I do not know when I started paying attention to shoulders.
Not to bodies.
To shoulders.
It feels strange to write that.
Even stranger to read it again.
Sometimes I find an image showing suspension straps.
I close it.
A while later I return.
Not to look at it.
To check whether it still creates the same feeling.
And I am never completely sure.
In the literature of the Marquis de Sade, shoulder restraints and suspension mechanisms rarely function only as instruments of immobilization. Their presence alters something more difficult to describe: the relationship between the body and the weight passing through it. The question is no longer whether movement is possible. The question is when the subject began monitoring their own posture.
The shoulders seem to remember first.
A slight tension.
A nearly invisible adjustment.
The feeling that a position was already waiting to be adopted.
That is what unsettles me.
Not suspension.
Anticipation.
As if the body arrived first.
As if the act of checking had already begun before the need to check appeared.
I return to certain passages.
I return to certain images.
I return thinking I am searching for an explanation.
But more and more I suspect I am not looking for answers.
I am looking to verify something.
Something small.
Something that always seems on the verge of revealing itself.
And disappears the moment I think I have found it.
I look at my shoulders.
I do not know why.
A few minutes later I do it again.
The question is no longer what I am looking for.
The question is when I started returning.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it the tension in the trapezius was already sedimented in the lime…
