The mad state is, as he emphasizes over and over again, empty.
Teeming with emptiness. Knotted on emptiness. Immodest in its
emptiness. You can pull emptiness out of it by the handful.
“I am not here. I am not here and never will be.”
You can pull it out endlessly.
Teeming with emptiness. Knotted on emptiness. Immodest in its
emptiness. You can pull emptiness out of it by the handful.
“I am not here. I am not here and never will be.”
You can pull it out endlessly.
Anne Carson, from Semaine d’Artaud
Image: James Kao, Tablescape, 2004Title: Judith Butler on “the poetics of non-arrival,” excerpt from Who Owns Kafka?
