The Body and the Experience of Limits

I’ve been extremely busy lately, to the point where any sort of internalized consideration of events or even just mere reflection has been relegated to those moments when I’m walking to or from somewhere, or perhaps between doing various tasks at one or the other day-job; all of this to say, of course, that this sort of thought itself has become interstitial. To a certain extent this is fine; it’s certainly easier when you’re trying to focus on keeping busy and sane while working six days a week, as sometimes too much reflection insists upon a need for more time itself, and if that time isn’t available it can lead to an inescapable melancholy that becomes preventative of what I always stubbornly call doing the work.

A few days ago, in an email to New Juche (who, I should note, is one of the few writers publishing these days–that I’m aware of–whom I place utmost faith in; his project is very different from mine but I feel a kinship with it regardless) I mentioned that I’m interested in developing my body to a point where it becomes desirable to others, and that once it has become desirable it is my intention to pervert this desire by way of contortion or some other embodied capacity. My own desire is often found at or in limits (whether it be the limit of desperation or a scream, the limit of a falling or a wound), and as such it only makes sense to explore how I can explore projecting this for others (for, as always, I’m more interested in the creation of an experience than mere literary or artistic output, etc). This idea was not something I had consciously considered before I typed the words into my browser, but after I did I found myself very pleased and realized it was true. My obsession with developing my own body has always drawn its primary impetus out of ideas for performance and artistic output (even early on in my development, years ago when I felt entirely divorced from the physicality of my body, I was fascinating by men whose bodies were developed to a point where physicality could be used as a vessel for an art practice). The thing that keeps this fire burning, so to speak, is that it truly seems to be the first motivating factor I’ve found for putting the work in towards a development of the physical body. In the past I conceived of physical development as a mere road towards making yourself attractive to a potential partner, and inside of this I felt it was a shallow pursuit. Now, satisfied inside of an ongoing six-year relationship, the need to attract a potential partner is gone and it has allowed me rather to focus on a self-motivated reason rather than for someone else (as a faggot I’m not concerned with the continuity of a family lineage; I’ll never have offspring).

Within all of this there are a few things of interest to note: shaping the body is not dissimilar to shaping the text–after a certain point it’s all banal editing, a tightening up, an awareness of the desired outcome vs. the tools you have to lead to that outcome. Similarly there’s a pleasure to be found in physical exhaustion, a limit in a true sense, for one can only push oneself to a certain point before nearing collapse. Granted, this point can be kept further and further away with more training, and this echoes the idea of limits wonderfully. I can only assume that there are further points of interest to be found, more parallels to explore (there is, of course, more that goes unmentioned here, but that can be saved for a further day), and this fact is even further motivating in the progression.