Never Alone

One year after the creation of Union Editions, we dedicate to this project a book of almost four hundred pages. Without any documentation or reference to Union’s editorial production, the book consists of a long visual narrative describing a landscape of utopias, demons, and lovers. The book includes contributions by Giulia Crispiani, Federico Lupo, Achille Filipponi, Clara Ciccioni, Valerio Mannucci, Linda Valle.

The following is an excerpt from Giulia Crispiani’s book What if Every Farewell Would Be Followed by a Love Letter, published by Union Editions in February 2020.

26 May, 00:00

There is no letter you write alone, there’s no sentence you utter that is fully yours. When I address a love letter to you, is it me talking to you or is it you borrowing my voice to reach my bowels? Cos that’s where the voice originates, in the intestines—like desire, it inflates the lungs, and reverberates through the throat. So, until I’ll see you again, I’ll concede space to my words. Moulding them from your memory’s matter. They’ll take up space in the void you left after the farewell. 

One does not simply love an other. If one loves an ideal, should one claim property over it? Many of us are in love with the revolution, or once were. Many of us hunt for anarchic love, where possession is not contemplated. Every time you think of me, for that moment I am yours. Each time I write to you, you are inside me, throbbing. And why would I want you for longer than I actually could? One breath, we’ll become, at last. Alas. Allow me for once, to love plurality. One plus one makes many, a number that always implies politics. 

We never make anything alone. 

So let write me a love letter to you as a proposal for an internal upheaval. Let’s plot the revolution conjoined. One must love the revolution only when the streets are left empty. Before they were all busy fighting. Like an orgasm, it bursts before you hear it coming. The upheaval caused by collective desire. We put our body on the forefront, fearing no opposition. All Cunts Are Beautiful. 

So let me write an ode to this anarchic love. We are the ones who make the rules, according to our pleasure. We embrace our perversions as welcome. 
I don’t know what it was, but I felt fine with you. So fine it made me go back. 

So let me write a love letter to remember this and that time we met in the aether, in between all the times we met at the peak of orgasm. When the “us” made me forget the “I”—our fears coming across as one shadow. How could I not desire for it but to happen again? How could I not address my love letters but to an assembly? One never writes their love letters alone. “Every time you dream I am fucking you, this is what happens.”

When I am writing to you, that happens every time. You are one and many, you are all my future lovers combined. A love letter is a declaration of intent, like the revolution is a historical moment. An event in between two meetings. The ceremony that follows the farewell. A love letter is a festive funeral, for our selves to rest in peace. Those who remain to read it have big responsibilities upon themselves. A love letter is the offering at the threshold.  You, one and many, became an idea. As such, I let you be the gas of my burning fire, my one and many, for a while my solar power. You never leave me alone. 

What if every farewell would be followed by a love letter? This meeting will never end. May my love letter follow you in a condition of absence. Can I provoke an erection from afar? Can I feel its eruption? You, one and many, and me united, in pleasure and power. A torrential disaster. “We have no access to the outside, but the outside has always already touched us in the head, for it is the precipitous.” May my words precipitate along. May this night survive the day, and remain impressed in history, as the night of the love letter. Let it proclaim the curse of this abstinence. Let it cast a spell on our cravings. “Don’t you fuck with me! You fuck with me and I’ll send you a love letter. You don’t want to get a love letter from me. You know what a love letter is? It’s a bullet. You’re fucked if you get a love letter from me; you get a love letter from me and you’re dead!”Yet I write love letters to you, to keep your memory alive. Like a sunset, a love letter thinks of yesterday full of expectations for tomorrow. You can’t help but wondering when looking at the sunset, where the sun is heading to and what the night will bring.
 
I am never alone, when I write my love letter to you. To think of your skin is to think of upheaval. Cum with me at the core of your most sadistic pleasure, and never ask me to stay thereafter. Hold me dear in the instant as your deepest desire. 

So this love letter is an invitation. Come meet me my love, and let me hear you cum along. Come hold me, my love, cos when you do, time surrenders. Let’s return to our oasis to quench our thirst.
 
A love letter is a declaration of intent. Like the revolution, a historical moment. Let’s meet outside ourselves, and celebrate together, this abdication of power. 

This love letter is my gift to you for being so good to me. This love letter is the manifestation of our union. This love letter is my way to accompany you through the night. 

A love letter is a declaration of intent. Like the revolution, a historical moment. Let’s meet outside ourselves, and celebrate together, this abdication of power.
 
This love letter is my gift to you for being so good to me. This love letter is the manifestation of our union. This love letter is my way to accompany you through the night.