Instead Of Gambling On The Eternal Impossibility

Writing Has Nothing To Do With Meaning. It Has To Do With Landsurveying And Cartography, Including The Mapping Of Countries Yet To Come.

Psychoanalysis Was From The Start, Still Is, And Perhaps Always Will Be A Well-constituted Church And A Form Of Treatment Based On A Set Of Beliefs That Only The Very Faithful Could Adhere To, I.e., Those Who Believe In A Security That Amounts To Being Lost In The Herd And Defined In Terms Of Common And External Goals

The Conditions Of A True Critique And A True Creation Are The Same: The Destruction Of An Image Of Thought Which Presupposes Itself And The Genesis Of The Act Of Thinking In Thought Itself. Something In The World Forces Us To Think. This Something Is An Object Not Of Recognition But Of A Fundamental Encounter

The Problem Is No Longer Getting People To Express Themselves, But Providing Little Gaps Of Solitude And Silence In Which They Might Eventually Find Something To Say. Repressive Forces Don’t Stop People From Expressing Themselves, But Rather, Force Them To Express Themselves. What A Relief To Have Nothing To Say, The Right To Say Nothing, Because Only Then Is There A Chance Of Framing The Rare, Or Ever Rarer, The Thing That Might Be Worth Saying.

My Eye, My Brain, Are Images, Parts Of My Body. How Could My Brain Contain Images Since It Is One Image Among Others?