I Have Not A Desire But A

But I Never Looked Like That!’ - How Do You Know? What Is The ‘you’ You Might Or Might Not Look Like? Where Do You Find It - By Which Morphological Or Expressive Calibration? Where Is Your Authentic Body? You Are The Only One Who Can Never See Yourself Except As An Image; You Never See Your Eyes Unless They Are Dulled By The Gaze They Rest Upon The Mirror Or The Lens (i Am Interested In Seeing My Eyes Only When They Look At You): Even And Especially For Your Own Body, You Are Condemned To The Repertoire Of Its Images.

Literature Is Without Proofs. By Which It Must Be Understood That It Cannot Prove, Not Only What It Says, But Even That It Is Worth The Trouble Of Saying It.

The Gesture Of The Amorous Embrace Seems To Fulfill, For A Time, The Subject's Dream Of Total Union With The Loved Being: The Longing For Consummation With The Other.

Language Is A Skin: I Rub My Language Against The Other. It Is As If I Had Words Instead Of Fingers, Or Fingers At The Tip Of My Words. My Language Trembles With Desire.

The Realists Do Not Take The Photograph For A 'copy' Of Reality, But For An Emanation Of Past Reality, A Magic, Not An Art.