The end is not an apocalypse, but a simple split. Subject and object have set off on different trajectories hoping that they won’t see each other ever again. While the object declares its independence, the subject looks for a new body, for new meanings, but then she chokes on her old self-image, her usual words: self, other, other than oneself, self-care. Although she has been dreaming of autonomy and self-detachment, she finds it hard to digest the fact that she has been left to herself. She longs for a new relationship with the object. She feels a deep connection with it, a desire for a new engagement. But, the object has disappeared into a cloud of black smoke. Inside, the atmosphere is heavy and the air is stiff, she is having a hard time breathing as the story repeats itself, all over again: objects and subjects adrift. Object and subject miss each other. The object runs away, the subject chases after it; the subject wants to be like a thing to meet the object on its own terms. There is poetry in a crane, she says. Bodies are like cranes, they always stand somewhere in the middle of the city. Humans live in a world where there is no poetry, only misery and private property. She would like to end private property, end capitalism, end the critique of the neoliberal commodification of subjectivities, end her appetite for bodies too, but she will need to begin from somewhere…

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