I Make The Other’s Absence Responsible For

I Am Interested In Language Because It Wounds Or Seduces Me.

...what I Enjoy In A Narrative Is Not Directly Its Content Or Even Its Structure, But Rather The Abrasions I Impose Upon The Fine Surface: I Read On, I Skip, I Look Up, I Dip In Again. Which Has Nothing To Do With The Deep Laceration The Text Of Bliss Inflicts Upon Language Itself, And Not Upon The Simple Temporality Of Its Reading.

The Photograph Is An Extended, Loaded Evidence — As If It Caricatured Not The Figure Of What It Represents (quite The Converse) But Its Very Existence ... The Photograph Then Becomes A Bizarre (i)medium(i), A New Form Of Hallucination: False On The Level Of Perception, True On The Level Of Time: A Temporal Hallucination, So To Speak, A Modest (o)shared(i) Hallucination (on The One Hand 'it Is Not There,' On The Other 'but It Has Indeed Been'): A Mad Image, Chafed By Reality.

The Politician Being Interviewed Clearly Takes A Great Deal Of Trouble To Imagine An Ending To His Sentence: And If He Stopped Short? His Entire Policy Would Be Jeopardized!

All Official Institutions Of Language Are Repeating Machines: School, Sports, Advertising, Popular Songs, News, All Continually Repeat The Same Structure, The Same Meaning, Often The Same Words: The Stereotype Is A Political Fact, The Major Figure Of Ideology.