with carnal turns imprinted like cuneiform wounds in our malleable and notably formless selves.
The references in their sentences are so implicit that, according to their strange fancies, they resemble weavings made of multicolored and varied knots, their sharp ideas, decipherable, perhaps, if I forget myself completely and read, constantly read their verbal adornments. My reading and their writings are of the same substance of thought.
And the analogy is operative, eliminating vertigo or accentuating it to the point of no longer being afraid of falling mortally.
English translation of the text -> Métaphore du corps autre.