there are things to consider here
firstly, i do not have leprosy, I am not blind


Once the glass has been removed, they slipped a thin film under my eyelids and over my eyelids they laid walls of cotton wool. I was not supposed to talk because talking pulled at the anchors of the bandage. 'You were asleep', the doctor told me later. I was asleep! I had to hold my own against the light of seven days - a fine conflagration! Yes, seven days at once, the seven deadly lights, become the spark of a single moment, were calling me to account. Who would have imagined that? At times I said to myself, 'This is death. In spite of eveything it's really worth it, it's impressive.' But often I lay dying without saying anything. In the end I was convinced that I was face to face with the madness of the day. That was the truth: the light was going mad, the brightness had lost all reason: it assailed me irrationally, without control, without purpose. That discovery bit straight through my life.

from       Maurice Blanchot  The Madness of the Day   tr. Lydia Davies.............




In La Folie du Jour , the narrator is at one embodied and disembodied. The voice is trying to determine what life may be involved with it: but for the moment there is only a sense of distance and light. Light itself is the madness of the day,


  7{ Histoire de la Folie . . . . . . . In the seventeenth century the perception of madness changed from that of transgression or difference to a physical-moral condition.The subjective reason that drove this new thinking deligitimised and outlawed all forms of behaviour which did not harmonise with this autocratic rationality. Foucault hints that if other configurations  (right and wrong, true and false), other oppositions had taken root modern 'reason' might be different.That reason conceals an alternative and speechless/voiceless past. } 8






an unrelatedness into whose ambience the voice [we speak 'of' the voice] is uncontrollably caught up. The irregular movements, sudden changes of tempo, hysterical outbursts are dissipated inside the text, leaving a wake of flotsam folding and unfolding at the mercy of the contest between tide and current, but at the same time having a momentum of its own, perhaps a consciousness to choose the easiest, or perversely, the most testing direction to follow. Through the tone of the writing the subject is dissipated or speaks as if [comme si] from an absentee, the voice estranged or made remote to itself [castrato]. The voice achieves a passivity that asserts itself, even through a trauma so severe the content does not survive. Blanchot is also concerned with the author/reader relationship - any work of art is anonymous . . . the creative force of the work effaces the presence of the author.

efface/from French effacer, literally, to obliterate the face; deface/ sous rature 'under erasure' . Derrida's phrse for a word that may be inaccurate or inadequate, but necessary. A word can be left in and at the same time crossed out. This must be graphic - it cannot be oral. It introduces a temporal aspect. The sous rature can be seen together but cannot be conceived at the same time.
In Derrida's view  of language the signifier is not directly related to the signified. There is no one -to- one set of correspondences between them.Iin structuralist thought a sign is seen as a unity . In Derrida's view, word and thing or thought never become one. The sign is a structure of difference. Half of it is 'not that' and the other half 'not there'. Signifiers transform into signified and vice versa. for derrida the structure of the sign is defined by the 'trace' - the footprint, track, imprint. Signs cannot be a unit bridging an 'origin' and an 'end'.The sign must always be seen as sous rature - always being inhabited by the trace of another sign. Words, sentences, these all contain traces. But reading is a temporal process and language is unstable. Nothing is ever fully present in signs. language does not fully present a person or argument. Signs are always dispersed and divided. Meanings are always dispersed and divided: ideas are dispersed and divided too. In other words, there is nothing but writing (and reading),
9 rewriting (and rereading) :  ,      erasing the palimpsest 1 [  Pensée. The beautiful, the tulip substitute [tip] the beautiful is left out, sous rature, but inherently there. this is art, it has beauty, but it has given its beauty away in terror of the sublime  ].
 encourages the reinscriptions, the displacements,
1 1 the rereadings, the rewritings. But all along, these are always 'knowing' erasions. They are in effect pretended erasures . . . "he wanted... without really wanting" . . . . the artist pretends . They are more a smearing . Introducing the double pretence . . . "as if he wanted" . . without really wanting, "as if . [comme si ], in virtue of a fancy". The impress of fiction is the second (but always already before the first) step (into its own trapless trap) of writing into painting, of painting into writing, of writing into writing, of painting into painting. . . . . to introduce is  to seduce. To seduce the text, of course, not the reader. To deviate the text from itself, but just enough to surprise it again very close to its content Here an "alleged" introduction deconstructs, smears the reworked/rewritten original". The act of smearing disfigures the "idea" the "concept".




