In A Language, In The System Of

The Poet…is The Man Of Metaphor: While The Philosopher Is Interested Only In The Truth Of Meaning, Beyond Even Signs And Names, And The Sophist Manipulates Empty Signs…the Poet Plays On The Multiplicity Of Signifieds.

But Because Me And Myself, As You No Doubt Are Well Aware, We Are Going To Die, My Relation—and Yours Too—to The Event Of This Text, Which Otherwise Never Quite Makes It, Our Relation Is That Of A Structurally Posthumous Necessity. Suppose, In That Case, That I Am Not Alone In My Claim To Know The Idiomatic Code (whose Notion Itself Is Already Contradictory) Of This Event. What If Somewhere, Here Or There, There Are Shares In This Non-secret’s Secret? Even So The Scene Would Not Be Changed. The Accomplices, As You Are Once Again Well Aware, Are Also Bound To Die.

I Have Always Had Trouble Recognizing Myself In The Features Of The Intellectual Playing His Political Role According To The Screenplay That You Are Familiar With And Whose Heritage Deserves To Be Questioned.

I Believe In The Value Of The Book, Which Keeps Something Irreplaceable, And In The Necessity Of Fighting To Secure Its Respect.

Why Is It Apparently The Philosopher Who Is Expected To Be "easier" And Not Some Scientist Or Other Who Is Even More Inaccessible To The Same Readers?