Physically, The Ventoux Is Dreadful. Bald, It's

There Are People Who Think That Wrestling Is An Ignoble Sport. Wrestling Is Not Sport, It Is A Spectacle, And It Is No More Ignoble To Attend A Wrestled Performance Of Suffering Than A Performance Of The Sorrows Of Arnolphe Or Andromaque.

Death Of The Father Would Deprive Literature Of Many Of Its Pleasures. If There Is No Longer A Father, Why Tell Stories? Doesn't Every Narrative Lead Back To Oedipus? Isn't Storytelling Always A Way Of Searching For One's Origin, Speaking One's Conflicts With The Law, Entering Into The Dialectic Of Tenderness And Hatred?

In An Initial Period, Photography, In Order To Surprise, Photographs The Notable; But Soon, By A Familiar Reversal, It Decrees Notable Whatever It Photographs. The 'anything Whatever' Then Becomes The Sophisticated Acme Of Value.

One Of The Marks Of Our World Is Perhaps This Reversal: We Live According To A Generalized Image-repertoire. Consider The United Sates, Where Everything Is Transformed Into Images: Only Images Exist And Are Produced And Are Consumes ... Such A Reversal Necessarily Raises The Ethical Question: Not That The Image Is Immoral, Irreligious, Or Diabolic (as Some Have Declared It, Upon The Advent Of The Photograph), But Because, When Generalized, It Completely De-realizes The Human World Of Conflicts And Desires, Under Cover Of Illustrating It.

Isn’t The Most Sensitive Point Of This Mourning The Fact That I Must Lose A Language — The Amorous Language? No More ‘i Love You’s.