This is an attempt. All others were attempts too, but this is unabashedly an attempt.

A few months ago I had a few experiences which made me wonder why an unusually high number of people involved in the word-manipulating-business had a carnal bend of mind. Of course, this is not a statistical fact. But you already know that. This stayed a wonder for a long time because there was nobody to whom I could ask this. And it is very easy to frame this phenomenon as a structural issue involving power imbalances, which is a valid claim, but an essentialising one. I did not want to get into another esssentialising trap. So I went to my friend who I consider sensitive to these issues. His suggestion was that since language and its use—careful use—is very much a world-building exercise, it is not surprising that the people who do that are highly aware of the material world. Which is to say that the senses are always working, always involved. This is a claim that I can really substantiate, if you want that. Take any decent writer. Anyone. You are guaranteed to find that they kept a journal, a notebook, a commonplace book, an ‘inbox’ of sorts where they captured their world. And look at Georges Perec’s epigraph to his Life: A User’s Manual. It is (mis)attributed to Jules Verne and it says: Look! With all your eyes look!

Now this is a cultivated habit. It appears so. It require discipline and perseverance. And writers have these two qualities in their writerly life (again, a claim that can be substantiated). I want to be clear: I am not claiming that I have a writerly life or that I am a writer. That would be grossly improper. Rather, I am wondering whether this sensitivity towards things might be explained with—again, this is another hypothesis of my therapist—my being on the spectrum. Autistic burnout and hypersensitivity (especially sound and light but also touch) are quite well known effects of being on the spectrum. And it almost always feels like a handicap. That life would have been easier if the senses were not this sensitive. That hibernation would be an option and not a necessity. On the flip side, this means that the world offers itself more generously. That you don’t have to go searching for sensations but rather that they will find you. The trouble with this setup is that even the slightest suggestion of sensual information can be overwhelming. And its absence can have the same effect.

Physical sensations which are not overwhelming but of the right degree and kind can fill this contested space. Your heart aches when this sort of touch is offered or withdrawn. It is—contrary to belief—powerful. How this affects me is…

Aside: I know there might be people who read this, people whose relations with me are predicated on what I offer as my image. This makes it really difficult to write about things in this space because I promised myself that I will be honest here. And I am afraid my honesty would alienate these people. Knausgaard ended up in trouble because he was honest. And I am sure there are more of these cases. Well, this is a moment where I have to make a decision. My entire being rebels against honesty. It makes me want to write only the right things, the things that are sanitised. But I will now make the decision, which is a difficult one, that I will write. Come what may.

…How this affects me is that I am easily aroused. Or doused. So when someone sends me a text that suggests physicality—no matter what the intention is—the suggestion is felt physically. I feel the body. I feel the body in its entirety in a way no encounter can. I become aware of this body as a manuscript where history and biography has inscribed signs. A real thing. It is also sexual, almost always. A kind of yearning. Wanting. Desire. There are many narratives I can choose to get out of the moral dilemma that this raises. I can either deny it and stick to this sanitised narrative of moral acuity which circles around history and biography, which are safe and respectable disciplines, or accept that it also turned me on. And I am saying this: it turned me on.

Phew! This is not easy. Only one essentialism is the easiest and only practical way to live life given that we are (I am) limited beings. Switching from political and other kinds of correctness to this sort of honest correctness is really draining. Almost physically draining. But maybe this is how it is. Maybe this is supposed to be challenging and difficult. Maybe this is the only way forward. A clean slate is slate never used—even used slates carry marks. Try and write. Make mistakes. Mess up. It is okay.