Status Updates From Clang (Volume 62) (Posthuma...

I would like to finish this over tho holiday weekend, perhaps at IKEA which has always been receptive to my time with Derrida.

Enter Antigone, Hegel’s marriage and a tube of Vaseline.

Oh how I’d love a few days to revel within this!

Going to focus on this until the end.

How could ontology take hold of a fart? It can always get its hands on what stays in the shitcan, never on the air biscuits released by roses.

Despite the required effort this is a blissful text.

By design this is invigorating and unsettling.

Filiation is still denounced, it is always betrayed by what remarks it.

I cannot wait to be done with this interminable thing.

There's a climactic moment here where, after 170 pages of exhaustive close reading of labyrinthine Hegelian text, Derrida is poised to reveal that symptomatic instance of what both inheres in and escapes the dialectic – only for D to interrupt himself literally mid-sentence to interpose some letters Hegel sent to his mate. If you think the dialectic is frustrating wait till you encounter the non-dialectic.

"How could ontology lay hold of a fart? It can always put its hand on whatever remains in the john, but never on the whiffs let out by roses. So the anthropy of a text that makes roses fart must be read. ... So the text is a gas; for the origin and the stake of the word, one hesitates, but this comes back to the same thing, between spirit (Geest, Geist) and fermentation".

“Will he have ejaculated into the galaxy?”

“Where are we?”

“Blank, as always, between two antherections, an interior margin between two supplementary columns that seem detached one from the other.”

"If it destroys everything including its letter and its body, how can the burn-all keep a trace of itself and start a history in which it preserves itself by losing itself?"

"What am I doing here? Let's say that I am working at the origin of literature by miming it."

“…to suspend the bell in the middle of the two towers […] I write myself on that. On the headstock, between the two.”

“No common measure at the very moment when you think you are engaging/disengaging, manipulating, orchestrating, raising or lowering the musical liquid by playing the pedals. The columns play with you, threatening to collapse one upon the other and leave you no way out.

No clang without some machinery being interposed.

That isn’t handled like a quill.”

"the work asks the author to surpass the poor person in himself, one not up to the task…yes"