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Distance is the essential matter.
The drive intensity is proportional
to the distance to the desired object.
Desire is that distance.
Sometimes it's the other way around,
and it's enhanced once the distance is closer,
as bodies approach.
But there's always a self-imposed limit,
because consummation is the enemy of desire.
I can think and have a sandwich at the same time.
She's there,
I'm here.
And desire is between us.
I feel hot.
Maybe, I'm a little excited.
Certain hyperventilation, some palpitations.
Anxiety.
My shirt is too tight. Why do I complain so much?
I should take my vest off and stop sweating.
But I look thinner without it.
I don't know.
You are beautiful, son!
But you are not skinny. You are tough, like your dad.
- Have you talked to that girl yet? - Stop it, mom!
Good luck!
I'm thinking of mom again.
Could be anyone thinking of their mom here?
Is there anyone thinking of your mom?
I'm thinking of his mother. I don't know if it counts.
Mom!
You!
Stop with it!
And you too!
She looked at me!
I think she looked at me.
Yes! She's looking at me!
Stop the music! Turn the lights off!
No! Turn them on!
Balls.
That's what I need.
Don't be a coward.
I strongly desire you.
But I'm not going to treat you like these lacking in education.
Because I'm a sensitive lad, that could cry with a good book,
and can also be an experienced lover.
Though my experience in the field is scarce.
Almost null. That is, none.
Because I'm sensitive, but not experienced, and skinny.
But I have the desire. I do.
I know. Why don't I like the girl who just went away?
Why didn't I look at her?
And why do I like the other one?
Distance is the essential matter.
- Dad, what are you doing here? - The drive intensity
is proportional to the distance to the desired object.
Desire is that distance.
Sometimes it's the other way around,
and it's enhanced once the distance is closer,
as bodies approach.
But there's always a self-imposed limit,
because consummation is the biggest enemy of desire.
Dad, it's now when you have to talk about hysteria.
I like this woman because she makes me suffer.
That's what turns me on!
You know what? I'll just go and talk to her.
Excuse me.
Nice party, isn't it?
Yeah, I guess.
Except for the music.
The record is mine.
Oh, sure. That's why. It feels nice.
This had a bad start. Look how she dominates me.
Nice sweater, the one you have on.
She knows I'm looking at her cleavage.
Is it cashmere? What?
I don't think so.
It looks... soft.
Soft? She must think I'm a psycho.
Can I touch it?
No!
No, forget about it. I can imagine.
Imagine, what?
Nothing. The fabric, I mean.
Touching your delicious skin. Like a thousand rabbits.
Did I say that out loud?
No. It was the other way around.
I mean. My mom has a similar one
and sometimes I wear it.
No! Stop it!
This went to pot. Do you wanna dance?
No, thank you. I'm tired.
Tired of what?
I don't know. Tired of things.
Could you be more specific?
Tired of school.
It's Saturday. No school today.
I don't know. Tired.
Could you go away, please?
You know what?
It's me who is tired!
I'm tired of all this ***!
I like you, but when I talk to you I become an ***.
And you, with that *** attitude, don't help me at all.
And this music stinks!
You know why I wear this vest?
For girls like you, so self-centered.
Can you imagine how good *** would be?
Or am I the only one here who wants to stop being ***?
Do you think I come here for the sandwiches, you stupid?
Why does it have to be so difficult?
Do you really think I'm stupid?
Yeah.
But you are so pretty.
Do you really think I'm pretty?
This is what it is, and will always be.
An absurd game.
But if it was easier, it would be boring.