Ablutions of Sarah Kofman

To remain with her absencing? Après moi, le déluge? When one reads Kofman, one's own 'when' becomes a question, her words are of extreme contemprary, neutre. Traversing, hugging, kissing history of philosophy Kofman asks (like Dastur) how to talk of world, how to say what Kant calls 'required elegance'? It is this voice, amiable and amorous, benights its reader, there you see Blanchot and our friends blind, only a touch, touch of pen to paper, that quivering of world. A certain spacing is here (like Walser's trees). Heidegger writes no one can leap over his own shadow, and it is our shadows concatenates us and those shadows are more and more becoming apparent. Kofman's shadow is now with Marx, Freud and Nietzsche, laughing ebulliently. If you have a chance to visit her, with a bouquet... Mettle, please.




"Ve yarın, bütün inanılmazlığına karşın, her şeyin gözle görülebileceği bir gündüzün başlayacak oluşu ne büyük mutluluktur" Kafka (hikayeler, sf. 19)


note on blog: I'm going to have GRE so I'm overcrowded with spectres of 18th century britain, time will come, I'll post Dastur, Kofman, Bourdieu -and who knows if this would not be a promise I would break again?