Chris Marker, 2084, via @cavvia
I keep typing ‘exhaustion’ into my document, instead of the other three-syllabled word ending in -tion that I mean to write. Some words of others, while I write privately…
Juliet Jacques on writing as productive self-cannibalism, from my interview, ‘Trans Historical Narratives’, in The New Inquiry:
“You have said that you’ve exhausted yourself in the process of writing Trans. In the interview with Sheila Heti that forms the book’s epilogue, you even speak of having ‘cannibalised’ yourself – it’s a violent idea.
Exhausted is exactly the word. You can’t feed mostly upon yourself and sustain enough energy to live, that’s always going to be counter-productive. The process of writing about oneself is draining, and comes with a whole set of anxieties.”
Claudia Rankine, on placing exhaustion in society’s structures, rather than the subject:
“What if we switch the focus on tiredness to the hearing of the thing? So that the sense of exhaustion with hearing the racist moment elicits a kind of tiredness too. I’m tired of hearing this so I need to say something, because I would like a space that does not hold this. This notion that exhaustion only comes in terms of response – it should come in the hearing of it. The [racist utterance] is the burden, in and of itself, not my responding to it.”
Stephanie DeGooyer on a peculiar or positive end-point of exhaustion in Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts:
“Exhaustion is a transitive state, a state of rest and repose between fighting and fucking, or failing to fuck and fight. It defines the shift from the insatiability of sexual desire to post-partum collapse. It is not the moment of giving up, though. Exhaustion, as Nelson figures it, involves acknowledging a dependence on the care of others. […] ‘From my station of fatigue,’ says Nelson, ‘exchanging horniness for exhaustion grows in allure. Unable to fight my station, at least for the time being, I try to learn from it; another self, stripped.’”
I’m interested in the (anti-)productive outcome of zero energy, and how this works against capitalist labour, to allow access to an unmarketable self. Preciado speaks to this born-again kind of state, here:
“I wish for you to no longer have the force to repeat the norm, to no longer have the energy to fabricate identity, to lose faith in what your papers say about you. And once you have lost all courage, drained with joy, I wish for you that you invent another mode of use for your bodies. It is because I love you that I desire you weak and despicable. Because it is through fragility that the revolution operates.”
And Agnes Martin (on whom I have an essay in Eros Journal’s The Interior):
“When relationships are exhausted and thinking is exhausted, then is the time for inspiration.”