Age of pleasure

(Listen along with the reading)

Writing that letter took her a lot of hours.

She kept thinking about what to say, why to say it, how to say it.

She thought of death as an action, an ultimate attitude of surrender, something short-lived, a matter of minutes, a great transition, when you close your eyes, take a deep breath and say goodbye.

Death was not taboo.

Evil was.

For her, it was more intriguing

its origin.

Where did it come from?

Was it something innate?

A socialized human phenomenon?

A specific race?

A specific gender?

Maybe they seem like questions of little practical use, answering them wouldn't change reality at all, so why put so much energy into looking for answers?

you may be asking yourself.

However, seeking explanations was vital for her

Searching for these answers gave body to her life.

A body with wings,

a journey that began when she realized she wasn't a white man, she was confused

It began with the notion that she was the OTHER, not universal.

Cyclical.

She had to learn to lose

she wasn't good at losing

Until then, it was winning that she lived for

She understood that losing was at first glance counterintuitive, but it hid a new field, an open horizon, full of natural life and spontaneity.

It was amazing trying to understand evil!

She had called his life a naked life.

So she played at undressing.

She got rid of things that she had learned defined belonging.

She put away diplomas, rejected uniforms, badges, tight schedules, spreadsheets

She remembered to put everything in a contract - that was an act of courage,

an ode to the desire to deliver.

A return to stolen innocence.

It wasn't a naive, inconsequential, depoliticized impulse!

It wasn't for them, it came from her now.

It stayed with her: white, a mother, an immigrant, an experimenter.

She even became a foreigner to her own country.

She simplified everything.

No hour of that cycle was trivial to her.

She lived by observing!

She observed evil in all its forms

She dared to look for the origins of misogyny,

who cares?

She sustained himself with his body, with his strength of action, he counted all his libido.

She thought about the ethics of life.

She was utopian, idealistic, she wanted to live off the ethics and aesthetics of life, she politicized her daring.

She lived from the work of creating with her body and with what was most human in her.

Political freedom without sexual freedom.

When? Where?

Where?

Impossible.

If the body is the vehicle through which the future is born, she thought, wouldn't it be strategic to turn her maternal time into income?

The courage of the ridiculous.

This provoked a kind of de-domestication, testing and piercing the limits of hegemonic Judeo-Christian morality, its dogmas of suffering and meritocratic merit.

She sought to live on the frontiers,

it was exciting.

She learned about fascist emotions, observed symptomatic people everywhere, walked through the devil's tunnel.

She was driven by a voracious curiosity, an inconsequential desire to become half-animal-half-woman

I think she finally succeeded.

Why do I think that?

She lacked interlocution wherever she went, time, patience and existential depth from others.

She wasn't good at waiting.

She had been alone countless times.

She failed to mention a lunatic-epiphanic event that displaced her in time and space.

It's too late for details now.

She said she'd have to play dead again to tell that story.

For now, I have to say that it split her existence in two.

It gave her the perception of flesh, of the infinite, of the eternal.

After that, she couldn't settle for less.

She had a kind of sacred, ancestral secret in his hands.

Laughing was his way of remembering it,

protect it.

She had discovered the antidote to evil, it was too important to take lightly.

By then it had become objectification material.

All he had to do was metaphorize it, turn it into colors, contours and textures.

It was a new ERA.

Freeing her will was the least she could do.

The ERA of desire was what she had established,

it was what life without clothes had brought her:

The antidote.

When she died today, she wrote this in summary:

Curious about evil, she discovered the path along which the Lotus flower travels.

From there, it became poetry.

If you want to find it, face your autonomy, it comes from the body.

Transgress, disobey without distractions.

It hides your power of revolution.

Lose the fear of pressing your button.

The end!

And what to do with it all?

(Listen along with the reading)

CREATE.

