self-collapsing strategies

A sense of direction—still missing. My flesh is raw—dreadfully raw and abysmal. Voices of desire abound and flow—stirring my sharpest beaten tracks. At first, I denied the metallic nature of uncertainties. Afterwards, during the night, I decided to withdraw from realities and plunge into possibilities. This is a radically new sailing technique and I know that full mastery remains always hallucinatory. By believing in Desire, the dialogue with time becomes the embodied movement of infinity within finitude. Rather than coincidence, there is ontological analogy between Desire and Infinity: what in my flesh behaves as the absolutely open Progress and continuously boiling Nothingness constitutive of Infinity may be termed Desire. Desire desires Desire. Within this self-voracious cycle, there is no Without. Desire is ‘The Self-Collapsing Strategy’. I shall tell my story from its angle and with its language, the only meaning-engendering Force. If I acknowledge its causal efficacy, I must acknowledge it fully and call it the First Mover or Power-itself. The Matter of God, for those who rejoice with nameless mysteries, is the essence of nothing but Desire. A relation or approximation aims at satisfying a sense of direction, that sense which is still missing. Within a seven-year-silence radius, few organic beings survive. A feeling of dubious thriving prolongs the thickness of all doubts. Can I convert or collapse Desire into Self—completely? Whether I can or not, fire does not answer. A non-idea repeating itself. Whether I can or not. Feeling of ropes, feeling of suspension. Along the non-path towards commencing or embarking or gravitating. Plenty of ruins before and after my building efforts, my stray imaginings and fears on You. We have been dislodged and we no longer recognize the arcs of our flights. Arcs of futures as well. Rising suns inside our anticipated loops of novelty. Delayed at all times, at each juncture. What next? My tongue burns and aches—further, without fulfilling nor alleviating. The central conditions of satisfaction misinterpret my unique fantasies and unique experiments on reasons to go and reasons not to. In effect, my practical reasoning combines All and Nothing—further, within a process of implosion changing again and again until blindness. My memory of You is a merciless mist surrounding my projective limbs—and further. Well built and as yet thirsty muscles may be redesigned, but so far they have been more potential than actual, more crossed than parallel, more calling than founding.