Desire: The Beginning

I wanted to begin again from the very beginning. What was the beginning of all this?

Yes, I remember. I can recount it.

In the beginning, there was a gaze, an undirected gaze that belonged to none and which was led by an irrepressible desire for particularly nothing.

Then there was a Big Gamble that was immediately appropriated by the gaze as a phantasmagoric scene  for the fulfillment of its desire.

As the desire of the gaze finally found an imagery to project itself on, it assumed the position of an other, a viewer, of course a false one!

Then there was a gambler on the scene, a woman in red whose eyes reflected the desire of the gaze.

When she looked for a gamble, there saw a man. A man in black in whom the desire of the gaze epitomized itself.

First, the man defeated the woman. I don't know why it had to be so!

The woman looked at the man, by concealing her desire. But her eyes betrayed her desire for him.

Then the woman defeated the man. It had to be so!

The man looked back, at the woman. He concealed his desire. Yet, his eyes betrayed his desire for her.

They, the man and woman, were unable to express their desires directly, perhaps because the gaze of the false other was always following them.

The man had to go. It was so!

To escape the gaze of the other, yet not to loose his object of desire, he invited her for lunch or dinner or for a cup of coffee or for a movie or something.... I don't know what. She gracefully declined. Oh! no. My mistake. Her decline was an excuse, metonymic, slippery, that could be easily won over. She knew it. He knew it. The false other knew it. He attacked back, gently, without disturbing the false other's gaze, without shaming it, without causing it any dishonour. And she agreed!

The man, manly he is, the epitome of now the male desire, gently walked out, without looking back at her, despite his invincible temptation to do so, but being well aware that her desiring gaze, which he desired, would surely follow him.

The woman, womanly she is, the epitome of now the female desire, followed the departing man, from his behind, with her pointed gaze, so full of desire for him, which desired to be satisfied by the desire  of his for her.

Then there was music that would eventually direct the man to the woman and the woman to the man. But the false other had vanished. It is so! It has to vanish. For the man and the woman were to meet and uncover their irrepressible desire for each other without the necessity for a false other!

Sandeep
Chennai

The Source-Code of My Life

Today, suddenly, without any search for it, quite involuntarily, quite unintentionally, quite inadvertently, I discovered the source-code of my life. I was startled when I found it full of if-else-end segments! Upon a closer look, I realized that none of those if conditions were not truly if conditions. They only maintained a deceiving semblance---there were no conditions being tested by any of the if commands; and after every else, end followed immediately. The space between else and end was empty in every case. The lack of conditions being tested by ifs and the void in place of all alternatives  deeply disturbed and horrified me.

(Based on a sleep disturbing dream.)

--Sandeep, 22/07/2014.

Senseless Writing: On Being a Subject, a Cogito! [Unedited]

Breath deeply.... Breath deeply.... Breath is strength.... Breath is life.... Breath helps you to hold on to life. Breath deeply and be alive. Live!

Do not tell me philosophy. Please! And do not tell me metaphysics. 

Do not tell me any superior theory that can define me, understand me, explain me, and thereby limit me and oppress me.

I may not be limitless. I may rather be finite. I may not possess anything that is mine. My desire may not be mine. My dreams may not be mine. Perhaps, theories are just right; perhaps, they are wrong. Perhaps, life exists outside. Perhaps, the outside defines me.

Yet, I experience only me: the me inside me myself. I see only through me. I understand only through me. I experience, define, explain ... only through me. Only through me.

Without the me within myself, the world for me is a void: a huge void that lies outside me. A huge void which seems to be huge because it is so senseless and so meaningless without me. A huge, senseless void. A huge nonsense.

I focus on myself ... my thoughts ... my urges ... the me within me. I focus on my essence, my consciousness, the feel of my feel, the me within me. How will I even tell you about it! I don't know!

My essence, this consciousness: What is it to me? What is my essence, the only thing that I feel belonging to me, to me? I get nowhere. I get to nothing. It is a nothing! Yes, it, my essence, reveals itself to me as a void!

I am an emptiness, so wide and deep, so vast and huge.

I am also an essence, aware of itself. Absurd yet blissful self-awareness! 

I must stop writing. But I can't. If I don't write, I speak to myself. My head fills with my inner voice, which, after a while, becomes merely a noise -- just a humming sound.

Breath deeply. Breath deeply. Breath is my strength. Breath connects me to my body. Breath is a bridge between my consciousness and concreteness.

I am an emptiness. I am also an essence. I am an empty essence, a pure consciousness. 

Lo and behold:

"I am an empty essence, a pure consciousness."

Perhaps, I am a black hole: an isolated, point singularity in the wide, vast, continuous space; yet so deep and dense and huge.

"I am an empty essence, a pure consciousness."

My eyes should be cool, but they are not. They are burning like sun. They are burning like two volcanoes!

Against All Interpretations [Thanks to Susan Sontag]

Extreme alienation from the surroundings. Ultimate castration from desire itself. Loss of desire. Nothing else to hold on. Horror. Everything around becomes phobic to me. I wonder why I suffer this destiny! Is my life over? Extinction of desire marks the end of life. But I am alive and I don't want to die! Oh my nonexistent God, show me what's out there to hold on to. Show me my way! 

Do you know what is my proof of being alive at the moment? 

Hunger! Uncontrollable desire to eat heavily something delicious and thus to hold on to life and earth and nature. 

The disgusting women living around me wonder if I am impotent, for I am showing no desire for them! Not even my gaze betrays any sign of lust! Strangely enough, the only desire that is thriving inside me is to kill them and eat their flesh. The meat from their curvy calves, fatty thighs, tender hands and bulging abdomens. Would that be delicious? 

Hunger can make a man an animal and an animal a stronger animal. Desire for sex will make an animal weaker if it is a male and stronger if it is a female. Lust makes a woman a dynamite,  but a man an idiot. A very stupid idiot! I am not an idiot. I am an animal, a hungry male animal.