Eiffel Saw His Tower In The Form

All Those Young Photographers Who Are At Work In The World, Determined Upon The Capture Of Actuality, Do Not Know That They Are Agents Of Death.

Am I In Love? --yes, Since I Am Waiting. The Other One Never Waits. Sometimes I Want To Play The Part Of The One Who Doesn't Wait; I Try To Busy Myself Elsewhere, To Arrive Late; But I Always Lose At This Game. Whatever I Do, I Find Myself There, With Nothing To Do, Punctual, Even Ahead Of Time. The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This: I Am The One Who Waits.

The Photograph Is Violent: Not Because It Shows Violent Tings, But Because On Each Occasion (i)it Fills The Sight By Force(i), And Because In It Nothing Can Be Refused Or Transformed (that We Can Sometimes Call It Mild Does Not Contradict Its Violence: Many Say That Sugar Is Mild, But To Me Sugar Is Violent, And I Call It So).

One Of The Marks Of Our World Is Perhaps This Reversal: We Live According To A Generalized Image-repertoire. Consider The United Sates, Where Everything Is Transformed Into Images: Only Images Exist And Are Produced And Are Consumes ... Such A Reversal Necessarily Raises The Ethical Question: Not That The Image Is Immoral, Irreligious, Or Diabolic (as Some Have Declared It, Upon The Advent Of The Photograph), But Because, When Generalized, It Completely De-realizes The Human World Of Conflicts And Desires, Under Cover Of Illustrating It.

Is Not The Most Erotic Portion Of A Body Where The Garment Gapes? In Perversion (which Is The Realm Of Textual Pleasure) There Are No "erogenous Zones" (a Foolish Expression, Besides); It Is Intermittence, As Psychoanalysis Has So Rightly Stated, Which Is Erotic: The Intermittence Of Skin Flashing Between Two Articles Of Clothing (trousers And Sweater), Between Two Edges (the Open-necked Shirt, The Glove And The Sleeve); It Is This Flash Itself Which Seduces, Or Rather: The Staging Of An Appearance-as-disappearance.