Create today. Create now. Create meaning. Create death. Create life. Create transmutation. Creating from the body. Creating from pain. Create from nausea. Create from migraine. Create from colic. Create from constipation. Create back pain. Create change. Create logic. Create contour. Create desire. Create colors. Create textures. Create dance. Create amazement. Create excitement. Create structure. Create new synapses. Create nipples. Create plans. Create children. Create a dog. Create flavor. Create warmth. Create cat. Create lemon-taiti flavored water. Create vision. Create layers. Create intensity. Create autonomy. Create beginnings. Create home. Creating insurgency. Creating birth. Creating emancipation. Create to rejuvenate. Create to ignore. Create in order not to die. Create not to kill. Create the Gilanic society. Create to overflow. Create protagonism. Create speech. Create the fuckoff. Create from the ovaries. Create dreams. Create from disappointment. Create the future. Create vinaigrette dressing. Creating memories. Creating dinner. Creating dissent. Creating meaning. Create from boredom. Create tomorrow's snack. Create to avoid dieting. Create lunch. Create electronic cleaning. Create strong human beings. Create rebellion. Create from within. Create rice and beans. Creating the street. Creating winter. Create the journey. Create to protect. Create in order not to surrender to cosmetic surgery. Create dialog. Create new words. Create meaning. Create poetry. Create from within. Create to dilate time. Create music. Create politics. Create afternoon. Create summer. Create early. Create the old. Create money. Creating history. Create sustenance. Create empathy. Create despite obstacles. Create a birthday party for them. Creating national awareness. Create with what you have. Create from wherever you are. Create patience. Create with anything. Create goodbye. Create hello. Create female gaze. Create bonjour. Create encounters. Create with them. Create without them. Creating from the lake. Creating from the sea. Create from the city. Create from the clitoris. Create from the forest. Create to stay. Create when you're together. Create when you're alone. Create the project. Create the cry. Create the cry. Create subversion. Create from shame. Create from anger. Create sadness. Create hunger. Create boredom. Create the ANTIDOTE. Create the website. Create utopias. Create the way to spread the word. Create to escape. Creating privacy. Creating wholeness. Creating revolution. Create the cry. Create true friendships. Create big. Create from the womb. Create support. CREATE SELF-ESTEEM. Creating sounds. Create eye to eye. Creating truths. Creating ritual. Creating so as not to politicize. Creating so as not to have to take refuge. Create to eat. Create to live. Create to jouissance. Create to rebel. Create to confront. Create to suffer. Create to see. Create from guilt. Create to grow. Create to dream. To create the day. Create the hours. Create the school. Create the concept. Create the idea. Create the medicine. Create the antivenom. Create the erotic. Create the book. Create the exhibition. Creating jouissance. Creating the image. Creating alternative. Creating pleasure. Create your own jouissance. Now. Today. Every day. Always. Forever. It's good! RELAX! Dinner! Sleep! Start again tomorrow!

The creature

(Listen along with the reading)

Once upon a time there was a creature of fear,

She fantasized about ambivalence every day,

lived alone

Its clothing of opposites was the substance of its imagination

Full of right and wrong, ugly and beautiful, and a total absence of amazement,

which produced in him an inflexibility of his own, flaccid rigidity, hopelessness, silent malignancy

It was what the creature of fear lived on

It had a human physical structure,

On the one hand, it was endowed with animal sensoriality, full of immanent power, but anesthetized.

On the other, there were endless stimuli.

It remained in high tension, insensitive

The body of the creature of fear had been alienated from itself,

maliciously indoctrinated to hate rest and contemplation,

It shouldn't stop or even think about it,

let alone love.

She lived on the edge.

Marked ability to make an immediate distinction between escape and danger,

constant, fleeting ideas of desire.

And so the creature of fear grew.

Dressed in ambivalence,

She dragged out time, living on momentary illusions

He didn't realize that he was shrewdly seduced by voluntary servitude, which took on different forms of needs and pretexts

The creature of fear was thinking of changing.

It needed time.

Who has time? she asked.

