Again, there is the position of the person who never has access to bodies or images of bodies. She is in a strange cave- a cave called her body – where no image enters – so desire originates, hits the interior wall of the self and ricochets back towards the center again.
So when the crude sketch of a crude surgery appears – desire colonizes something that is more about wounds than touching. Jean luc Nancy’s invective about the touch is millenium away from our protagonist, who has finally found relief in the accidental. An accidental that builds a sex that is about destruction and repair, one’s illness and another’s heroics. The shock and pleasure of entering a wound.
Our protagonist wants to ask a little too heatedly: “What’s it like, doctor… the first time a blade sinks in?” I think that’s considered a rude question.