               To be aware of the work is to be unaware of the author. The author should only be significant in his oeuvre. But the oeuvre is only present in terms of a single work . . . . the essence of literature is to escape any essential determination. it is never already there, it needs to be rediscovered each time. Otherwise the institution of art has priority over the work - art becomes a repetition of the institution.


    . . . . . . and again Repetition . . . behaving in a certain manner, in relation to something unique which has no substitute. But there is also the interior repetition, the echo, the tremolo within itself. Repetition internalises itself, the subject becomes the object. The qualitative order of resemblances and the quantitative order of equivalencies contrasts with the qualitative order of the non-substitutable. Cycles and equalities are contrasted with reflections, doubles and echoes. With the former terms can be substituted and exchanged. The qualitative order only legislates for gifts or theft. The object belongs to the order of laws. Laws only determine the relationships between the subjects ruled by them, they do not define the content of the subjects themselves. The subject of the law discovers its own powerlessness to repeat. The constants of one law might be the variables of another. If repetition is possible, it is a miracle, it is against the law, it is a transgression. Erasing the law [PONCER] with irony, a law of principles for overturning principles - with humour as its consequence [U -PON ] its descent {into madness?}. Ultimately a question of will and freedom of expectancy - repetition changes nothing in the object repeated, but does change something in the mind which contemplates it.




 R e f r a in


Hume implies the independence of each presentation. One instance does not appear until the last one has disappeared. Hence there is no 2nd, 3rd, or 'the same'. AB, AB, AB, A .       9    :            ; Each AB is separate from the others and each ab is still identical. But repetition does set up an expectancy in the mind, the hint of the possibility of difference. Expectancy encourages habit. Habit draws difference/generality from repetition. habit is contraction [to contract a habit]. To act is never to repeat. continuity - there is no continuity apart from habit contemplation We speak of our 'self' only in virtue of these thousands of little witnesses which contemplate within us: it is always a third party which says 'me'. Contemplation is always hidden, it has no action in itself, things are done through it. difference. Difference lies between two repetitions. Repetition lies between two differences. The repetition allows the passage from one system of difference to another. The duration of a presentation is dependent on the natural decrement of its material. fatigue is a real component of contemplation. Need marks the limits of the variable present. The present exists between two instances of need, and is the duration of a contemplation. repetition is inside need, as need only exists through repetition. natural signs are founded on passive synthesis. They are signs of the present. Artificial signs are those which refer to the past or the future as distinct dimensions of the present, dimensions on which the present may depend. Artificial signs imply active synthesis - the passage from spontaneous imagination to reflective representation, memory and intelligence. repetition is a condition of action before it is a concept of reflection.



There are three stages in cyclical conceptions: The intracyclic repetition, that is, the manner in which the two events repeat one another - or, rather repeat the same act or event to come. Secondly, a cyclic repetition which supposes that at the end of the repetition everything recommences with the first stage. Analogies are drawn between the two phases. Thirdly, in this case, finally, the 'thirdly' plays the role of signified in relation to the other two. The first two states only repeat something that appears for itself in the third stage, where this 'thing' repeats itself. The present is the repeater the past is repetition itself . The future is that which is repeated, having subordinated the other two, stripping them of their autonomy. The present, therefore concerns only the content and the foundation of time, the ground, and the order, the totality and the final end of time, including the repetition of the repetition. Again, Hume explains that the independent identical or similar cases are grounded in the imagination. The imagination retains the image of the previous case as the new one appears. It is able to gather cases and compress their memory into states of being which give off a particular 'aroma'.

1    1    1
The latest B is anticipated to contain the nature of previous abs. Not in the sense of memory or reflection, merely as a synthesis of time. Time in the sense of the repetition of instants which

constitute the present. The past belongs to the present - the preceding instants are retained in the diminution. The future belongs to the present - expectation is anticipated as a diminution. the past and future are not therefore different instants from the present instants - they are contractions of them. PPP is the scene of all these repetitions, the rhythms, displacements and disguises, their divergencies and decentrings. It is the arena in which they unfold and indoctrinate one another.





