Status Updates From No More / C'est Tout

…Of which the fictions— that lying-as-truth, according to the poet Aragon's for-mula-evoke the long shadows, the bare spaces, and the magical current which traverses them.

To write, to love. Both lead to disorders and to delights, both are experienced in the same defiance of knowledge reduced to despair, both come to terms with the most opaque realms of the mind where nothing is mastered.

If the lover erases contingency, if he remains a chosen intermediary by which the world recovers its lustre, he is not, for all that, the subject of a cult offered to him alone. He may serve as the excuse for an apology of desire for desire's sake, having no hold over the woman who loves him.

Throughout, memories glisten, the determination to withstand disappointments or failures provokes love-cries with complex echoes. And these cries, as much as the desperate fever to keep death at a distance, as much as the despairing shame of being unable to hold onto life, inscribe the book's lines of force.

A language which insists on being uttered aloud because it exposes at every line the untranslatable nature of life. A violent or helpless language whose secrets must be wrested from it. A language which is inscribed in the ongoing structure of a whole and which does not deter it.