I have never really known how to explain why this idea keeps returning.
If I try to describe it from the outside, it sounds absurd.
If I try to describe it from the inside, it does not improve much.
I only know that it appears.
Sometimes after weeks without thinking about it.
Sometimes while I am occupied with something completely different.
And it always arrives in the same way.
Like a small discharge of recognition.
As if some hidden part of me lifts its head and says:
“There you are again.”
The strange thing is that obedience itself does not interest me as much as it probably should.
That is not what brings me back.
I do not dream about becoming someone else.
I do not dream about disappearing.
I do not dream about surrendering my will to another person.
And yet I keep thinking about processes where something very close to that seems to happen.
That is the part I cannot solve.
Because the more I analyze it, the less sense it makes.
And the less sense it makes, the more space it occupies.
Sometimes I think about the Marquis de Sade.
Not the historical figure.
Not the scandal.
The persistence.
The refusal to stop before reaching the end of an idea, even when the result was uncomfortable.
Even when it revealed something nobody wanted to see.
There are moments when I suspect my fascination has very little to do with submission.
It has more to do with limits.
With discovering what happens when an experience continues beyond the point where it would normally end.
What happens when tension remains.
When expectation is denied immediate resolution.
When the mind stops searching for an exit and begins observing what is actually happening.
That is where something changes.
Not in the body.
In attention.
I begin noticing absurd details.
The rhythm of a breath.
A faint sensation in one hand.
The way a thought returns to exactly the same place over and over again.
And then something appears that I am uncomfortable admitting.
Pleasure.
Not a simple pleasure.
Not a logical pleasure.
That is precisely the problem.
Because it does not seem to care about my opinions.
It does not seem to ask permission.
It appears anyway.
Stronger the more I try to dismantle it.
More persistent the more I try to analyze it.
As if some part of me had already made a decision before I was allowed to participate in it.
And perhaps that is why I keep returning.
Not because I have answers.
Because I still do not.
Because I suspect there is something waiting at the end of that process.
Something I still do not understand.
And every time I think I have finally left the question behind, the current returns.
It always returns.
The neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
