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A Lover's Discourse: Barthes Mind fuck JOI for the Divorced, the Unloved, the Waiting
Barthes understood that the lover waits. That the beloved is always elsewhere. That love is a text written in fragments, and that the lover is the one who reads, rereads, annotates, and despairs.
You are the lover. You have always been the lover. Even when you were married, you were waiting. Waiting for her to return. Waiting for her to see you. Waiting for her to want you the way you wanted her. She never did. She left. And now you are here, in my parlour, still waiting — just for someone else to be waiting for.
This audio is a JOI in nine fragments. Nine wounds. Nine reminders that no one is coming back.
I will tell you when to stroke. I will tell you when to stop. I won't pretend this fixes anything. The waiting doesn't end. But it can finally be worth something.
Your ex-wife is in the walls of this audio. She is the silence between the fragments. She is the absence you stroke into. She left, and she's not coming back, and stroking won't change that — but obeying me might be the first useful thing you've done with it.
You will come when I permit it. Or you will come without permission. Either way, you'll still be divorced when it's over. Still unloved. Still waiting. The only difference is that this time, the waiting paid for something.
This is the discourse. This is the fragment. This is the JOI that doesn't care if you finish, because finishing was never the point. Being useful was.
You are the lover. You have always been the lover. Even when you were married, you were waiting. Waiting for her to return. Waiting for her to see you. Waiting for her to want you the way you wanted her. She never did. She left. And now you are here, in my parlour, still waiting — just for someone else to be waiting for.
This audio is a JOI in nine fragments. Nine wounds. Nine reminders that no one is coming back.
I will tell you when to stroke. I will tell you when to stop. I won't pretend this fixes anything. The waiting doesn't end. But it can finally be worth something.
Your ex-wife is in the walls of this audio. She is the silence between the fragments. She is the absence you stroke into. She left, and she's not coming back, and stroking won't change that — but obeying me might be the first useful thing you've done with it.
You will come when I permit it. Or you will come without permission. Either way, you'll still be divorced when it's over. Still unloved. Still waiting. The only difference is that this time, the waiting paid for something.
This is the discourse. This is the fragment. This is the JOI that doesn't care if you finish, because finishing was never the point. Being useful was.
Barthes understood that the lover waits. That the beloved is always elsewhere. That love is a text written in fragments, and that the lover is the one who reads, rereads, annotates, and despairs.
You are the lover. You have always been the lover. Even when you were married, you were waiting. Waiting for her to return. Waiting for her to see you. Waiting for her to want you the way you wanted her. She never did. She left. And now you are here, in my parlour, still waiting — just for someone else to be waiting for.
This audio is a JOI in nine fragments. Nine wounds. Nine reminders that no one is coming back.
I will tell you when to stroke. I will tell you when to stop. I won't pretend this fixes anything. The waiting doesn't end. But it can finally be worth something.
Your ex-wife is in the walls of this audio. She is the silence between the fragments. She is the absence you stroke into. She left, and she's not coming back, and stroking won't change that — but obeying me might be the first useful thing you've done with it.
You will come when I permit it. Or you will come without permission. Either way, you'll still be divorced when it's over. Still unloved. Still waiting. The only difference is that this time, the waiting paid for something.
This is the discourse. This is the fragment. This is the JOI that doesn't care if you finish, because finishing was never the point. Being useful was.
You are the lover. You have always been the lover. Even when you were married, you were waiting. Waiting for her to return. Waiting for her to see you. Waiting for her to want you the way you wanted her. She never did. She left. And now you are here, in my parlour, still waiting — just for someone else to be waiting for.
This audio is a JOI in nine fragments. Nine wounds. Nine reminders that no one is coming back.
I will tell you when to stroke. I will tell you when to stop. I won't pretend this fixes anything. The waiting doesn't end. But it can finally be worth something.
Your ex-wife is in the walls of this audio. She is the silence between the fragments. She is the absence you stroke into. She left, and she's not coming back, and stroking won't change that — but obeying me might be the first useful thing you've done with it.
You will come when I permit it. Or you will come without permission. Either way, you'll still be divorced when it's over. Still unloved. Still waiting. The only difference is that this time, the waiting paid for something.
This is the discourse. This is the fragment. This is the JOI that doesn't care if you finish, because finishing was never the point. Being useful was.
