Who Speaks Is Not Who Writes, And

Don't Say Mourning. It's Too Psychoanalytic. I'm Not Mourning. I'm Suffering.

All Those Young Photographers Who Are At Work In The World, Determined Upon The Capture Of Actuality, Do Not Know That They Are Agents Of Death.

Ensnared In His Starvation, Chaplin-man Is Always Just Below Political Awareness. A Strike Is A Catastrophe For Him Because It Threatens A Man Truly Blinded By His Hunger; This Man Achieves An Awareness Of The Working-class Condition Only When The Poor Man And The Proletarian Coincide Under The Gaze (and The Blows) Of The Police.

To Eat, To Speak, To Sing (need We Add: To Kiss?) Are Operations Which Have The Same Site Of The Body For Origin.

...language Is Never Innocent.