That brings the other as nearly as close as oneself

When two hands touch, there is a sensuality of the flesh, an exchange of warmth, a
feeling of pressure, of presence, a proximity of otherness that brings the other nearly as close as oneself.1 Perhaps closer. And if the two hands belong to one person, might this not enliven an uncanny sense of the otherness of the self, a literal holding oneself at a distance in the sensation of contact, the greeting of the stranger within? So much happens in a touch: an infinity of others—other beings, other spaces, other times—are aroused. On Touching—The Inhuman That Therefore I Am (v1.1) karen barad