There is a part of me that should not respond to this.
A part that insists training is only discipline, repetition, structure.
Something external.
Something that is done.
And yet, when I return to this laboratory in my mind, I do not experience it as external.
I experience it as something that insists from within me.
As if the body remembers something the mind is trying to forget.
As Operator—or perhaps as the part of me that observes without interfering—I keep thinking that the norm does not train the body, it rewrites it.
Sade appears here not as an intellectual reference, but as a persistent discomfort.
The idea that excess, repetition, sustained tension are not meant to create chaos… but an extreme form of order.
And that is what unsettles me.
Because one part of me completely rejects that logic.
I do not want to be something that is rewritten.
I do not want to be a structure.
I do not want to become support for anything.
And yet…
another part does not disappear.
A part that does not think in terms of rejection or acceptance.
Only in terms of intensity.
In that part, training is not violence or discipline.
It is something harder to name.
It is insistence.
Repetition that does not stop even when I want to leave it behind.
It is the feeling that the body learns without asking permission.
As if there were an intelligence older than my will.
That is what I find unbearable.
Not the idea of the norm.
But the ease with which a part of me begins to respond to it.
As if something in repetition does not destroy… but reorganizes.
I do not like thinking this way.
In fact, I resist it.
But resistance does not erase the sensation.
It only makes it sharper.
There are moments when I find myself thinking about stillness.
Not as rest.
But as a state.
A stillness that is not chosen.
But produced.
And in those moments I understand why Sade is not an external figure in this text.
He is an uncomfortable mirror.
The idea of a system that does not try to convince you…
but to hold you until you can no longer distinguish yourself from it.
And that is where the real contradiction appears.
Because I want to escape that logic.
And at the same time, something in me keeps looking at it.
As if I am still trying to understand what breaks first:
the body…
or the idea that there is still a “self” that can resist.
The neck locks I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
