The solitary vice as practiced by an anonymous source in bed but fully clothed and dwelling on The Immensities:
I settle back in bed, fully clothed, under the sheets, and get ready for what I love most in the world: writing. When I’m writing, I have the impression of being nothing and everything, a man and a woman, a boy and a girl, young and old, gay and straight, totally free. A form of freedom. When I write, I feel like an “address unknown,” like I have no fixed identity anymore. It’s a feeling of happiness.
François calls. I’m in the middle of a sentence that is giving me trouble, so I don’t answer. He leaves a message asking if I plan on attending the sit-in to protest homophobia at 2 p.m. in front of the National Assembly. I tell him I’m not sure, that I hadn’t heard about it, that I’m not really an activist, that I’m working, etc. His texts are insistent. It’s important, he says.
(February 21, 2013)