I welcome myself to the world. So I should be taken out of context.
Eye to eye and the I to I barrier. The unshared maternalism of the difference.
The self cannot be hospitalised.
Cannot care for what is not in itself to exist.
Think about Me when you want to spoil the Sex. I do the same and I confirm efficacity.
Can we admit self-hatred to political discourse? Who are we really about?
We doodle our politics from pretend attention.
Where is the scene?
It is now a kindness to admit to not caring.
Mistakes are confessions to non-suitability.
I am not the agent.
This is not an evaluation.
An unevaluated thing cannot evaluate. An unevaluated thing is only ever evaluating.
A person is still to be a person, just like a face is still to be put together.
The old language cannot speak about the sign. A new language cannot speak about the sign.
But still tell me everything and the room will be there to grow.
Give me an hour and we can make a day of it. The year of that decade and the decade of that generation. We cannot spoil what is still to be by still trying to write it.
We need to be history and post-history. If two things at once, we need more people than one person. More than one historian, more than one proletarian and more than one philosopher.
A generation can only be a reflection on its own self. All other generations are not people.
Only people can be generated.
I am a people. You are a people.
A people is a person reflected.
One to two to two too again.
This is one way of putting it.
They are because of what cannot be said in one time: by us, by them, by any one.
A saying is a saying because it says enough to not say not enough. Words of encouragement.
All politics, please. For, all politics to please.
Pleasant and not pleasant, conversation is not being a conversation. I am not talking to anyone. I to I and eye to eye – whereas now these never meant anything. There is no one to talk to anymore.
I hospitable. I only welcome myself to the world. And I oversleep.
I must redefine the border. Where transgression is a country in its own right. Where people not being people are more interesting than those who say they are.
I usually say for the not being said. Now I have to say for those who are said most of all.
Doodle as I listen, to pay attention to the minutes of the non-hour, as if being able to speak to someone is to be able to interject with their own para-lingual signs. But the sign is not up for discussion, just like a mother cannot be transmitted.
Doodle the doodle. Now this has to be “not paying any attention at all”.
Still, this is only a welcoming message. And I only really welcome myself to the world.
I still say that the war of the self is not sufficiently reflected and self-reflected in the political ex-change.
With so much difference, it is impossible to see it where it is still happening. We are lost in the myriad of great expression and minimised indifference.
To know difference is to be able to know the event of indifference.
We cannot change a whole people in a person.
A person is still going to be a person, an I to I in its own way, and never really owned in any way: welcomed to a world it is just about to put its full attention to.
A promise, like welcoming someone to something that is still not quite here. Like welcoming someone to a people who will never be here.