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All the sailors

I have spent a lot of time in my bed, it seems to me, in the last year or two. I let Nep­tune teach me the lessons of invis­i­bil­i­ty, or rather the art of lis­ten­ing to the great Nothing/​All — we may nev­er know how to name our igno­rance — . Then I patient­ly lis­tened to Sat­urn remind­ing me that I was at this stage of life or what is being cre­at­ed is a mem­o­ry of what has already been cre­at­ed. It’s Jupiter’s turn, who wants me to fill my sails.

This bed was also the only com­fort­able place since my liv­ing room was a long-aban­doned con­struc­tion site. Now that the dust of the great stars is fad­ing, I glad­ly leave the sheets, let myself dream, stand­ing up, invent­ing sto­ries that I keep to myself.

Some­times I would like this bed to be the home of a dai­ly encounter, even if I lie to say that these sheets only know me. I live in the days of a deep friend­ship and this bed remains the head­quar­ters of our encoun­ters, our laugh­ter, and our sweat.

It’s a com­plex friend­ship that could be the sub­ject of a nov­el. I haven’t found the approach angle yet, as if want­i­ng to put it down on paper would be like pulling it out of these sheets. I have reached, how to say, bal­ance. I find it ben­e­fi­cial, it looks like me and wor­ries me.

God, the great Wis­dom are oxy­morons that freeze me.

It is a pro­found uneasiness/​pleasure to be on this rope, prob­a­bly the great­est les­son I need to learn before I for­get it for­ev­er. This bed rep­re­sents my soul and although I am recov­er­ing some com­fort­able fur­ni­ture these days that will make me leave it, I know that wher­ev­er I go, this feel­ing will not leave me. This bed is, there­fore, in the end, only a rep­re­sen­ta­tion. All my encoun­ters, all my friend­ships are meant to be this dia­logue tex­tured with pro­tec­tive sheets.

There are many ways to be naked with each oth­er. There is pure thought, looks, ges­tures, fil­i­a­tions. There is also the blind enjoy­ment that makes so many bod­ies love, which makes so many hopes and princes dream. There are these intrigu­ing char­ac­ters who call you, almost sirens, from their vir­tu­al shores, promis­es, and fan­tasies. Who­ev­er lives will sure­ly see. Who­ev­er dies will not care.

I am con­fi­dent that before the final day, I will have known the sailors I was sup­posed to meet, that they will share my soul and my sheets, in all inten­si­ty, love, and friend­ship. If this one is a fail­ure at all, what’s the point of com­plain­ing about it, I’ll already be dream­ing in sin­gu­lar sheets.

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