L’Origine du Mundane
I’m interested in describing strange and frightening convergence – frightening because of the power to induce ennui – the terrible feeling that nothing matters or is important, nothing is worth the trouble, that the pleasure of the world can never satisfactorily compensate the pain of the world, that one can’t live contentedly within the world without being a zombie, or live vigorously within the world without courting psychosis.
It can’t be an obvious place to start, but I’ll start there anyway: with the convergence occurring at the top of a woman’s legs.
I’m starting here and at this point, abruptly, but not so abrupt as it may seem: I think it is ridiculous that we speak of desire without ever speaking of any specific object of desire…And I think that as specific objects of desire go, a woman is as good an object as it gets.
It’s already profoundly culpable to speak of woman as an object- but hey, it is also the literal truth of the matter...The literal state of our state.
The object of desire is an object…But this object of desire, this intense object of desire, can’t, as object, produce desire. As object, it gives way to ennui.There’s no way it can swallow all desire, either. What crazy curvatures of space, time, and matter will flow through this wormhole? Hardly any at all.
Image: Bruno Bisang.