The inscription of the desire to dominate does not begin as a decision.
It begins as a tendency already operating before it is recognized.
I do not know if it is will or learned inertia.
But when it appears, it already has shape.
Not the shape of a command.
But the shape of something waiting to be obeyed.
There is a moment when I think I could still not do it.
That moment does not last.
The room of chalk does not react.
But I notice a minimal shift in the light.
I could not say which.
Only that it now seems lower.
Closer to the ground.
I keep speaking.
Or I keep emitting something that resembles an order.
There is no visible change.
But the attention of the other—if it is still attention—is no longer in the same place.
I try to assume it is coincidence.
The thought does not hold.
There is a mark on the table.
It was not there before.
It is not a crack.
It is an old pressure returning to the same point.
I do not touch it.
But the finger is already close without having decided to move.
I do not know when that happened.
The distance between gesture and decision has become unstable.
As if part of the movement had already finished before it began.
For a second I think this might be normal.
The thought dissolves without resistance.
There is no scene of authority.
Only a continuity that has already chosen for me.
And then something worse appears:
the impression that I am not commanding.
But confirming something already being executed.
There is no complete order.
Only fragments of order distributed in the air.
The rest is completed by the space itself.
This should not be possible.
But the space does not argue.
It only adjusts.
The person in front of me blinks.
I do not know if it was before or after my silence.
That detail does not fit.
I notice it too late.
Sade appears afterwards.
Not as explanation.
But as residue.
Not in the act.
But in the way the act does not need to finish in order to have already happened.
Even his name arrives late.
Like everything else.
I blink.
I think I blink.
The table is still there.
So is the mark.
But now I do not know if it is closer or if I have shifted position without noticing.
There is a sentence I try to say to regain control.
It does not complete.
It breaks in the middle.
And in that break something fixes itself.
I do not know what.
Only that I can no longer distinguish between what I ordered and what simply passed through me.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it…
