Monologue: Ravings X
The first time I saw Sally Hawkins when she was in the lesbian-themed TV drama Fingersmith 5 years ago, she did impress me. Soon afterwards, I wrote this essay.
(Photo from stills of the TV drama “Fingersmith”)
You utter the most filthy words, yet keep unmoved and aloof. No matter how many erotic words have been told to you, spoken by you, or even how many obscenity you have been through, your emotions remain unaffected, your lusts remain unaroused, your mind remains dissociated from with what they want to pollute you. The intense sensuality is nourished by the ultimate pureness. The absolute chastity grows up from the deepest understanding of desires.
But, no one understands this twisted innocence borne inside your blood. No one believe that your love can only grow from lust. And by physical contact, it’s the only way you know to communicate with your beau. For no one knows better than you of the powerlessness of words.
Words are the weakest communication tool that God endowed us. Ambiguous, feeble, distorted if without certain context, argumentative if in different senses, a cunning companion that frustrates us, betrays us now and then.Yet that’s the only tool you can adopt here.
I know, if possible, you would by all sensual means let him know how much you want him, how much you love him. But as both of us foresee, he could never recognize: that’s your heart, that’s your soul. For he listens to your words only out of curiosity. For he turns away his eyes so to keep his soul untouched. For he denies what you present physically is equally sacred as you do spiritually. For he, just like other men, thought you must be loose since you know so much about desire, you must be lustful since you master the art of seduction.
We are bound here, my love. Inescapably, hopelessly, indefinitely.