DGD: Frontispiece 2 (clonografía), 2001 [ Against love brings together testimonies from very different voices. In most cases these accounts are not literal, and I've purged of references and local color of grammatical gender even when this was not strictly necessary. The testimony should be as naked as their players so that they may reflect any reader of either sex, gender and orientation. Usually these accounts are disseminated emphasis is placed on the tears and especially in squalor, a record commonly used as an accent "realistic" that (with) wins by forcefulness. In Contra love this record is absent, and this is because what the book aims is to stress to a minimum, often the accent is used to string the reader to a single level of reading, one possible interpretation, in Contra love accents reduce to a minimum consistent with the intention of keeping alive the knowledge that all testimony there are multiple levels and not only the level generally recognized as unique to this type of expressions. Something happens in the background of all these stories of love and hate, something independent of how or when or why or by whom they are related. In this Rougemont was right: in the West is one story beneath all the stories (in) love, and we are all actors of that single witness. And because we know only be protagonists but also and especially to be representing the ultimate meaning of such representation. The following is one of the testimonies included in Contra love. (DGD)]
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"Flee from me"
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Why M served as the verbatim my instructions? At one point, I wrote on a piece of paper where I stopped fevered knew M was going to find it: "Flee from me, do not come near me. Erase me love for you to be your own sleep forever. " (Yes, I used this dreadful word, erase, as if love were a waste, cargo, ballast, and I think ultimately it was.) YM obeyed with a punctuality that still surprises me. (We in everything else so rebellious, so unhappy, why abide by the highest orders of the docile of a love that feel?) Why the surprise, if that was what I was asking? I'm surprised because I lied, lied so abysmal in the most heartbreaking veracity effort ever undertaken. I was asking, of course, hell, I knew (what "something in me knew that) with perfect, terrifying clarity. M and I would have destroyed in love at a lightning speed and impeccable performance-that is not in doubt: the proof is that M was due, that was both noble and his answer more implacable vengeance, and no But in that maddening phrase I asked the sacrifice you and me, I was dying in his presence and M had to know, because otherwise I would have become extinct anyway and also a form infinitely worse, a torture more delayed, implosive in a deafening silence. (And what I have today but torture of silence, where I live but in hell?) But he also was asking random Russian roulette, the impossible combination: that M would prefer the hell of being by my side to the other hell that came with it .
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I know that in love ("love ?) Always tries to make the decision less deadly, and I did with a value that surprises me (but it is the" value "of that kicks with a final violence before drowning), and M obeyed. I know it was the lowest blow, the greatest betrayal imaginable, but I also know that we are allowed to live ("live ?) Spent a week without hearing let M, spent a few months, spent ten years. M away from me, but I deleted the love. With my incomprehensible sentence ("supreme lucidity or cusp of unconsciousness?) Gave the weapons out of its silence (it required a response) and that output was silence. Celebrating ten years now "does not make itself heard." And there could be twenty or fifty, or none: and to write that note was the way I feel today, at the same time he said "run" and "stop run", "Do not come near me" and "look at me one last time about and being far away, when you read this note. " And the only thing was literally "erase me love", because M is not removed but I only hope I never had. It was "get rid me "but" help me get rid of you, now that I have yet to order forces. " (Also M lied and betrayed, but he was right: he learned to obey my instructions enough to meet the phrase "get rid of me," but not "help me get rid of you.") The Hell I went out at the last moment is contained entirely in the article "the", because what I really wanted, what I never wanted harder-era "erase me, love", "extíngueme in the supreme moment that M read this note."
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Lied to a limit that no one has ever come, and maybe that's why I told the truth: M was his dream, but I had put in the hands of the lullaby. Not invite me to join his dream world and dreamer, but to keep you asleep that world, from the outside. With a low blow enjoined the awakening and now I have ten years of hazy dream. Even I have the comfort of knowing if indeed M awakened so enduring, or a week, a year and was reborn and returned to sleep. Most likely, the dream remains, as it was before I met this miracle pain that is M, it is likely that their silence does not respond but the most thorough and wide of the forgotten. I am no longer even in the memory of M, which will travel down the building beautiful dream worlds. Brutally banished me a world that never was mine and where I never was. Was another small hells chosen, created, dreamed and forgotten by M. Waive cost me my life and gave up nothing. Silence. A decade of silence that would last, as it lasted, from and for ever.
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The silence of love
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"A week passed without the M were allowed to hear, spent a few months, spent ten years." The silence of the fool is terrible slap in the face as our sense of sanity, no less appalling is the silence of a child who refuses to tell us how you feel or what it affects, even the silence of the mystic is shocking because, although tell you what saw in his personal lighting, do so in the language of all, who does not tolerate what is only one. Still, without a doubt the most terrifying silence of the beloved is no question, that of one who, for various reasons, opt for the "courtesy" consisting of spare any response.
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"For various reasons." There are always reasons, especially when no reason . Which is usually for comfort or even simple laziness: wanting to avoid the bitter swill of a direct confrontation which would have to say-that is, put into words the reasons for not only rejects the relationship but also open the possibility a procession (which is but an extension of the term of which would be manifested anyway). Silence can also be due to the sympathy (waiver to humiliate, to feed false hopes), anger (indignation of being the object of desire) or ignorance (do not know why and do not want to know). Sometimes silence covers all kinds of excuses ranging from the most ridiculous ("I have no time to have a relationship", "no chemistry between us") to the most esoteric ("first I have to commit me.") Sometimes it will be the answer to a simple rejection (visceral, intellectual). Ultimately, all that together and much more will be experienced by rejected time and again, into a nightmare without end.
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"A week passed without the M were allowed to hear, spent a few months, spent ten years." Of course I had other relationships, and even accrue as a balm for the wound, but did nothing grow the silence was unbroken, the declared and uncompromising renunciation (I used up the subtle forms of M request a demonstration, I even for a moment, the worst strategy, insisting dragged ). The real-time, daily, constantly loses its meaning when compared to other times, the hypothetical and imaginary-that is, therefore, invincible. If M had agreed, the relationship probably would not have lasted more than a few months. It might have been a painful breakup, but not comparable to what was "never", because then we will always be in full realm of fiction, marked by what "could have been."
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M's silence did nothing but get bigger and more monolithic every day. Now I see that although M did not think at the end of those ten years I lived on a planet called M comparable to Frank Herbert imagined a planet of sand dunes, a vast desert. Not only the space: M also grabbed me time. A "no" would have cured me (because in the end would have been a verbal response), but I can not escape his silence. Even now reappeared with a "I was wrong" with an "always yes" (the time bends all superb), and could not answer. As M never said, sentenced me to become non-manifest in the negative. The sum of my actions are in the red. I am a ghost out of time and space. I am an illegitimate son of love.
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Against Love (Letters to disarm the erotic model of the West) ,
Council for Culture and Arts of Nuevo León , Monterrey, 2010.
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