I. On the insatiability of desire

The Other is always the amorphous form of my desire. It takes the density of a solid sphere and the fragility of a bubble. It is my anchor that floats above me, eclipsing the grammar of my own thoughts and emotions. I am here, chained to that which I lack. A lack that is only created by my desire to desire. The more I desire, the more this otherness grows in size. It becomes the quantifiable element of my ambitions, my dreams--my lack. It is all that is not me and all I want to be. It is the absoluteness of the future that will never arrive. It is the second coming of Christ. It is perfection in its purest form. It is a promise that I recite in prayer. It is the enunciation of my existence: the disembodied voice, and its utterance is what incarnates my body. I am here (and I am there), incomplete and complemented by this void that incompletes me. I am one with the Other.