Who Speaks Is Not Who Writes, And

It Must Always Be Considered As Though Spoken By A Character In A Novel

It Is Said That Mourning, By Its Gradual Labour, Slowly Erases Pain; I Could Not, I Cannot Believe This; Because For Me, Time Eliminates The Emotion Of Loss (i Do Note Weep), That Is All. For The Rest, Everything Has Remained Motionless. For What I Have Lost Is Not A Figure (the Mother), But A Being; And Not A Being, But A Quality (a Soul): Not The Indispensable, But The Irreplaceable.

Ensnared In His Starvation, Chaplin-man Is Always Just Below Political Awareness. A Strike Is A Catastrophe For Him Because It Threatens A Man Truly Blinded By His Hunger; This Man Achieves An Awareness Of The Working-class Condition Only When The Poor Man And The Proletarian Coincide Under The Gaze (and The Blows) Of The Police.

One Of The Marks Of Our World Is Perhaps This Reversal: We Live According To A Generalized Image-repertoire. Consider The United Sates, Where Everything Is Transformed Into Images: Only Images Exist And Are Produced And Are Consumes ... Such A Reversal Necessarily Raises The Ethical Question: Not That The Image Is Immoral, Irreligious, Or Diabolic (as Some Have Declared It, Upon The Advent Of The Photograph), But Because, When Generalized, It Completely De-realizes The Human World Of Conflicts And Desires, Under Cover Of Illustrating It.

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