Ideas Concerning the Intellectual Matrix from
. . . 'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
'What it that noise?'
The wind under the door.
'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'
Nothing again nothing. 'Do 'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember 'Nothing?'
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag -
It's so elegant
'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'
'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
'With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
'What shall we ever do?'
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
THEE REVERSAL OF FATE
All images begin in mirrors and end inside our subconsious. All conscious mirrors crack and cut; Seep blood and stain our dearest outfits.
The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, together with the obligation to express.
Simulacra and Simulation
"[the image] is the reflection of a profound reality;
it masks and denatures a profound reality;
it masks the ABSENCE of a profound reality;
it has no relation to any reality whatsoever; it is its own pure simulacrum.
Everywhere one seeks to produce meaning, to make the world signify, to render it visible. We are not, however, in danger of lacking meaning; quite the contrary, we are gorged with meaning and it is killing us.
We are becoming like cats, slyly parasitic, enjoying an indifferent domesticity. Nice and snug in the social, our historic passions have withdrawn into the glow of an artificial coziness, and our half-closed eyes now seek little other than the peaceful parade of television pictures.
Remaking Social Practices
The routines of daily life, and the banality of the world represented to us by the media, surround us with a reassuring atmosphere in which nothing is any longer of real consequence. We cover our eyes; we forbid ourselves to think about the turbulent passage of our times, which swiftly thrusts far behind us our familiar past, which effaces ways of being and living that are still fresh in our minds, and which slaps our future onto an opaque horizon, heavy with thick clouds and miasmas.
It is not up to philosophy to exaust things accroding to scientific sage, to reduce the phenomena to a minimum of propositions ... Instead in philosophy we literally seek to immerse ourselves in things that are heterogeneous ... without placing those things in prefabricated categories.
These would be the successive phases of the image:
it is the reflection of a profound reality.
it masks and denatures a profound reality.
it masks the absence of a profound reality.
it has no relation to any reality whatever: it is its own pure simulacrum.
In the first case, the image is a good appearance—representation is of the sacramental order [i.e. not a simulacrum]. In the second, it is an evil appearance—it is of the order of maleficence. In the third, it plays at being an appearance—it is of the order of sorcery. In the fourth, it is no longer in the order of appearances, but of simulation.