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{Thursday}

 
P.C.onstruction

10 August 1979
.......a speculation without term, ratiocinating and animated, even heated, a discourse as unquenchable as it is contradictory, on the origin, benefits, and end of their love, or more precisely of Love in them, for they did not get over this visitation, they spoke of it somewhat as of a third party come to haunt them, a stranger, a phantom, or a myth, almost an intruder who would not be far from upsetting their intimacy, the ageless complicity, the common forfeiture that had bound them from all time, Eros had surprised them after the crime

............................... To know how still to get an effect from suffering or from love is the very essence of the ignoble: not to know how to burn

........... let me tell you this dream (you interrupted it by calling so early this morning, Nemesis had not yet come by: on this topic, you were asking me what "before the letter" means in my little postal code: well, it is an unthinkable time, I would say for example that you had arrived for me before the letter, or that from me before the letter you had departed: fortuitous significations always.

........................................................ How short life will have been, my love, I mean ours. We have not had the time to turn around and now I will spend the rest of my days trying to understand how I have spent it, how you arrived for me, how you lived, yourself, the life that you gave me: this is the last thing that today I pretend to know.
................... I would like to convince you: the fact that you will recognize almost nothing in this short subject, that you will not like its tone, its pace, its very affectation, and the film of ice which distances us from every image, this fact liberates you, and me therefore. It is not about us, us was something else. And elsewise interminable
so, they'll think what they like. All the same, I wasn't going to sit them down around your letters, so much longer, more numerous, too beautiful. I will be the only one to know ................. this is my crypt under the open sky.

- - -
qte frm

Jacques Derrida ยท THE POST CARD

{ENVOIS}

{micro edits: i.p.}

[The University of Chicago Press 1987]

+ + +

& the art of departures

Well I'm burning ...
I'm burning buildings
I'm burning ... this TIME
and heavy weather



_+_

posted by Ian 8/21/2003 09:32:00 PM

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