“In the beginning was the Logos”, and desire was made word and dwelt among us.
Desire pulses and it never stops.
There is a certain hopeful conviction that the best is yet to come, that good things in life will happen in an unknown future and materialize into something or somewhere. Ever-increasing desires, volatile wishes, diffuse expectations...
Desire does not always seem to have a natural object. Rather, it presents itself as the manifestation of an emptiness, as if it were born from a constitutive lack – simultaneously the motor and the stone that sabotages the gears. Bottomless bag through which slide empty packages of narratives and meta-narratives on their way to the garbage pile - a shortening distance. The time of desire fills a strange cubic content. Planned obsolescence. Paradises à la carte, God and his avatars, carved out of the most atrocious individualism. Hybrys, anti-kenosis, symbols, existential pore-blocking. Imperative of happiness, cult of hedonism, performance, success, frustration, depression, limping body, anguish. Return to the fetal position. Happy pill.
If desire occurs in the absence, all usefulness is perfectly useless.