Fulcrum and vanishing point.
Alain Badiou on the prose of Natacha Michel.
We can see how, in the absence of spectacle, the rhythm decides that any place, no matter how stable it may be, no matter how anchored in ritual and childhood, is never anything but the occasion for a journey of thought and, in this sense, takes place only once.
Still not clear on rereading several times as to why the “occasion” takes place only once.
Is there a universe of prose where sets of rhythms intersect and the question of origin is put paid to?
And so for day 1708