A Lover's Discourse: Fragments | 
“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.“
Remembering Roland Barthes on his birthday.
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“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.“
Remembering Roland Barthes on his birthday.
Suis-je amoureux ? - Oui, puisque j'attends.“ L'autre, lui, n'attend jamais. Parfois, je veux jouer à celui qui n'attend pas; j'essaye de m'occuper ailleurs, d'arriver en retard; mais, à ce jeu, je perds toujours: quoi que je fasse, je me retrouve désœuvré, exact, voire en avance. L'identité fatale de l'amoureux n'est rien d'autre que: je suis celui qui attend.
— Roland Barthes Fragments d'un discours amoureux.
As a jealous man, I suffer four times over: because I am jealous, because I blame myself for being so, because I fear that my jealousy will wound the other, because I allow myself to be subject to a banality: I suffer from being excluded, from being aggressive, from being crazy, and from being common.
Someone tells me: this kind of love is not viable. But how can you evaluate viability? Why is the viable a Good Thing? Why is it better to last than to burn?