 Blanchot argues that nothing exists prior to the work, that every work of art is a reinvention of the practice of art. Blanchot also writes about the significance of solitude in that it refers to the way that a work of art and the processes leading up to its creation cuts itself off from others. Solitude


  signifies the failure to interpret the work, to achieve a sense of 'essence'. Its inability to be perceived 'at a distance', this instability undermining the possibility of finding a point [the point]. The receding, the opening up of the space in which the thing happens, the creation of that 'space', in which the work PPP itself no longer inhabits the ultimate absence of 'the work' itself. The ultimate 'distancing' .The smoothing out and eventual elimination of the 'object' itself. Poncer v. tr.; conjug. placer (xive; fig., 'rendre plus pur' v. 1280; de ponce ) ¨10 Décaper, polir au moyen d'une substance abrasive (pierre ponce, poudre de ponce). V. Décaper, frotter, polir ¨ 20 (1622). Reproduire (un desin) au moyen d'un poncif (10) _ Dessin poncé (n. m. Un poncé), obtenu par ce moyen de reproduction. ¨3o (1723). Techn. Marquer (une pièce de toile) avec une encre spéciale. The slippery surface resistant to any more questions. In this silence now  the voice is heard ''what is a work and what is the work?





 is read as separate, isolate, distinct. Solitude refers to the uniqueness of the works 'space'.


   .................................. secondly, the homony/homophone. firstly.........................a supplement
Poncif  [posif]. n. m. (Ponsif, 1551; de poncer). u 1o Techn. feuille de papier à dessin piqué qu'on applique sur une surface en y passant une ponce (2o) pour reproduire le contour du dessin. Reproduire un dessin avec in poncif. V. Poncer (2o) u 2o (1832, adj.; de "dessin fait selon des procédés conventionnels").fig. et cour. Thème, expression littéraire ou artistique dénués d'originalité. V. banalité, cliché, lieu (commun). Les poncifs acedémiques, romantiques. 9 ant. Original, personal.
the double supplement, the double homophone, /obia

The process



7     record   8    play  ;erase
9      and so on     :

the im/perfect palimpsest, in that there isn't one. there is no antecedent, only a veil. The nature of the homonym: penser/poncer/panser. [ PPP ]: also pansée. In English. The lights illuminate literally, and illuminate [with reason], good reason, the meaning and the sequence. The inevitability. The rhetoric. The sense that there must always be the next . . . . [    art . . .work . . . ] The getting nearer and nearer to the near. the augmentation, the hyperbation - kept in check [cheque/false - economy - of means, of execution]. and there is the recognition that the blindness is not necessarily that of the sight. [ palimpsestus parchment cleaned for reuse, from Greek palimpsestos, from palin again + psestos rubbed smooth, from psen [poncer] to scrape { rature}]. Blindness is an absence that enables one to know what sight is. Blindness is an instance of a truchement - an interpreter, a spokesman, a representative that causes understanding between differing or opposing parties. Having no language of its own, the "truchement" causes meaning in one idiom to be comprehended in another medium - what in Greek was called metaphorein, to carry over from one to the other. Blindness is this metaphoricy itself and can only be signalled through other metaphors of light and dark. De Man talks of a reader who " has to undergo the explicit results of a vision that is able to move towards the light only because, being already blind, it does  not have to fear

