singular complementarity

Even when it is a sodden winter’s day everything is bright when you meet someone you want to meet again. And when you do meet again, or even, perhaps, during the first meeting, every gesture or movement is another microphysical meeting of sorts. A meeting of inifite meetings. I wanted to keep having such meetings. Every gesture is another surface that collapses and folds again at the speed of sensation. The folds have the violence of being hard and sharp, but what makes the meeting of meetings soft are infinite number of folds. The infinite number of folds between you and the person of and in the meeting rounds the sharp corners to make lesser corners that are rounded again, until they are no longer sharp edges and become a singular infinite surface of infinite folds. Within the meeting of meetings I am enveloped by the folds.

So you get to know this person, but it is not so much a person. The person is a number of different surfaces which you continually meet and fold. Within certain intimate proximities of surfaces a formation of folds will unfold and the surface is laid bare or opened up to be mapped onto another surface with yours. Each gesture or movement is a meeting between two infinitely folded surfaces and forms other complementary folds infinite in number. The joy of discovering such complementary zones of intimate proximity that can form infinite folds is the only desire.

There is a gamble in the meeting-gesture. This, of course, is the danger.

There are folds that are so worn and habitualised they become creases that scar the surface and will never be sufficiently folded in any other way again. They are the dead areas of the surface and within such proximities there is only darkness. Even if such dark areas are already infinitely folded they operate as blunt surfaces or jaggard formations of folds. These surfaces can become weaponised gestures that are weilded when the soft comfort of complementary folding becomes the acrimony of the crease. Each gesture ceases to be a meeting and becomes an attack of weaponised surfaces. The brightness of midday is eclipised by the shadows that form at dusk. In the end, the surfaces can be so dark even the attacks become empty and instead it simply becomes the meeting of shadows. However, here and now nothing is final.

Joy can only be reclaimed by a gesture, a meeting that forms complementary folds at the speed of sensation. If all one ever brings are weaponised surfaces that are blunt and jaggard and which carry the expectation of an anxious folding to be wrought upon and by the Other so as to render a complementarity, then joy is short lived. Eventually all that is left is a blunt and jaggard surface.

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