The Photographic Image... Is A Message Without

Tout Ce Qui Est Anachronique Est Obsce' Ne. Everything Anachronistic Is Obscene.

It Is As If The Photograph Always Carries Its Referent With Itself, Both Affected By The Same Amorous Or Funereal Immobility, At The Very Heart Of The Moving World: They Are Glued Together, Limb By Limb, Like The Condemned Man And The Corpse In Certain Tortures; Or Even Like Those Pairs Of Fish (sharks, I Think, According To Michelet) Which Navigate In Convoy, As Though United By An Eternal Coitus.

What I Claim Is To Live To The Full The Contradiction Of My Time, Which May Well Make Sarcasm The Condition Of Truth.

The Author Enters Into His Own Death, Writing Begins.

Physically, The Ventoux Is Dreadful. Bald, It's The Spirit Of Dry: Its Climate (it Is Much More An Essence Of Climate Than A Geographic Place) Makes It A Damned Terrain, A Testing Place For Heroes, Something Like A Higher Hell.