I Do Everything I Think Possible Or

What Is Called "objectivity," Scientific For Instance (in Which I Firmly Believe, In A Given Situation) Imposes Itself Only Within A Context Which Is Extremely Vast, Old, Firmly Established, Or Rooted In A Network Of Conventions ... And Yet Which Still Remains A Context.

In Algeria, I Had Begun To Get Into Literature And Philosophy. I Dreamed Of Writing-and Already Models Were Instructing The Dream, A Certain Language Governed It.

My Most Resolute Opponents Believe That I Am Too Visible, That I Am A Little Too Alive, That My Name Echoes Too Much In The Texts Which They Nevertheless Claim To Be Inaccessible.

I Never Give In To The Temptation To Be Difficult Just For The Sake Of Being Difficult. That Would Be Too Ridiculous.

But Because Me And Myself, As You No Doubt Are Well Aware, We Are Going To Die, My Relation—and Yours Too—to The Event Of This Text, Which Otherwise Never Quite Makes It, Our Relation Is That Of A Structurally Posthumous Necessity. Suppose, In That Case, That I Am Not Alone In My Claim To Know The Idiomatic Code (whose Notion Itself Is Already Contradictory) Of This Event. What If Somewhere, Here Or There, There Are Shares In This Non-secret’s Secret? Even So The Scene Would Not Be Changed. The Accomplices, As You Are Once Again Well Aware, Are Also Bound To Die.