9S U B L I M E :       the power of this light. But the vision is unable to report correctly what it has perceived in the course      8      of its journey". Diderot takes up this question of the figural and the metaphoric in his essay Letter on the Blind for the use of those who can see. . . . . . Holmes opens with the argument that the marvels of nature prove the existence of a Creator. Saunderson [ Professor of Mathematics and Optics at cambridge University - and blind from birth] replies that these were not created for his benefit, that those beauties could only be proof to those who could see them. To have proof of a God he must touch him. He asserts that Holmes is using language as a metaphor, using phrases such as - "seeing the truth", and, one becomes "enlightened", problems grow "clear" or are "illuminated". This idea of "Nature" and "Beauty" and the "Sublime" and "art" are very much linked to the division between the falseness that we can see and the truth to which we are blinded. Between the shadows of the cave and the reality of the sun - a blinding reality. In Saunderson's words Diderot saw a relationship between sensory deprivation and linguistic metaphor. Saunderson's speech was full of "expressions heureuses".[wwPwwwwwONC wwRwww][expressions proper to one sense, touch p o wwwr for example, but metaphoric to another, such as sight , resulting in a double image - the true image and the reflection, the metaphor. For Saunderson there was always surplus of words over 'ideas' because he used visual words without being able to perceive their referents. For the foreigner or the writer there is a surplus of ideas over words [as in peintures and nuances [nuages]]. It is this breach between idea and language, this truchement that produces metaphors.
Diderot takes these ideas forwards in this discussion centred around the 'Molyneux' Problem'. His proposition was - 'if a person blind from birth were suddenly to see again, were shown a cube and a cylinder, would s/he, just by looking at them, be able to tell the difference?' Diderot asked to be present at an operation, but this was refused. Diderot decided that more would be gained by questioning another blind person who had not had their sight restored, but had a philosophical and /or scientific training. Diderot's implication is that one should try inwardness and introspection as much as outward observation and, in a word, do without eyes. Diderot's letter is in the form of an allegory, the paradox of blinding oneself in order to see better as in Democritus blinding himself in order to think better. There is an emphasis on substitution run parallel to a work preoccupied with how a blind person finds substitutes for sight.
Vision produces the possibility of seeing perfectly and yet seeing "nothing". Between objects and the retina there is a "nothing", a "truchement" a "difference", that enforces accuracy, but because we see only representations that are different than what created them, "sensations have nothing that resembles objects essentially", we must patrol this space, backwards and forwards, in the act of continual comparison [simile], of the precise conformity between an object and its representation. Diderot saw blindness as a metaphor for this space between object and image and with the language of veils, blindness and ignorance. The lowering of the literal veil (blindness/cataracts) had no effect on the figurative one (blindness/ignorance).
Diderot's interest in blindness [reflects] his belief that vision represents itself perfectly. His other conviction, that Language can represent anything and everything manifests itself in the Encyclopaedia - a work intended to represent and explain all knowledge - structured as a dictionary of the French language. "A nation's language is a picture of the nation's knowledge".




it refers to the way the work 'speaks'. Blanchot speaks about the work as being about how the author's silence takes shape/manifests itself. Silence . . . .deaf and dumb becomes the form of the author's speaking. Another source of fascination is the image. Blanchot does not automatically accept that the image is an unproblematic reflection of the object .


 Blanchot's images do not necessarily arrive from the seen. Blanchot writes 'Speaking is not seeing.' They escape mimesis. They escape the embrace of original and copy. He opens the possibility of the discussing inside the frame in the same breath as outside the frame. Residue within the One . The double character of vision. The desire to see and not to see is resolved in terms of trauma: the over-the-edge scene of the near-blinding, the desire to see past the visible, the propositioning of the visible to fill the role of veil. Blanchot writes that Narcissus is not narcissistic. This contradicts the common reading of Narcissus being unable to love another because of his own self-love. Blanchot shows that his inability to love another is because, not recognising his own image, he cannot relate to another since he has no relationship to himself . Narcissus tries to eliminate the 'blind spot', to have a relationship with the image without any mediation such as time or space.





. . . . the image is a way of understanding the object through distancing or objectifying. Blanchot is interested in paradox. The image is brought to book by distancing . . . this indeterminacy. Blanchot separates the image from meaning and relates it instead to ecstasy.


