For me if desire were not so impossibly complicated I would not be interested in writing about it. Perhaps pushing desire toward death is a way to banalize, to some extent, what is so incredibly complicated.
I wanted a structure that could consider the experience and ethics of that sick time—trapped on a couch before a screen, world’s helpless observer—and could comprehend whatever healing occurred in nonredemptive terms.
The country’s obsession with the true, its preference for non-fiction over fiction is symptomatic of two things — a lack of cultural imagination and a fear of the unknown. As if nonfiction can make you feel at ease and the world a safe place if you can KNOW this world. It’s not and you can’t.
I think you can’t really have a philosophy of pessimism, you can only have the reverse. It’s something that questions the philosophical enterprise itself, but it does so from inside—pessimism is against philosophy, but in the “key” of philosophy.