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the saddest blog that ever was
3.29.2003:
"Friendship is not a gift, or a promise; it is not a form of generosity. Rather, this incommensurable relation of one to the other is the outside drawing near in its separateness and inaccessibility. Desire, pure impure desire, is the call to bridge the distance, to die in common through separation. Death suddenly powerless, if friendship is the response that one can hear and make heard only by dying ceaselessly." --Writing of the Disaster. R.I.P. Maurice Blanchot (1907-2003)
"In the heat of the events of May-June 1968 in Paris, the author described his silhouette venturing into the assemblies of a student occupied Sorbonne. At a moments' resolve, Michel Foucault had hoisted a black flag in celebration of the fall of classical France. A passing non-encounter with Foucault embodied the terms according to which Blanchot struck his key concept of the dehors, the outside, into the nature of friendship itself. Yet only in writing did the silhouette he carry for his readers in real life end up endowed with a body. Writing for him was a spiritual, radical act of creation." this was taken from norman madarasz's decent essay on blanchot in www.counterpunch.org which is another good polisite. he was ninety-five. there are so few of them left! gotta get my butt to irvine/nyc or the euro grad school for baudrillard!
Blog // 2:18 PM
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