Slavoj Žižek is best known as the recession celebrity who fucks frustrated idiots like a grizzly bear and, true to form, within moments of our first meeting he invites me to join him in a postmodern, permissive, pragmatic form of consensual anal rape, before mentioning, discreetly, that he was “never able to finish into the woman’s mouth.”
Not even when staying at the Burj Al Arab hotel? I enquire.
“No,” he tells me, “women are always angry with me for not proposing complete solutions for controlling global capitalism on an immense international level.”
We arrive at his apartment in Ljubljana where he spends most of his time double checking the counter cultural establishment for little slivers of plastic macdonalds cups. Innumerable languages fill one room alone yet his kitchen cabinets contain only clothing.
“Contradiction is encoded into almost everything like mother nature eating an organic apple.”
he tells me.
We talk about his latest book The Perverts Guide to Living in the End Times in which he gives a graphic, blow by blow account of his affair with the Slovenian philosopher Jacques Lacan. I ask if, perhaps, his obsession with the tacky ostentation of swimming pools atop singaporean 50-storey hotels had led to a ridiculously intimate perspective of eternity.
“Fuck you!” he replies “None of us is gay, just good friends.”
