A man who I had had sex with after our friend had suicided told me I was the physical manifestation of his mourning. That same year a man who I had had sex with in somebody else’s bed and who was extremely beautiful but had a girlfriend who was probably also beautiful said to me ‘I’m just really good at incorporating the lost object into my melancholia.’ Both of these men who I have slept with believe my body to be death or to be lost. Perhaps, since – perhaps since it feels that these men were not entirely concentrating when they slept with me or dumped me, I could build a new body to be their substitute object instead – the pillow under the duvet in your mother’s house, with hair collected from the tails of horses substituting yours, across the sheets.
Then she could stop being death perhaps, after Capitalism no one will have to work.
