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penvois {ii}

...................... suppose now that I wanted to recount fragments -
tiny insignificant ones, but all the more pregnant for their reserve - of you, to recount you, you, the most beautiful unique story of my life
... suppose that they guess through all the secret ciphers, all the relays and postal codes, that they inherit a desire to have lived this beauty (not the beautiful things that will die with us, but their beauty) in our stead, a jealousy they then would conceive - and in my case, the jealousy of the most jealous man who has ever existed (it is true that it was only jealousy of you, my "natural" state, you can laugh, not knowing any jealousy, and this too is one of your gifts, my jealousy is you) then, then, I would write, I would write to myself for them the most fictive, most unbelievable letters possible, they will no longer know with what aim I feign telling the truth by feigning to feign ... and they will get lost in it just as we lost sight of each other, one fine day, both of us.

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I don't know when I came to and remembered your fingers
I went back to the public house but it was a vacant lot
This postcard you wrote on is all I've got

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Jacques Derrida · THE POST CARD
Sam Phillips · EDGE OF THE WORLD
{{micro edits: i.p.}}

posted by Ian 8/24/2003 10:30:00 PM

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