Bataillean Fragment

How can we disregard the utterly erotic encounter of a mortar shell and a roof at 10:40 Nicosia time, the roof of a female's house nonetheless, on Democracy Avenue and a military training mortar shell of 81 mm? An encounter with a much more corporeal past but one which suspension and state politics had lulled to a gape; a gape it has today trespassed. A spectacular and equally violent attempt -as all attempts are, as all temptation- at rapprochement therefore, heart-rending and blank, declassifying the fear of 'missing-the-spot', the mortar's hailing (or interpellation if you wish) has been ignored by the individual, who as we are informed 'was absent', and in such a way re-transcribed the public eroticism of this city as always, already latent. Yet, as always, there were those apparatus of capture to whom such latency, such slow-burning potentiality is, in its essential instability, already, a threat. Their media-ted panic of the shell hitting the school nearby is of course completely unfounded. Single mortar shells never hit on schools. They are dropped on them.