The Birth Of The Reader Must Be

I Passed Beyond The Unreality Of The Thing Represented, I Entered Crazily Into The Spectacle, Into The Image, Taking Into My Arms What Is Dead, What Is Going To Die.

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 Text Is Plural. Which Is Not Simply To Say That It Has Several Meanings, But That It Accomplishes The Very Plural Of Meaning: An Irreducible (and Not Merely An Acceptable) Plural. The Text Is Not A Co-existence Of Meanings But A Passage, An Overcrossing; Thus It Answers Not To An Interpretation, Even A Liberal One, But To An Explosion, A Dissemination.

Myth Is Neither A Lie Nor A Confession: It Is An Inflexion.

How Does Meaning Get Into The Image? Where Does It End? And If It Ends, What Is There Beyond?