ABSTRACT
L'inconnu est toujours pensé au neutre. Maurice Blanchot, L'Entretien in fin fi 0
I lie stretched out, inactive; the only thing I see is emptiness, the only thing I move about is emptiness. I do not even suffer pain. . . . Even pain has lost its refreshment for me. If I were offered all the glories of the world, or all its pain, the one would move me as little as the other, I would not turn over on the other side either to obtain them or to escape them. I die the death. . . . My soul is like the Dead Sea, over which no bird can fly; when it has flown midway, then it sinks down to death and destruction.
