A moving prism

» She was being brutally saved. Redemption without delay! But is one saved by a coup de grace? Or else hit, thrown, struck down!? - By going, my poor fairy, my myopia, you are withdrawing from me the ambiguous gifts that filled me with anguish and granted me states that those who see do not know, she murmured. - Do not forget me. Keep forever the world suspended, desirable, refused, that enchanted  thing I had given you, murmured myopia. - If I forget thee, oh Jerusalem, may my right eye, etc. - Ah! I see coming in place of my diffuse reign a reign without hesitation. - I shall always hesitate. I shall not leave my people. I belong to the people of those who do not see. [...] - Savoir, Helene Cixous

The Banquet, Rene Magritte, 1958 » I was thinking about the challenge that life and death lay down to writing. For writing moves at the pace of the hand. And life and death go by in a flash. We catch fire, surprised. Writing is far behind. How are the fiery moments to be grasped? How can that fire be caught in our hands? Besides, we had better catch the fire in our hands quickly. Because if we catch the fire in our hands quickly enough, we won’t get burned. Fire grasped with the speed of fire: that’s how it must be done. To write. — In October 1991…, Stigmata: Escaping Texts, Hélène Cixous;