Wednesday, November 30

Enclosures: the spatial and the emotional

On Tuesday we woke up calmly and had coffee and raspberry-filled sedans for breakfast on the balcony, with a blanket serving as a privacy curtain between the little space between passers-by and my first-floor wrought iron grille. Neighborhood privacy and street level, the greatest contradiction and the greatest lack of our political concept of community. Bad. Fatal. We crossed the center of the city from end to end, from point to point, from north to south and what a joy to walk in the morning. How different the streets are, what a morning smell, how calm the people go about their business. Removing the social schedule makes it more alive, it comes to life, it seems that when you change it, you enjoy it more intensely, like when you drink wine at noon and get drunk. Walking in the morning is the drunkenness of a glass of wine at the wrong time.

First we live in the family home, where –ideally– we enjoy safety, warmth, protection, the excuse for playing and learning. Then perhaps we will live shared houses, which are many and are with friends and strangers, there are never forks, but cleaning schedules and nightly talks. Also dirty dishes and unpleasant surprises, going to the bank, going shopping, bureaucracy. Is a emotional opening of instability and friendship. Later, much later, when you are almost desperate, the independent house arrives -if it arrives- and with it maturity, furniture, tranquility, the intimate, private and pleasant space of oneself and of choosing what to see in TV and the living room to yourself.

I have not reached any more. Perhaps the house as a couple, the house with your own family. It is perhaps a future, but not a time line and they can be mixed, interspersed, substituted or deleted. The other day I heard Benedicta Sánchez, 87, an actress from What burns He said that each age has its stage and you have to enjoy them all. I’m going to pay attention to it just in case.

In the way of living, I claim the formation of new family ties. They tell me that I must choose: a friend or a life partner. They tell me that a partner can be a couple or a roommate, someone with whom to literally share life. But it’s different? Can’t you have both? Frown. Frown is my middle name. I always think that I am going to have many wrinkles on my forehead, but when I realize it, I have wrinkled it again.

I want to share my day to day with my partner and my friends. I want to break that structure, I say, thinking about how I explain that I want to break the structure. I don’t want to be two to opt for a house with larger rooms, I don’t want the desire to be two simply to feel one. A complete one that does not need all that to live with a minimum, with the minimum affective and spatial. If the affective and the spatial are the same, what does it mean to have only one room? What does it mean to have a double bed for one? If the spatial defines us, what can we do to change the affective? Do we change the house to change love? What can I afford in my one-bedroom apartment, from a kitchen to the living room? But if we change the affective, we change the spatial. That’s a fact. Between two, there are more rooms. Between two, there is more space. The domestic and the intimate play an important role in my life. I eroticize what I domesticate, brushing one’s teeth next to each other eroticizes it, talking with the toothbrush eroticizes it. I knock on the door, are you naked? And I jump on the bed. I draw the curtains, you tell me that I am more private, I don’t like a window at street level. You say: “You would put a screen”. “You go out on the balcony.” You compensate the affective panic with the extremely social. I compensate the emotional availability of the social with my intimate space, if that makes sense. The neighbor across the street plays very loud music and it annoys me. I complain politically bad. I debate between the intimately comfortable and the socially revulsive, I want both, like the bourgeois left. This is nothing disruptive, but I put it on its feet. I stand up. They say that in the future the metaverse is assured, I only think of a blanket in winter. Maybe this suits me a little Remedios Zafra. She had never been so modern. I would like to live in a two-bedroom apartment and talk at breakfast, but they tell me, that’s your life structure, you can’t demand it from others. Searching for new connections is tiring. The house bites me and then rocks me. Private property belongs to the couple. It’s my turn to rent: emotional, spatial. I would like to write with more knowledge, but I only have my own.



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