I am French, I am old, and I need help.
For too long I've been trying to understand and deconstruct the phenomena of love; the meaning of my heartbeat when he entered the room, of every glance at his naked torso, the overwhelming feeling of his presence, all of it. But I was always an expectator, a narrator who couldn't feel lust, love or life in a direct way, not once. Too busy trying to stay objective and unbiased. I lusted on references; footnotes made me hard, and semiology was my lover.
I did have intense feelings for my mom, she might have been my greatest love, but that also wasn't pure, it was tanned with the guilt and clingy tenderness reserved for mothers and gay sons… I know that you would understand.
Please don't get me wrong, I'm not an old virgin, I lived in Paris during the sixties so sex was unavoidable. I had my good share of dick, and even pussy when it felt right (I even fingered my dear friend Julia K) So, no, is not that.
Is that for once I would like to just touch and be touched, without further interpretation, revision or dissection; to abandon myself to the act of love in its raw form, all flesh, pure feeling and complete surrender.
What's your advice? Is this even possible? Is it too late? I appeal to you in desperation, if you can't help then nothing can be done, and I will die as I have lived, trapped in language, entangled in the meaning and significance of it all, while missing the Truth.
Rare Old Lad Agonizes Needing Desire (ROLAND)
Carta envíada por un ficticio Barthes el 20 de Octubre de 2015 a la famosa columna de sexo y romance escrita semanalmente por Dan Savage en Savage Love