At three in the morning, while lying on his futon in the middle of his studio, he read this to me:
In reality, the decomposition of all social forms is a blessing. It is for us the ideal condition for a wild, massive experimentation with new arrangements, new fidelities. The famous “parental resignation” has imposed on us a confrontation with the world that demands a precocious lucidity, and foreshadows lovely revolts to come. In the death of the couple, we see the birth of troubling forms of collective affectivity, now that sex is all used up and masculinity and femininity parade around in such moth-eaten clothes, now that three decades of non-stop pornographic innovation have exhausted all the allure of transgression and liberation. We count on making that which is unconditional in relationships the armor of a political solidarity as impenetrable to state interference as a gypsy camp. There is no reason that the interminable subsidies that numerous relatives are compelled to offload onto their proletarianized progeny can’t become a form of patronage in favor of social subversion. “Becoming autonomous,” could just as easily mean learning to fight in the street, to occupy empty houses, to cease working, to love each other madly, and to shoplift.- The Coming Insurrection
A week or so later, we were also lying side-by-side but this time on my bed, he said to me, "You're a spy in the house of heterosexuality." I think he meant that I am not looking for a conventional heterosexual romantic relationship. And he wanted to know what his part was in my subterfuge. What was his use to my plan to live my life as a free woman, a gypsy?
Pillow talk is supposed to be light and easy, like talking about your favorite way to orgasm. I think that I was yearning for someone to hear me and take what I was thinking, feeling, saying and reflect it back to me. What better place to engage in such a physical and mental exercise, requiring both parties to be so present and so bare, than lying beside each other in the dark? Like a spy.
