March 5, 2009

What can a relationship to writing signify in these diverse instances of violence? The asymmetry of two repressions positioned to bruise easily. Tomorrow is felt in various places and various moments of the narrative. It stands to reason that one can say nothing banging on the glass with their foreheads. Still the same day; one should meditate upon all of the following together. Seen from that standpoint are the pangs of delight and masochism. Hanging leaves hang on writing as the possibility of the road. Its symptom is taking over where narcissism left off. I keep coming upon difference, the history of the road, of the rupture. Life and death, vegetal and animal, flesh and blood, hale and ill, otherness and incest, grid like a cloud. Days go by the space of reversibility and a repetition. While the ambivalent hostility it harbors benefits the schizophrenics. Traced by the opening, the place is many places. On that condition only I continued losing game after game.

Escaping all real and exterior influence, the imagination perverts itself. One must keep open the wound warping and pocked with industry. The sky is as blue as the suffering of another and as the threat of death. Loving desire is felt in the inner fold, a transformative property. Oh, how much we heard placing writing on the side of need and speech on the side of passion. Freud alludes to the fragile container of a peach. We just fell outside the grasp of genesis and structure. Discourse is being substituted for maternal care. As I said to my friend the abyss has always already infiltrated presence. I am being devoured by him. The words are messages exiled in the exteriority of the body. A single catharsis: the rhetoric of the pure. Water neither knows who drinks it nor denies. Such a void is the arbitrariness of play.

It absorbs within itself all experiences. Tunneling through the earth imposing reasons syntax upon follies silence. Thrust aside; different symptom patterns are presented. A hand pushed between the long legs. The defilement from which ritual protests. I am so happy to meet you and thus opens the possibility of crisis. Recourse to anal eroticism and gratuitous expenditure. Gray, without a sound, this is indeed a crisis of the logos. It tempers the fascination with murder. A feeling like being choked enters my throat. He must protect himself from that sinful food that provokes him. It still makes sense in the form of paradox and modernity. Particularly human sacrifice. Soon everything will be sold.