That's life, just put up with it!, the masterminds whispered.

Anger, apathy, melancholy, irritation, tiredness, impulsiveness, agitation, compulsiveness, addictions, dependence on some invented type of importance.

She lived in the reminiscences of a time of subordination to the invisible.

She also often had far-fetched words, the strength to convince a nation to defend its territories from exterminating aliens.

The creature was a kind of imitation of people

She thought she was free, submissive to her own neurasthenia

It surrounded itself with fanfare, was a great follower, found it inspiring to follow, allied with ideas of rebellion and revolution to the four winds.

Constant competition

Dependent on some kind of ovation, even a derisory one in the field of ideas, to breathe into her fantasy.

Impotent, she voluntarily served what constrained her the most

Now she was her own martyr, now she was waiting for a savior,

Stuck in her fantasy, the creature of fear only wanted to look ahead, to plan achievements, highlights.

It couldn't stand the present moment, the now.

It sustained itself on other people's engagements, which were increasingly provocative.

It gave its all while running in many different ways on the usual mouse wheel.

However, one day, the body of the creature of fear begged for attention, cried out for a new look, protested for importance.

This strange beast, which had traveled through the collective imagination for centuries

Caged, made invisible, humiliated, raped, burned, chained,

now cried out

thirsty, hungry...

He remembered childhood memories, “abject body, unpredictable with desires, contain it! being a spontaneous creature will make your life dangerous,” he was told.

The creature of fear had been provoked, it was too late to turn back

He began to find it strange that he was so trapped inside that fantasy,

It became suspicious of its crampedness

It then discovered its natural senses, beneath the clothes it wore, the skin, the time in its forms

She discovered something more alive, previously adjusted and contained in disguise

He gained an understanding of the body-place,

sensory territory that is the root of thought, imagination and its countless consequences.

She saw that her fantasy wasn't the whole of her

She realized that this fantasy of ambivalence brought with it a history of wars, domination, violations and silences

He asked himself why he so easily offered to hijack his autonomy?

He then summoned up his daring, his curiosity, his impetus and his boldness to venture out in search of something new

It problematized its tensions, gained broad perspectives that gave the creature a greater sense of protagonism

One day

the creature's body was home to another

For months she felt something growing inside her with a visceral force, even inside that fantasy, ever tighter

Life was growing, it was coming from her, it would pass through her

She often wondered how she would ever get out of that fantasy to receive the new life.

One day, the new life arrived,

for a few hours she was able to strip herself bare, to let go of that disguise.

It was magical.

A revelatory moment in life.

She felt no tension, it was like a kind of melting where her body and what was outside it were one.

He couldn't see evil, it had been dissolved.

It was a very deep sense of wholeness capable of embracing broad contours, caressing, including, giving with ease

Immanent greatness,

In the form of peace, harmony

He had effortlessly understood his true origin, his place as a human creature in the natural world.

The pyramid he saw was clearly not human.

The creature of fear, for several months, sought to integrate all this knowledge, loved her naked body now.

She had sharpened all her senses and realized that the world hadn't gone with her flow.

She had experienced a fused world of past-present-future

She had experienced something profound that had transformed her!

Who would believe that?

Surrounded by people in costumes

She wanted to say that I'd have to kick ass, feel my own body, swim into a raging sea, risk the intensity of a tsunami

She said it was excruciating, terrifying,

it was like jumping off a cliff where you couldn't see the end

It was after the risk.

She would also have to let go, let die,

but the revelation would be there, after all that.

She became judicious because she had to share that revelation, and at the same time, she had to protect it, save it from the banal, from the utilitarian capture of the world of people like that.

She insisted, even so, and told him that it was accessible, but it wasn't an easy experience to live. They would have to fight to have it!

They had to use fantasy only to invent and escape from loneliness.

It was life,

life that asked for more life.

It was the creature's female body,

her imagination

and it had to live up to that in order to go further,

because that was the new beginning.