Tuesday, December 19, 1995

Tuesday, December 19, 1995

This desire awoke another generous action, to give almond paste and benzine down to the brothel for its amusement, to make into inventions or rhetorical figures which will serve instead as a fluid, a musical machine that prolongs the disguised mode, into private relations with itself as it were by magic.

The depths of that country within which the journey ceased, guards mistaken about things. A slight defect of vision. That's the course of nature. Peculiarities. Imagination as never before. Exercises its function, constantly passing and converting into each other. Shifting effects, a taste for overload. The pleasures of a century for looking. Passing through a million grey-blue eyes, our convoy in exchange for nothing.

The rectangular shadows of actions and passions, a long slow labor to control uncontrollable movements. The longing for sensual pleasure as an intermittent sound, a strange impotence and uncertainty bound together in a kind of golden twilight. Such diversity of forms even in a melancholy mirror. One circle of hell to the next. A long line of abolition that turns back within the darkest region of the political field.

A state of power and domination. A dead person, for want of anything better. Black gloves and close-cropped hair. No end of them. Grey-blue mirrors under cloud cover. The audience in ecstatic attitudes was called, came, was sent back. There would be tears running. Thrown back, as a clockwork doll, thinking they had mis-heard, and without being able to do
anything. Completely obedient. The ceiling and the upper surfaces. Into the darkness great pride was bound, and actually dragged away. And never ceases to return.

A lingering splendour on the ground, like veins.

A history of confrontation and intermingling. Disruption of a pre-existing discipline. At a given moment a people, mobile, fragile or destroyed, must be shoved into the background.

History as the memory of fantastic rides through the fissures of an animal howl. Right to the edges of it. The cunning seduction of avoidance. Train connections, the bed and irregular meals, utterly superfluous. The most irresistable sole object of obtaining nothing but brambles and briars, while the wicked tread upon flowers.

Waking up, so useful a lesson of submission, to the cruel events, to the unhappiness unmasked in a period as corrupt as ours. Driven across the roadway, towards the water. So that we resembled a beast.

Everywhere more furiously-harassed proofs of a delerium for which we are destined, a catastrophe so terrible, the desire to conserve one's property, the victim of our own principles, unfortunate creature will catch fire in a better world.