I Speak Only One Language, And It

Surviving - That Is The Other Name Of A Mourning Whose Possibility Is Never To Be Awaited.

Such A Caring For Death, An Awakening That Keeps Vigil Over Death, A Conscience That Looks Death In The Face, Is Another Name For Freedom.

Each Time This Identity Announces Itself, Someone Or Something Cries: Look Out For The Trap, Youre Caught. Take Off, Get Free, Disengage Yourself.

I Would Like To Write You So Simply, So Simply, So Simply. Without Having Anything Ever Catch The Eye, Excepting Yours Alone, ... So That Above All The Language Remains Self-evidently Secret, As If It Were Being Invented At Every Step, And As If It Were Burning Immediately

One Often Speaks Without Seeing, Without Knowing, Without Meaning What One Says.