These Years Of The Ecole

Whatever Precautions You Take So The Photograph Will Look Like This Or That, There Comes A Moment When The Photograph Surprises You. It Is The Other's Gaze That Wins Out And Decides.

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.

The Trace I Leave To Me Means At Once My Death, To Come Or Already Come, And The Hope That It Will Survive Me. It Is Not An Ambition Of Immortality; It Is Fundamental. I Leave Here A Bit Of Paper, I Leave, I Die; It Is Impossible To Exit This Structure; It Is The Unchanging Form Of My Life. Every Time I Let Something Go, I Live My Death In Writing.

The First Problem Of The Media Is Posed By What Does Not Get Translated, Or Even Published In The Dominant Political Languages.

If This Work Seems So Threatening, This Is Because It Isn't Simply Eccentric Or Strange, But Competent, Rigorously Argued, And Carrying Conviction.