The political ghosts of literature

I have been reading some fragments of Maurice Blanchot - The Madness of the Day, The Writing of Disaster, some of the essays assembled under the title of The Gaze of Orpheus - and trying to make sense of the discrepancies in his story, and how it has encountered my own. Certain phrases from Blanchot,... Continue Reading →

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The infinite conversation and survival

I have written before in the Burning Archive of the metaphor for writing, and its eternal companion, reading, that I have prised from the title of Blanchot's work, The Infinite Conversation.  I have written here of how writing secures our rare and precious fragments of understanding against loss and destruction, and bequeathed them in their frail forms... Continue Reading →

Waste books and epigrams

"The excuses we make to ourselves when we want to do something are excellent material for soliloquies, for they are rarely made except when we are alone, and are very often made aloud." George Lichtenberg (1742-99), The Waste Books, #22, p 8 I collected from the local library The Notebooks of Robert Frost, which features... Continue Reading →

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