Raiding the inarticulate since 2010

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Sex as the things we cannot say

I was blown away by this paragraph in Jennette McCurdy’s Half His Age (which incidentally echoes Alenka Zupančič’s argument in What is Sex?) and I now can’t get it out of my head. From 2,864:

That’s what sex is for me now. Recreating—or attempting to recreate—how things were in the beginning, when sex represented the affections, the desires, the wishes, hopes, and dreams. The longing. The promise of what could be. The chemistry. The potential. When sex represented all the things we couldn’t say. Now, sex represents the apologies, the differences, the disconnection. The mourning. The acceptance. The melancholy for what used to be. Still the things we can’t say. Just different things.

And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind
And in the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different kind
And I'm holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines
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