Blinding, distancing, terror. Burke links distancing with infinity and the possibility of terror. The arrival of spatial perspective and the distancing in the narrative points to, figurally, an infinity representing the unknown and the borderlines between objects and illusionistic space. To perceive an object is the same thing as to perceive its bounds. This infinity identifies the possibilities of the space for terror. Burke connects infinity with repetition and madness, Terror and torture. When repetition ceases it has created an elicit echo whose diminution lasts long after its need has expired. it has its own infinity, independent of others. But this echo must have some end, a finite end - it must always bow eventually to the laws of rhetoric . . as Burke points out . . . 'No greater in the manner can effectually compensate for the want of proper dimensions.' Is this the echo that creates the multiplicity of images that are heaped on each other to create the sense of emotional turmoil that is a necessary condition to/of the terrible? This unknowing, this, if necessary, unlearning that needs to take place to effect the condition of the sublime. The sublime is dangerous, it is terrible, fearful - in so far as fear is an apprehension of pain, the pain and fear that robs the mind of rational thought. The blinding light, the cutting of the veil steals out pleasure and submits us to pain. The blinding is out of control. it acts against our will, throwing us against the wall. breaking the glass: the subliminal act consummated in halo - gen. Panser [pãse].v. tr. (penser de 'prendre soin de', 1190; lat. pensare 'penser'. v. penser) ¨10 (XVe). soigner (un animal domestique, et spécialt, un cheval) en lui donnant les soins de propreté. V. Bouchonner, brosser, étriller; pansage. ¨20 (1314, penser de 'soigner'; 1680 panser une plaie). Vx. soigner, traiter (un malade). 'Je le pansai, dieu le guérit' (attribué à Ambroise Paré) à Spécialt. et mod. S oigner (qqn. unr partie du corps) en appliquant un pansement*. Panser la main, le pied de qqn.V. Bander - Panser un malade un blessé. à Fig. 'La femme est faite pour panser les plaies, non pour les aviver' (L. Daud). V. Calmer. à hom Penser; pensée.




Death. forgetting. waiting. finality. are also key concepts in Blanchot's work. He writes about the impossibility of experiencing the experience of death. waiting is the event that becomes impossible when it finishes, forgetting is caught between the given moment and the wanted moment. Blanchot does not attempt to reconstruct the experience of dying, he writes about the impossibility of the experience of death. He points out ways in which finality does not occur - or at least cannot be experienced. the 'last' word always calls for an explanation - thus for more words. Chance is present in his works, especially in connection with death. As chance gives rise to uncertainty and intermediacy, time can move backwards or forwards, [ 7  8 9 : ;] events may or may not have taken place, or, through chance, a moment happens. Blanchot raises the question of writing as an event, and its relationship with indeterminacy.
In his later works Blanchot develops a type of moment form, an open architecture, free to be decided by the reader, giving him/her the greatest level of meanings.


. . . . . . . . and thirdly
... Derrida entertains the curious hypothesis of a 'programming machine' . It is a notion related to the metaphor of 'multiple reading heads', ( record, playback, erase ) [and fast forward, fast rewind]
                                  7 8 9 : ;                                       
     intending to suggest that we read simultaneously what there is in front of us and also, in the process, a potentially infinite range of intertextual meanings and illusions, some of which may very well obscure or efface the meanings of the 'words on the page'. In Otobiographies, Derrida discusses the textual 'machine' in terms of a regulatory system, one that somehow programmes in advance the possibilities of aberrant reading . . . .what is it about the texts of Nietzsche, Hegel , Heidegger which give rise to many contrasting interpretations/ . . .[mimetic perversion, as Derrida suggests] , or are there latent properties in the text and structure of the text which warrant / encourage this? In 'Freud and the scene of writing', derrida discusses the models and metaphors to which Freud had recourse in describing psychic drives and desires. The Mystic writing Pad, a device involving a stylus and waxed paper which enabled inscriptions to be preserved in a latent or invisible form long after they had been apparently erased from the surface. Derrida suggests that Freud was thinking of the unconscious as a kind of 'writing machine'. Psychical content will be represented by a text whose essence is irreducibly graphic. The structure of the psychical apparatus will be represented by a writing machine. derrida asks not 'is the psyche a kind of text?' but, 'what is a text and what can the psyche be if it can be represented by a text?' This exceeds the classical opposition of self-present speech and written signs. freud is forced to consider the possibility of writing before speech - what can be described in a language of traces, differences, subliminal marks and inscriptions.
'It is with a graphematics still to come , rather than with a linguistics dominated by a phonologism, that psychoanalysis sees itself destined to collaborate'. Freud inverts the received order of priority between conscious and unconscious thought. The differential character of writing makes it possible to hold back, to postpone or to conserve that which would be exhausted in the moment of immediate perception. This would fall outside any possible means of representation. Pure perception, derrida says , does not exist. We are written only as we write, by the agency within us which always keeps watch over perception. The subject of writing [i.e. the subject who writes] is a system of relations between strata: the Mystic Pad, the psyche, society, the world. freud tries to explain memory in the manner of the natural sciences. He writes " a main characteristic of nervous tissue is memory - a capacity to be altered by single occurrences". He explains the simultaneous as firstly a permanence of the trace and the virginity of the receiving substance, and secondly as the engraving of furrows in the perennially intact bareness of the perceptive surface. Freud puts forward a concept of contact barriers and breaching. These he describes in terms of the figural and the metaphoric - the breaching, the tracing of a trail, the opening up of a conducting path. Violence, the terrors, are inherent in this scene. In Freud's essay 'piece of wax and the three analogies of writing', he describes an analogy between a writing apparatus and the perceptual apparatus. Freud considered writing as subservient to memory, an auxiliary, external memory which is not memory itself.

