/ Blanchot

14-02-14 Maurice Blanchot The space of literature the essential solitude and solitude in the world

I decide to be absolutely denatured from, absolutely separated. I am only if I can separate myself from being. The power with which I affirm myself.

Free from being.

Everything that has disappeared, appearing.

Separated from being also becomes separation from being solitude.

The life of the mind begins with death.

When everything has disappeared there still is something, when everything lacks lack makes the essence.

2 versions of the imaginary What is the image? The limit where the image ceases. It speaks infinatly of ourselves.

The image the remains The image is the cadavre of reality it is something that used to be there.

The image is what follows “for in that sleep of death what dreams may come?”

Having become the image instantly it becomes ungraspable, unreal.

Image is secondary to the object.

The thing present in it's absence, graspable because ungraspable.

Isn't the image form without matter?

The cadavre is it's own image it no longer entertains any relation with the world, except that of an image – a shadow.

Text is the pure resemblance behind which there is nothing but being.

The image is fixed like that of a corpse.

The image is everywhere in the room. Like the corpse carefully laid out.