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!