I knew if I just kept sitting down and reading this book and my notes on this book and thinking through the ideas there that eventually I would encounter a thought of my own. The book is Badiou's Ethics and the paper I'm writing on it is for the eyes of none other than the department chair whose disappointed chastisements I've weathered all ( Read more... )

So. To follow up on that book and my sense of fate. I'm in it. The book. And it's not reading universal experiences and emotions in the work that I can tie to myself (as, it has been argued, should be possible with any good art); it's my very skin. I have been transferred to paper without my knowledge, and a heady discovery it was.

This is not to ( Read more... )