Life Itself Was Only Futility, Vain Words,

A Way Of Life Can Be Shared Among Individuals Of Different Ages, Status, And Social Activity. It Can Yield Intense Relations Not Resembling Those That Are Institutionalized. It Seems To Me That A Way Of Life Can Yield A Culture And An Ethics. To Be "gay," I Think, Is Not To Identify With The Psychological Traits And The Visible Masks Of The Homosexual But To Try And Define And Develop A Way Of Life.

Confined On The Ship, From Which There Is No Escape, The Madman Is Delivered To The River With Its Thousand Arms, The Sea With Its Thousand Roads, To That Great Uncertainty External To Everything. He Is A Prisoner In The Midst Of What Is The Freest, The Openest Of Routes: Bound Fast At The Infinite Crossroads. He Is The Passenger Par Excellence: That Is, The Prisoner Of The Passage. And The Land He Will Come To Is Unknown—as Is, Once He Disembarks, The Land From Which He Comes. He Has His Truth And His Homeland Only In That Fruitless Expanse Between Two Countries That Cannot Belong To Him.

Little Information Is Published On Prisons, It Is One Of The Hidden Regions Of Our Social System, One Of The Dark Zones Of Our Life.

In Its Function, The Power To Punish Is Not Essentially Different From That Of Curing Or Educating.

What Makes Power Hold Good, What Makes It Accepted, Is Simply The Fact That It Doesn't Only Weigh On Us As A Force That Says No, But That It Traverses And Produces Things, It Induces Pleasure, Forms Knowledge, Produces Discourse. It Needs To Be Considered As A Productive Network Which Runs Through The Whole Social Body, Much More Than As A Negative Instance Whose Function Is Repression