If I Had To Create A God,

But I Never Looked Like That!’ - How Do You Know? What Is The ‘you’ You Might Or Might Not Look Like? Where Do You Find It - By Which Morphological Or Expressive Calibration? Where Is Your Authentic Body? You Are The Only One Who Can Never See Yourself Except As An Image; You Never See Your Eyes Unless They Are Dulled By The Gaze They Rest Upon The Mirror Or The Lens (i Am Interested In Seeing My Eyes Only When They Look At You): Even And Especially For Your Own Body, You Are Condemned To The Repertoire Of Its Images.

We Can Never Know, For The Good Reason That Writing Is The Destruction Of Every Voice, Every Origin. Writing Is That Neuter, That Composite, That Obliquity Into Which Our Subject Flees, The Black-and-white Where All Identity Is Lost, Beginning With The Very Identity Of The Body That Writes.

How Does Meaning Get Into The Image? Where Does It End? And If It Ends, What Is There Beyond?

Language Is A Skin: I Rub My Language Against The Other. It Is As If I Had Words Instead Of Fingers, Or Fingers At The Tip Of My Words. My Language Trembles With Desire.

Every Object In The World Can Pass From A Closed, Silent Existence To An Oral State, Open To Appropriation By Society, For There Is No Law, Whether Natural Or Not, Which Forbids Talking About Things