and so i write, 

with no purpose, or no particular purpose which is always - no, only sometimes - when the finest of words do bubble up to the surface

 

reading maggie nelson again, slipping back down into the subject of desire

does this count? i decide what counts, but does it count, the desire to kill so as to fulfil your desire?

she speaks of the physical apparence of her aunt’s killer, 30 years down the line - how he is devastated by his crime (her hypothesis, or the detective’s hypothesis)

is that what giving into one’s pulsions looks like?

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the want want want, turned sour

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and isn’t a murder of passion the perfect crystallisation of our pulsions, our need to possess? the object of our desire can only become ours if dead

no living thing can truly be ours, hence the sense of desire, of wanting, of never getting, of eternal frustration

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mentally i often come back to my early readings of Barthes, in the lover’s discourse : the movement of the beloved, i stay, you leave. that position, physically, of departing bodies. the frustration of the vulnerability this creates is nearly unbearable. is that what killing is about? you stay, i leave. 

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1. Beaucoup de lieder, de mélodies, de chansons sur l'absence amoureuse. Et, cependant, cette figure classique, dans Werther, on ne la trouve pas. La raison en est simple: ici, l'objet aimé (Charlotte) ne bouge pas; c'est le sujet amoureux (Werther) qui, à un certain moment, s'éloigne. Or, il n'y a d'absence que de l'autre: c'est l'autre qui part, c'est moi qui reste. L'autre est en état de perpétuel départ, de voyage; il est, par vocation, migrateur, fuyant; je suis, moi qui aime, par vocation inverse, sédentaire, immobile, à disposition, en attente, tassé sur place, en souffrance, comme un paquet dans un coin perdu de gare. L'absence amoureuse va seulement dans un sens, et ne peut se dire qu'à partir de qui reste - et non de qui part : je, toujours présent, ne se constitue qu'en face de toi, sans cesse absent. Dire l'absence, c'est d'emblée poser que la place du sujet et la place de l'autre ne peuvent permuter; c'est dire : “ Je suis moins aimé que je n'aime.”

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like a flash Tracey Emin came to my mind, picked up everything about her at the library, wonderful huge glossy catalogs. the way she speaks so very nonchalantly of desire, sex, violence - all intertwined, one and the same thing.

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Hate and Power Can be a Terrible Thing, 2004

with the line, at the bottom: "there’s no one in this room who has not thought of killing"

 

Not Too Much to Ask, 2004

"i want an international lover that loves me more than the world"

 

Love is a Strange Thing, 2000

 

and yet more titles: life without you never, when i go to sleep i dream of you inside of me, trust me, you forgot to kiss my soul, people like you need to fuck people like me, those who suffer LOVE, love is what you want, thinking of you, 2005 (embroidery of the subject masturbating) and those who suffer love, free + really wet 

 

 

“She is an avenging angel, swiping at both high-art pretensions and mass culture. Her background is not about money or privilege; she makes the work because she loves to do it, and it’s a love affair she wants to share”, and further, she adds “if you believe, as I do, that art’s central purpose is to prompt emotion - which is why it must never be merely decorative - then Emin is letting art do its work. Emotion is not sentimentality or artificiality, in fact it is the enemy of both. To feel something deeply is an intellectual and a spiritual experience, as well as a visceral one. We were designed to feel, but our present culture is terrified of real feeling; its demands, its wildness, its commitment to truth.”
 

 

Tracey Emin CV part I

"Oh no love you’re not alone"

 

 

Super Drunk Bitch, 2005

 

“I couldn’t believe what I had done. I had killed the thing which I could love most.”

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we use to play the sims a lot, my sister and our two neighbour friends, two girls with whom i was educated to envy. we played in their basement, on the early generations of the candied mac, bubbly and colourful. 4 girls to a game we'd fight over who played, but mostly it was C and she was good at it, so we sat and watched, cheering her on or getting scared when the burglars would come at night. then we grew up and hot date came out, C had better shit to do, J took over and we'd play date between adults while we were about 10. the game was good, we loved it, trying to be adults, trying to keep a balance between social, intimate, financial aspects of one's life. but that was hard too, and once we'd master that we wanted more. so we found the codes and cheated, accumulated massive amounts of money to build monster houses with gigantic pools. that was fun for a while, but it quickly got boring too, the houses could only ever be so big. so we started killing them. that was the ultimate stage of the game. the last thing we could do of them, before we'd abandon them entirely and never look back.