the first analogy

"If I distrust my memory - neurotics, as we know, do so to a remarkable extent, but normal people have every reason for doing so as well - I am able to supplement and guarantee (ergänzen und versichern) its working by making a note in writing (schriftliche Anzeichnung). In that case the surface upon which this trace is preserved, the pocket-book or sheet of paper, is as it were a materialised portion (ein materialisiertes Stück) of my mnemonic apparatus (des Erinnerungsapparates), the rest of which I carry about with me invisible. I have only to bear in mind the place where this "memory" has been deposited and I can then "reproduce" it at any time I like, with the certainty that it will have remained unaltered and so have escaped the possible distortions to which it might have been subjected in my actual memory".        
A sheet of paper preserves indefinitely but is quickly filled.
A blackboard (slate) can be erased, but this does not preserve.
All traditional writing surfaces have only either of these properties.
"an unlimited receptive capacity and a retention of permanent traces seem to be mutually exclusive". Auxiliary apparatuses - spectacles , cameras, ear-trumpets, are deficient when it comes to memory. Freud anticipated that the answer (to his dreams) to this problem would involve two systems or organs of the mental process - 'A double system contained in a single apparatus.: a perpetually available innocence and an infinite reserve of traces".
The Mystic Pad is a slab of dark brown resin or wax with a paper edging; over the slab is laid a thin transparent sheet, the top end of which is firmly secured to the slab while its bottom end rests upon it without being fixed to it. This transparent sheet is the more interesting part of the device. It itself consists of two layers which can be detached from each other except at their two ends. The upper layer is a transparent layer of celluloid; the lower layer is made of thin translucent waxed paper. When the apparatus is not in use, the lower surface of the waxed paper adheres to the upper surface of the waxed slab.
To make use of the Mystic Pad, one writes on the celluloid portion of the covering-sheet which rests upon the wax slab. for this purpose no pencil or chalk is necessary, since the writing does not depend upon on material being deposited upon the receptive surface. It is a return to the ancient method of writing upon tablets of clay or wax: a pointed stylus scratches the surface, the depressions upon which constitute the 'writing'. In the case of the Mystic pad this scratching is not effected directly, but through the medium of the covering-sheet. at the points which the stylus touches, it presses the lower surface of the waxed paper on to the wax slab, and the grooves are visible as dark writing upon the otherwise smooth whiteish-gray surface of the celluloid. if one wishes to destroy what has been written, all that is necessary is to raise the double covering-sheet from the wax slab by a light pull, starting from the free lower end. The close contact between the waxed paper and the wax slab at the places which have been scratched (upon which the visibility of the writing depended) is thus brought to an end and it does not recur when the two surfaces come together once more. The Mystic Pad is now clear of writing and ready to receive fresh inscriptions.
The Mystic Pad can be thought of as depth without bottom, an infinite allusion ,a stratification of surfaces. It connects infinite depth in the implication of meaning and the skin-like essence of being, the absolute absence of any foundation.

