The Photographer, Like An Acrobat, Must Defy

The Photograph Belongs To That Class Of Laminated Objects Whose Two Leaves Cannot Be Separated Without Destroying Them Both: The Windowpane And The Landscape, And Why Not: Good And Evil, Desire And Its Object: Dualities We Can Conceive But Not Perceive... Whatever It Grants To Vision And Whatever Its Manner, A Photograph Is Always Invisible: It Is Not It That We See.

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.

Television Doomed Us To The Family, Whose Household Instrument It Has Become-what The Hearth Used To Be, Flanked By The Communal Kettle.

A Light Without Shadow Generates An Emotion Without Reserve.

The Text You Write Must Prove To Me That It Desires Me. This Proof Exists: It Is Writing. Writing Is: The Science Of The Various Blisses Of Language, Its Kama Sutra (this Science Has But One Treatise: Writing Itself).