Today There Is No Symbolic Compensation For

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.

In 1850, August Salzmann Photographed, Near Jerusalem, The Road To Beith-lehem (as It Was Spelled At The Time): Nothing But Stony Ground, Olive Trees; But Three Tenses Dizzy My Consciousness: My Present, The Time Of Jesus, And That Of The Photographer, All This Under The Instance Of 'reality' - And No Longer Through The Elaborations Of The Text, Whether Fictional Or Poetic, Which Itself Is Never Credible Down To The Root.

The Realists Do Not Take The Photograph For A 'copy' Of Reality, But For An Emanation Of Past Reality, A Magic, Not An Art.

Man Does Not Exist Prior To Language, Either As A Species Or As An Individual.

If I Acknowledge My Dependency, I Do So Because For Me It Is A Means Of Signifying My Demand: In The Realm Of Love, Futility Is Not A "weakness" Or An "absurdity": It Is A Strong Sign: The More Futile, The More It Signifies And The More It Asserts Itself As Strength.)