The other night,
I dream, or almost,
and a text,
comes to my closed eyes.
Year: 2016
Springs have passed, by the dozens, but I don’t notice them anymore. Last night, she jumps around to reach the balcony as we hear the rain crackling the panels.
Original mon or.
De près, de loin, de nuit, de jour, original mon or à l’esprit, obsession introspective, maladie invisible. Horizon gris nuage, petits succès de parcours imperceptibles, I am on a race of a kind, a race of my own.
Original my gold.
From afar, from close, by night, by day, original my gold on my mind, introspective obsession, invisible disease. Grey-cloud horizon, little imperceptible successes on my path, I am on a race of a kind, a race of my own.
Judging by its ingredients, the alchemy of Derrida and Law was all but assured. In 1949, the young Jackie Derrida, freshly arrived in Paris from Algeria, opted for studies in philosophy as he believed to be unequipped to tackle the classics, logical pathway for the passionate reader of literature and aspiring writer whom he was…