the second analogy

"if we lift the entire covering sheet - both the celluloid and the waxed paper - off the wax slab, the writing vanishes, and, as I have already remarked, does not appear again. But it is easy to discover that the permanent trace of what was written is retained upon the wax slab itself and is legible in certain lights"
"This is precisely the way in which, according to the hypothesis which I mentioned just now, our psychical apparatus performs its perceptual function. The layer which receives the stimuli - the system Pcpt.-Cs. - forms no permanent traces; the foundations of memory come about in other, supplementary, systems. Writing supplements perception before perception even appears to itself [is conscious of itself] "Memory" or writing is the opening of that process of appearance itself. the "perceived" may be read only in the past, beneath perception and after it.
The blackboard or the paper is an abstraction , a perceptual layer.
The Mystic writing pad represents the unconscious . . . "I do not think it is too far-fetched to compare the wax slab with the unconscious behind the system Pcpt.-Cs."
The becoming-visible which alternates with the disappearance of what is written would be the flickering-up (Aufleuchten) and passing away (Vergehen) of consciousness in the process of perception..
the third analogy

The first and second analogies concern themselves with the space of writing, its extension and volume, reliefs and depressions. There is also the time of writing - the wax slab has a temporal quality - the three analogies of experience - permanence
- succession
- simultaneity
"But I must admit that I am inclined to press the comparison still further. On the Mystic Pad the writing vanished every time the close contact is broken between the paper which receives the stimulus and the wax slab which preserves the impression. This agrees with a notion which I have long had about the method in which the perceptual apparatus of our mind functions, but which I have hitherto kept to myself."
Freud links the withdrawal or removal of the pen with the fading of consciousness. He compares this to the feelers [antennae] which the unconscious would stretch out to the external world, and the subsequent retraction of these upon discovering a threat to the unconscious. . . . . the note ends
"If we imagine one hand writing upon the surface of the mystic writing pad while another periodically raises its covering sheet from the wax slab, we shall have a concrete representation of the way in which I tried to picture the functioning of the perceptual apparatus of our mind".

. . . . . . . . and fourthly

. . . Derrida's 'Envois' which make up the first half of the Post cards consists of (love) letters (or postcards), the fragmentary inscription of forbidden love, which identify neither their author nor their addressee . They are intense, passionate, elliptical, elusive, impenetrable. They undermine our confidence in our ability to read by refusing to indicate how they are to be read, when they are coded to avoid a possible censor, when they are ironic, when they allude to 'reality'. They blur the boundaries between fact and fiction. and in all these ways they constitute textual performances (performatives) of desire.


