I wrote this on May 2, 1976.
The Museum Factory
Order as the desire for order...the body
No smokiing I take it there as the
arrangement prefigured there
Smoking I make the symbols attach
simultaneously alone and not alone in term of my awareness of a person.
No smoking the pronoun seems to have a decision and can be copied.
Smoking for one instance
What has absence
of what is absence
No smoking bent the selected word has an apparent vocabulary. to increase the extent of this vocabulary, at a certain intensity, the raised voice has a certain distinction.
In the absence of smoking, the absence of reference- a colored crayon, for instance- the particular shape of a moral choice.
Smoking it seems to have an ascent. One single noise could erase all this. I am at the point of noticing the inception of preventing something from emerging, the said desire. I can illustrate it's all inflamed- imflamed or inflamed. The order of a calligram as the suggestion of a symbol. No, so I stop mself. This stopping has its own paper. I scribble out the thoughts on the erasable pad. And just forget.
Just as forgetting has a neutral scent, like a long breath of air into the mind, to setting down to naming the inanimate parts of the smell. the mind refuses what is drawn towards yourself. No smoking no smoking no smoking. Or, you can uncover new forms of smell and write it all backwards, drawing it on the back page and now and again referring to it. Smoking, it is the answer of those words referring to another complete language. No smoking creates the immediate urgency of no smell. No words for one person. Presented as an inanimate being in the transition of signs, the denial of symbolizing transfers the effort to the back-up position: no smoking. Eventually I will be obliged to negate the value of the image, the pictorial command in my brain that directs me to the objects those thoughts represent.
(this fades out as the argument loses its force)
Again, the signifier has been defeated. The history recorded here seems to lack certain details. True, it returns, it repeats itself centering on the same old patterns, positive and negative, prohibition and freedom, the text does seem spare. Or maybe just not spare enough.The whole atmosphere of immediate danger alludes to change. Its texture suggests a puzze.
No one in his right mind would have troubled to be worred about a concept of vertical and horizontal to the extent that this worry would replace the value of a postive sign for absence. Still at the first onset of a delay the explanation would be almost randomly juxtaposed. Afraid, accused of rhetoric, I back away from the elusiveness of the signifier. I am filled with a happy disgust because I feel relieved of being trapped by the sensuality of the image. I am inevitably drawn to smoking, to conversation. Smoking I am conveniently avoiding the terrifying question of purpose. Only with absence, and denial, I am truly affirming the signifier. I am relieved of naming the name.
"I've looked at words from both sides now from win or lose from up and down, it's words' allusions I recall I really don't know words at all."
The conversation is recorded as a catalogue of relics. Memories forcibly retracted. Expropriated- or, taken from private ownership for public use. Insofar as I can say, I was really relieved at first that the density of the signification decreased in value to me as much as it increased- the effects of these two values invariably cancelled each other out- the essential "no smoking" and "smoking" might be too conventional. In the brown leather carpeted train car I add the sign: "Smoking sometimes." Not exactly a masterpiece of situational melodrama, but linguistically it is suggestive. No smoking, definately no smoking.
(A locale emerges)
Teste: "I don't even think anymore, having the presentiment, as soon as an idea arises, that an immense system gets started an enormous toil is called for, and that I shall never go as far as I know it is necessary to go."
(Abbreviation- think more about what that is used for. I say goodbye with a reminder.)
(May 2, 1976)