Chris Kraus: I Love Dick

So why would you want to blow your cover, such a fragile eggshell, to enter a game you’ve refused to play anymore? The thing that’s most embarrassing isn’t telling you my wife’s in love with you—that’s just transgressive, and so ultimately acceptable. What’s more embarrassing is to strip the whole intrigue bare, to bring it down to raw desire, like the “…”s in Chris’ story when she imagines making love to you. Does knowledge stand for “…”? Does it need to be eroticized to find its point? And why should any point be finer than the raw “…”s of our desires? We know what the “…”s stand for. And what does your name stand for, Dick?

Crestline, California

December 11, 1994

Dear Dick,

I disagree with Sylvère about your living situation. He thinks that it’s escapist, as if living alone is an evasion of the inevitable coupledom, rejecting life. It’s what parents say about the childless. But I think your life choices are totally valid, Dick.

Crestline, California

December 11, 1994

Dear Dick,

Noon. (Already). We’re still waiting for your call. We think we’ll switch now to the conversational mode since all our time between these letters has been spent talking about you anyhow.

Sunday, December 11, 1994: 12:05 p.m.

C:Sylvère what’re we gonna do if he doesn’t call? Are we gonna call him?

S:No, we can continue this without him anyway.

C:But you’re forgetting that I really want for him to call. I’m tingling all over waiting for the phone to ring. I’ll be really disappointed if he doesn’t call.

S:Well this time you should talk to him. Why let us two white guys decide the course? I got him in. It’s your turn now.

C:But I’m afraid he’s not gonna call at all. What then? Do I call him? It’s already feeling like the Frank Zappa song You Didn’t Try And Call Me .

S:He’ll call, but not today. He’ll call when it’s too late.

C:Oh Sylvère, I hate that.

S:But Chris, that’s why he’ll do it that way.

C:If he doesn’t call today I think I’ll have to disengage. Because, you know, I’ll lose respect. We’ve done so much . All he has to do is call.

S:But maybe he’ll realize we’ve already done everything in his place. Why disturb it?

C:I disagree. He should be curious. If some one called me and said they’d written 50, 60, 70 pages about me overnight I’d definitely be curious. You know, Sylvère, I think if this whole Dick thing falls through I’ll go to Guatemala City. I have to do something with my life.

S:But Chris. The Antelope Valley is Guatemala.

C:I’ll just be so disappointed if he doesn’t call. How can you continue loving someone who doesn’t pass this first and really basic test?

S:What test? The adultery test?

C:Nooo. The first test is to call.

Since their telephone has call-waiting, Chris phones her unshockable friend Ann Rower in New York.

TEN MINUTES LATER—

S:What did Ann think?

C:Ann thought it was a great project, more perverse than just having an affair. She thinks it’d make a good book! When Dick calls shall we tell him we’re considering publication?

S:No. The murder hasn’t happened yet. Desire’s still unconsummated. Let the media wait.

C:(whining) Whyyyyyyy??

SEVEN HOURS LATER—

C:Look Sylvère, this’s hopeless. We’re leaving in two days and I can’t think past this phone call. I got a fax this afternoon from a producer who wants to see my film. I didn’t even read it. Maybe it’s already thrown away.

(Pause)

It’s an impossible situation! I don’t even know what I want from Dick anymore. Nothing good can come of this. The only thing I’m thankful for is that it’s not the ’70s and I didn’t already fuck him. You know that anguish? Waiting by the phone until the burn and torment finally goes away? Our only hope is for some resumption of our normal lives. What seemed so daring just looks juvenile and pathetic.

S:Chris, I already told you he wouldn’t call. He has a tendency to pull away. We’ve taken the decision for him. Deciding on his thoughts. Remember the introduction that we wrote for him? In a sense Dick isn’t necessary. He has more to say by not saying anything and maybe he’s aware of it. We’ve been treating Dick like a dumb cunt. Why should he like it? By not calling he’s playing right into his role.

C:You’re wrong. Dick’s response has nothing to do with character. It’s the situation. This reminds me of something that happened when I was 11 years old. There was this man at the local radio station who’d been very nice to me. He let me talk over the air. Then one day a cloud came over me, I started throwing rocks into the windshield of his car. It made sense while I was doing it but later I felt crazy and ashamed.

S:Do you want to throw a rock through Dick’s Thunderbird?

C:I already have. Though mostly I’ve debased myself.

S:No.

C:Of course. I’ve projected a total fantasy onto an unsuspecting person and then actually asked him to respond!

S:But Chris, I think his embarrassment isn’t in relation to you or me but to himself. What can he do?

C:I hate being thrown into such a physical state. When the phone rang during dinner my face flushed, my heart was pounding. Laura and Elizabeth drove all this way to visit us and I like them but I couldn’t wait for them to leave.

S:Isn’t that experiencing life to the hilt?

C:No, it’s just a dumb infatuation. I’m so ashamed.

S:But even if his silence hurts you, isn’t that what attracted you to him? The fact that he was inaccessible. So, I think there is a contradiction there, at least nothing to feel ashamed of—

C:I took terrible liberties with another person. He has every right to laugh at me.

S:I doubt he’s laughing. Perhaps biting his fingers.

C:I feel so teenage. When you’re living so intensely in your head you actually believe when something happens you’ve imagined, that you caused it. When Leonora OD’d on bad acid from my boyfriend Donald, he and Paul and I sat up all night in the park and made a pact that if Leonora wasn’t out of Ward 16 tomorrow we’d kill ourselves. When you’re living so intensely in your head there isn’t any difference between what you imagine and what actually takes place. Therefore, you’re both omnipotent and powerless.

S:You’re saying teenagers aren’t in their heads?

C:No, they’re so far in that there’s no difference between the inside of their heads and the world.

S:So what’s happening in Dick’s head now?

C:Oh Sylvère, he’s not a teenager. He’s not experiencing any feeling of infatuation for me. He’s in a normal state, well, whatever’s normal for him, wondering how to deal with this horrible mawkish situation.

S:If he’s thinking about it, he’ll call tonight. If not, he’ll call on Tuesday morning. But he will definitely call.