Athela Epistrefw Me Mikran Kardian

A deviserof territories, languages, works, the deject neverstops demarcating his universe whise fluids confines- for they are constituted of a nonobject, the abject- constantly question his solidity and imoel him to start afresh. A tireless builder, the deject is in short a stray. H eis ona journey, during the night, the end of ehich keeps receding. He has a sense of the danger of the loss that the pseudo-object attracting him represents for him, but he cannot help taking the risk at the very moment he sets himself apart. And the more he strays, the more he is saved.
For it is out of such straying on excluded ground that he draws his jouisance. The abject from which he does not cease separating is for him, in short, a land of oblivion that is constantly remembered. Once upon blotted-out-time, the abject must have been a magnetized pole of covetousness. But the ashes of oblivio0n now serve as a screen and reflect aversion, repugnance. The clean and proper (in the sense of the incorporated and the incorporable) becomes filthy, the sought-after turns into the banished, fascination into shame. Then forgotten time crops up suddenly and condenses into a flash of lighting an operation that, if it were thought out, would involve bringing together the two opposite terms but, on account of that flash, is discharged like thunder. The time of abjection is double: a time of oblivion and thunder and the moment when revelation bursts forth.
Jouissance, in short. (...) One does not knowit, one does not desire it, one joys in it. Violently an dpainfully.
Julia Kristeva

But is naming sufficient? (...)
Lucy Irigaray

Everything is dissolving, babe, according to plan
The sky is on fire, the dead are helped across the land
I went to bed last night and my
moral code got jammed
(...)I wake with the sparrows and I hurry off to work
THe need for validation, babe, gone completely
berserk
//
For still your face comes shining through
And all the morning glows anew
Still your soul
Still your mind
Still, the fire of love is true
And I am breathless without you
//
With an army of tanks bursting from your chest
I wave my little white flag at thee
Can you see it, babe?
(...)
Oh baby, don't you go
All supernatural on me
Supernaturally

-and out