I Don't Feel That It Is Necessary

But Let There Be No Misunderstanding: It Is Not That A Real Man, The Object Of Knowledge, Philosophical Reflection Or Technological Intervention, Has Been Substituted For The Soul, The Illusion Of Theologians. The Man Described For Us, Whom We Are Invited To Free, Is Already In Himself The Effect Of A Subjection More Profound Than Himself. A 'soul' Inhabits Him And Brings Him To Existence, Which Is Itself A Factor In The Mastery That Power Exercises Over The Body. The Soul Is The Effect And Instrument Of A Political Anatomy; The Soul Is The Prison Of The Body.

Waiting Is Directed At Nothing: Any Object That Could Gratify It Would Only Efface It. Still, It Is Not Confined To One Place, It Is Not A Resigned Immobility; It Has The Endurance Of A Movement That Will Never End And Would Never Promise Itself The Reward Of Rest; It Does Not Wrap Itself In Interiority; All Of It Falls Irremediably Outside.

We Have To Be There At The Birth Of Ideas, The Bursting Outward Of Their Force: Not In Books Expressing Them, But In Events Manifesting This Force, In Struggles Carried On Around Ideas, For Or Against Them.

The Lyricism Of Marginality May Find Inspiration In The Image Of The Outlaw, The Great Social Nomad, Who Prowls On The Confines Of A Docile, Frightened Order.

Madness Is The Absolute Break With The Work Of Art; It Forms The Constitutive Moment Of Abolition, Which Dissolves In Time The Truth Of The Work Of Art.