‘Saturday’ is the irruption of the ‘spontaneous,’ the irrational in the rationality of the capitalist disciplining of our life. It is supposed to be the compensation for work and is ideologically sold as the ‘other’ from work, a field of freedom in which we can presumably be our true selves,

have the possibility for intimate contacts in a universe of social relations where we are constantly forced to repress, defer, postpone, hide, even from ourselves, what we desire.

This being the promise, what we actually get is far from our expectations. As we cannot go back to nature by simply taking off our clothes, so cannot become ‘ourselves’ simply because it is love-making time. Little spontaneity is possible when the timing, conditions and the amount

of energy available for love are out of our control. Not only after a week of work our bodies and feelings are numb and we cannot turn them on like a machine. But what comes out when we ‘let go’ is more often our repressed violence and frustration than our hidden self ready to be reborn in bed.

Among other things, we are always aware of the falseness of this spontaneity. No matter how much we scream, sigh, and how many erotic exercises we make in bed, we know that it is a parenthesis and that tomorrow we both will be back in our civilized clothes

– we will have coffee together preparing to go to work. The more we know that it is a parenthesis which the rest of the day or the week will deny, the more difficult it becomes for us to turn into ‘savages’ at the socially sanctioned sex-time and forget everything else.