The Reliability of Desire

„Mystery creates wonder and wonder is the basis of man's desire to understand." Neil Armstrong

We see Nana in an echoing university corridor. To support a subtle offer, she has just put on lipstick in the bathroom and moved the collar of her man's shirt so that it looks as if she has accidentally revealed something that is not at all in keeping with her performance. The shirt belonged to Amos, with whom she was in a desert. Nana wears the shirt as an homage. In the end, things almost didn't work out with Amos, but there was something... a gold vein in the ore that unfortunately could not be exploited. 

What you need to know in advance. Nana hides her determination. She does not reveal herself in the little things of everyday life. She has given herself a form whose chivalry she hides even from herself. What she does not want is some kind of fake Venetian carnival with masks and torches and worn-out fetish stuff. She does not want to strain to be a smart-ass. Nana heard Cornelius say earlier: Concierge is derived from Comte des cierges - Count of the Candles. That was enough for a moment between the pre-glow and the aftershock. There are so many empty rooms in the old university. Nana imagines retreating with Cornelius to lose her mind with sheer willpower. Nana knows that Cornelius is studying Pierre Bourdieu's "Anamnesis of Hidden Constants". So he is an accomplice. To put it very clearly: Nana is not longing for an accomplice. She wants to be misunderstood in the right way. 

Cornelius extends the invitation, as is appropriate. The next moment the two are sitting in the ice cream parlor. Emanations of migration provide the backdrop. It is screamingly loud, nobody is interested in the pale figures whose social signature is completely clear. Cornelius talks about the emancipatory added value of Oscar Wilde. Their knees unite under the table. They both give each other silent orders. You say the right thing, you smell right, now there's just one place you can't make a mistake. Or just make a mistake. That can be nice too. In her mind, Nana lifts up a skirt that she isn't wearing at the moment. Her butt makes the material underneath sigh. She turns to Cornelius with the seriousness of a novice. Snake moves run through Cornelius. Suddenly he looks like a Buddhist abbot. He quotes Eribon: Emancipation needs urbanity and permissiveness. Cornelius recalls transvestite balls in New York as magnets for heterosexual voyeurism. Subcultures are heirs to ancient ways of life. A reflection of the Belle Époque and années folles illuminated the iconography and bar metaphors of Parisian meeting places when James Baldwin was in town. In her mind, Simoneguides his fingers. In reality, she doesn't need that. The words form a body that penetrates her.

The next day

At first glance, they're no different from any other couple in the early stages of a relationship. Both are polished in every way. They play their roles. They meet society's expectations effortlessly. They're the offspring of reasonable people. Their extended families live expansive, extravagant lives: the farm on the Bodden, the villa in the Engadine, the crocodile ranch in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, the sprawling horse ranch in Lubbock, Texas—straight out of Dallas—and the beautifully restored farmhouse in Tuscany.Nana and Cornelius have been raised with solid, respectable values. They know how to pass as practical people—and sometimes, they actually are. They can drill, screw, carry loads, and sleep under mosquito nets. But that's not the point.Nana becomes deeply unhappy every time a seemingly suitable man steps through the door of her private information office—a door that's open only to him, as if he's entitled to remain ignorant of the details. Or rather, as if Nana has no right to the intricacies. Sometimes she lets him take the lead. She swims in his lack of awareness. She takes over his responsibilities—until the chaos becomes unbearable. The final insult is always the same empty phrase: "We got along so well."No.We didn't.Not at all.But Nana never says that.

In the swampy terrain of sudden and total disinterest, there's no room left for reflection or belated insights. It took Nana years to understand that the mix of physical presence and intellectual vacancy might offer a few niche comforts—but never comes close to touching what truly matters.

When Nana is ready to admit her addictive interest in Cornelius for the first time, without being able to decipher it, a word occurs to her: the reliability of desire. Isn't that exactly what keeps her next to Cornelius in the reality of the ice cream parlor next to campus? In a niche, ornamental asparagus is withering away in its pot. What a sad choice. Of all the flowers suitable for keeping in the house, ornamental asparagus of all things. Nana loves to dance. Contrary to her intellectual appearance, she is a very physical being who likes to sink into the vibrations of the other person when it is said: As a born follower, you don't dance, you are danced. Nana throws herself into the arms of another person and lets herself be led - or not, if the other person lacks the will to lead. In their crackling dialogue, the words form little whirlpools that lift Nana up or pull her down. Cornelius conquers her as if she were a castle of beauty, intellect and arrogance that must be conquered with the right mix of arrogance and devotion. So it is more tango than swing that is being verbally danced here. Nana is rightly accused of seducing men simply because they use words she does not know. In such cases, she tries to deduce the meaning of the unknown gems from the context. The sounds resonate within her and exert a physical attraction, the attraction of the new, the unknown, the mysterious.