Don't Say Mourning. It's Too Psychoanalytic. I'm

L'amoureux Qui N'oublie Pas Quelquefois Meurt Par Exce' S, Fatigue Et Tension De Me Moire (tel Werther). The Lover Who Does Not Forget Sometimes Dies From Excess, Fatigue, And The Strain Of Memory (like Werther).

When We Define The Photograph As A Motionless Image, This Does Not Mean Only That The Figures It Represents Do Not Move; It Means That They Do Not (i)emerge(i), Do Not (i)leave(i): They Are Anesthetized And Fastened Down, Like Butterflies.

In 1850, August Salzmann Photographed, Near Jerusalem, The Road To Beith-lehem (as It Was Spelled At The Time): Nothing But Stony Ground, Olive Trees; But Three Tenses Dizzy My Consciousness: My Present, The Time Of Jesus, And That Of The Photographer, All This Under The Instance Of 'reality' - And No Longer Through The Elaborations Of The Text, Whether Fictional Or Poetic, Which Itself Is Never Credible Down To The Root.

The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This: I Am The One Who Waits.

The Author Enters Into His Own Death, Writing Begins.