I don’t know what I want (simply because I can’t articulate the real), and yet it doesn’t matter how eloquently I attempt to articulate it: I will never just be [in the real], thus/because I mean in a world of language. It’s a paradox that instigates relentless desire. However, when we struggle to fit our desires into language, what does this mean? What if we simply cannot put our desires into words? Is this bad? So long as our desires antagonize reality-as-we-know-it, why would we even strive to put them (our desires) into words and bring them to mean in a world of language that facilitates and reinforces a reality we aim to dismantle? Can the end of capitalism—for example—ever occur if our language proliferates its symptoms?
If desire desires to end itself, then the desire for rupture is the death drive put into action: it is the overwhelming desire for something else—something unknown. It is the desire for (the impossibility of) something real. I don’t know what I want, but I know how to get it—I don’t know what I mean, but I know I’m going to die someday. Is this irrational and contradicting? Yes! Words are absurd, and language is an amusing system of impossibilities.
I desire rupture in reality—be it the riot, the orgasm, or the shot that gets me drunk—I desire disruption in/of language, the kind we aren’t rushing to bring into meaning. In these ruptures, one falls into the here and now, even if for a few seconds—we feel timeless; nothing else matters, and we don’t care to make sense of it. Language isn’t real and neither am I, and what feels real to me is everything I can’t put into words. I have a love/hate relationship with language, yet it is feeling so ambivalent that keeps me passionately desiring what I can’t put into words and bring to mean. Language makes me feel infantile.