Le Navire Night

Every night in Paris, hundreds of men and women use the anonymity of unassigned phone lines, some dating back to the Occupation, to talk to each other, to love each other. These people, these castaways of love and desire, are dying to love, to escape the abyss of solitude. These people who cry out in the night from the abyss all arrange to meet. These appointments never lead to encounters. It's enough that they're made. No one goes. It's the call launched into the abyss, the cry that triggers pleasure. Or perhaps the other cry-the response. Someone cries out. Someone answers that they heard the cry. It's a black orgasm. Without mutual touch-without a face-eyes closed-the voice alone. The text of the voices speaks with eyes closed.