All Of A Sudden It Didn't Bother

The Text Is Not A Definitive Object.

A Light Without Shadow Generates An Emotion Without Reserve.

To Whom Could I Put This Question (with Any Hope Of An Answer)? Does Being Able To Live Without Someone You Loved Mean You Loved Her Less Than You Thought...?

How Does Meaning Get Into The Image? Where Does It End? And If It Ends, What Is There Beyond?

We Can Never Know, For The Good Reason That Writing Is The Destruction Of Every Voice, Every Origin. Writing Is That Neuter, That Composite, That Obliquity Into Which Our Subject Flees, The Black-and-white Where All Identity Is Lost, Beginning With The Very Identity Of The Body That Writes.