Artaud, Deleuze, and the Will to Nothingness

I close the eyes of my intelligence, and giving voice to the unformulated within me, I offer myself the sense of having wrested from the unknown something real. I believe in spontaneous conjurations. On the paths along which my blood draws me, it cannot be that one day I will not discover a truth.[1] Antonin Artaud... Continue Reading →

I’ll have to wander all alone – Jacques Derrida on Gilles Deleuze

Too much to say, and I don't have the heart for it today. There is too much to say about what has happened to us here, about what has also happened to me, with the death of Gilles Deleuze, with a death we no doubt feared (knowing him to be so ill), but still, with... Continue Reading →

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