the final days of europe

i try to remember the faces of all guests at this funeral ... their elaborate ways to conceal the fact the coffin is empty. hey deleuze: i would like to see your fingers before your final becoming. hey barthes: i would like to know what drove your automobile. hey foucault i would like to feel what it was like - the day, the intercourse ... what is it like to be THAT french that death waits behind your window, that it sits at your backseat, that ... no you were not the only one. and now i would like to wake up ... to know the sum of all that happened in the minute i was born. only then i would understand both its beauty and exquisite vanity.

::: sleeping is giving in :::