So last night I was accused of being “up tight.” Make no mistake this was a slight against my virility, party-time morality, and social graces.
What is up where and what is tight? Is the tightness regarding the fit of the what up the where? Are my thoughts retarded by a paradigm of penetration? Maybe it is a question of friction, a kind of affective friction that unfolds in-connection (ala Massumi), necessarily so, of a friction like footholds in a constantly shifting relativity between infinitely folded surfaces.
Perhaps telling someone they are up tight (albeit initially framing it as a question) is a sure way to make someone who might not actually feel ‘up tight’ (maybe just tired, drunk, etc) suddenly feel it.
We didn’t meet each other exactly (dialectic) it was more a weirdly congruent reaction to contingency (event). Then we hung out for a few hours. Is the denoucement of ‘up tightness’ an expression of a libidinal micro-economy within such an event, of a way of restating what is essentially unspoken but expressed within the question? (inter alia “Why don’t you want to get it on with me?”)
This passed through my slightly drunk head in a couple of instants, as she articulated the question and the various resonances cascaded through my mind. I am at once stoked and, well, feeling up tight. Maybe I am ‘up tight’? In the bourgie argot ‘up tight’ is certainly a defence of wounded beauty. And the woman who said this to me is smoking hot. Like so hot I couldn’t keep my eyes off her when I saw her and therfore had to slightly reposition myself in such a way that she was in the projected line of sight between me and the band (that is, if I looked at the band, which I didn’t because I was looking at her).
But maybe romance should be an obstacle course and not a fucking drag race. But maybe she didn’t want romance and just a drag race to fucking? Should I repay cynicism in kind? But why then invite me to a party next weekend? (Because she was drunk?)