. . . The 'Envois' are full of gaps. They may be the remainders of a recently destroyed correspondence. destroyed by fire or whirlwind, by the terrors. Names withheld, identities confused, ciphers introduced to protect the anonymity of the participants. fifty two typographical spaces mark ellipses within the texts. Who can say what is deleted, censored or repressed? The existence of this correspondence assumes the separation of the lovers.
The love letter demonstrates the impossibility of communication as the transmission of immediate, transparent meaning. Meaning and truth are differed, disrupted by time differences and intervals which interfere with transparency. No letter can reach its destination. Much of the correspondence concerns a lost letter, which was 'true'. It was returned to the sender, never opened, but continues to haunt, even dominate the relationship.
. . . . . . . . .writing with a knife . . . . . . . . There is always a remainder, left unwritten, off the card . . . . . . . . . they sometimes fail to arrive, cards enframe . . . . . the posting interrogates the effect of the letter . . . . . the message and the signature are both meaningless, but readable, but the message is poverty-stricken to all but the recipient. Its message is open to all as it is posteddynamic [the message is postedstatic] . In this message - camouflaged in the sense, is the censorship, the deletions, blanks and disguises of writing,[though there is no code that is secret] addition . . . . . repression, veils, conceals, blinds the recipient and the author. Umbrella Umbra, ambre solaire, factor 8 [facteur 8] Le Facteur. And back
 7  to the postcard. Writing is by definition 'posthumous' - it lives on [post,] natal.
. . . . . . . A written sign is proffered in the absence of the receiver. how to style this absence? One could say that at the moment I am writing, the receiver may be absent from my field of present perception. But is this absence merely a distant presence, one which is delayed, or which, in one way or another, is idealised in its representation? . . . . . . . . . A writing that is not structurally readable - iterable -beyond the death of the addressee would not be writing. . . . . . . . . imagine a writing whose code would be so idiomatic as to be established and known, as secret cipher, by only two 'subjects'. Could we maintain that, following the death of the receiver, or even of both partners, the mark left by one of them is still writing?
This is a review of the background, environment, ambience . . call it what you will of/for my work
penser/poncer/panser. There are still some questions about how these are absorbed into the work. In Barthes' Sollers writer there is a footnote on page 30 . On the same page, sollers quotes wittgenstein's remark that.
'The limits of my language are the limits of my world', and adds 'These limits are grammatical in so far as I want to remain within communication - but I know that I shall really achieve communication only if, by a breaking movement that has no return, I am also the person who denies these limits, who by this meaning reaches the pulsation of meaning.'
PPP drama and poem are words that are very close together. They are 'doing', 'making', 'playing'. In the playing the doing takes place within the story - the action is used to form the narrative. the subject of the drama is the beholder. In the poem, the making is done outside the story, by the technician, the poet.
PPP is the record 9:;of an event, the event being 'itself' a record  7 of an event 8. To an extent it is not consecrated - it is subject it to his own creation - but in so doing contributes to its creation. It is also a game about rejection 9 - sous rature - where we must try to stop ourselves ; just as we begin to 'read' it. The ;is the author of two separate actions, separated by time, the action itself and the writing it down - remembering , narrating. There is no 'bad faith'. the narrator is completely absorbed in telling the story. PPP encourages these two ;'s to come together, so that the psychology between them disappears.
The narrator no longer has to bring together what he did in the past and is saying now. The telling of the story cannot be entrusted to a personal pronoun. It is narration itself that speaks the "it" is of literature, not of a person. The two persons of the narrative are separated merely by their order. In
PPP the order is ordained and not ordained. Only the beholder can intrude. By reading, by looking. Too closely. Too close a reading provokes a refusal to inherit readability. an act of denial, a casting off of the natural acceptability of the old texts. A cleaning of the palimpsest, a refusal to let it read 'palimpsest'. It transfers concepts of subject, reality, expression, description, story, meaning to the figural. It calls into question the role of representation in writing. As writing has modelled itself on painting - stories, descriptions, portraits, PPP casts around for the eschatological - what happens when the thought (or the desire) of a particular goal goes beyond the present moment, beyond immediate calculations. It refers you to the idea of a much more distant goal than a tactical or strategic one: a goal that the writer perceives in his solitude. PPP        casts writing out, substituting instead the "feature", moving backwards and forwards  8 7 from the page to the canvas [object]. Instead of the "voice" there is this movement, this action, the continual movement which negates the role of author. It is no longer possible to put a person behind the writing. You cannot "see" the author. You are blinded. The imagery has left the writing, the writer and the reader the same. They are lost in a mirror of mirrors in which it is impossible to see the mirrors. The movement creates a no-go area, a frontier-land lawlessness,, a scene of a place so bleak that no palimpsest can survive. A land scoured even of a real language, what language there is nourished by cracks, stains, breaches, gaps, chasms. PPP is half spoken word, half writing [writing which is spoken - the exact opposite of spoken words written down]. The discourse is set in motion by contacts, by relays. The words, the sounds, the letters reflect the physical qualities of the voice. but not the "expressive" . PPP frees itself from its author. 'By detaching my name I free (discontinue) myself'. Composition, rhetoric, development, memory (length). Has none of these [ but a secret plan? a game?] . The text sets out, it cannot "get there". The author does not wait to see the effect of what has been uttered : he does not keep watch over the reader. Something to do with the sublime, with Burke's notion of terror . One Terror for the seeing is the blindness. The madness of the day, the blindness of the day. The irrational nature of the outrageous terror. How do the word and the image fair under the terrors? Tell me.
        poncer                  panser

   pensée                  [ penser ]