(S) Being a good people, if we were wrong, we would change.
(S) We would not change.
Without passion, no reason.
Without mind, no body.
Without body, your soul.
Without point, our purpose.
There must be an extraordinary.
There are contradictions.
A dog's skull is slightly thicker than our own.
We will have coffee, and, after breakfast, a short walk.
We will wear shaggy coats and carry sidearms. There will be a game of chance. We will lose. We will win. We will ascend to the throne and make apple fritters drenched in warm syrup.
We will find pockets of peat and hot cross buns.
If you have no daughters, marry your sons.
Oh, what lidless day, when they took my baby away.
I do not intend to hurt anyone.
I did not intend to hurt anyone.
O Jerusalem, we gutless few delighting
sobre tierra de libres
what you would see if you were not
drown'd in sound and sight
wooly-headed as a chrysanthemum
literal as the lamb.
What we could do as one in two,
our prayers made hand-in-hand
you are my voodoo chile
my voodoo chile
Were pity pure birthright
and charity simplicity;
Were babies born not guilty
and ladies told the truth
were human nature natural
were people made of popsicles,
accliving the summer sun
were lidless pearls more decorous,
and all our battles won
were these the these which would us please
there'd be no need for Americans
for heart would will what it would want
and all of art be
Archeology, p. 28
We must ask ourselves what purpose is ultimately served by this suspension of all the accepted unities if, in the end, we return to the unities that we pretended to question at the outset. In fact, the systemic erasure of all given unities enables us first of all to restore to the statement the specificity of its occurrence, and to show that discontinuity is one of those great accidents that create cracks not only in the geology of history, but also in the simple fact of the statement; it emerges in its historical irruption; what we try to examine is the incision that it makes, that irreducible— and very often tiny —emergence. However banal it may be, however unimportant its consequences may appear to be, however quickly it may be forgotten after its appearance, however little heard or however badly deciphered we may suppose it to be, a statement is always an event that neither the language (langue) nor the meaning can quite exhaust. It is certainly a strange event: first, because on the one hand it is linked to the gesture of writing or to the articulation of speech, and also on the other hand it opens up to itself a residual existence in the field of a memory, or in the materiality of manuscripts, books, or any other form of recording; secondly, because, like every event, it is unique, yet subject to repetition, transformation, and reactivation; thirdly, because it is linked not only to the situations that provoke it, and to the consequences that it gives rise to, but at the same time, and in accordance with a quite different modality, to the statements that precede and follow it.