Oh sure, and happy belated birthday, to me. Off to examine (for I want to get a better historical sense of Blanchot's peculiar Nationalism. And it is peculiar...)
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Still, without signifying all that much, High hopes, because the other one, the later one, sometimes it made me feel like this
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if, granted, also this
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Thomas sat down and looked at the sea.
It is certainly satisfying (too satisfying) to think that, solely because something like these words, 'he – the sea', with the exigency that results from them and whence also they result, are written, somewhere there is inscribed the possibility of a radical transformation, even if only for a single person, that is to say his suppression as a personal existence. The possibility: no more. (Le pas au-delà, 8)
and
Literature for Blanchot is thus neither a retreat from the real nor a bulwark against it. It is rather the only remaining mode of subjectivity in language open to him in the face of what the real has become...(Holland, 12)
hum
A blog also, looks interesting.
2 comments:
and many more. cheers.
cheers.
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