The pleasure principle: o Purgatório é o axioma.  All composing lies there. Let me call this impulse hiding. I’m obsessed with myself. These ambiguous zones make me obsessed with myself. I witnessed an intense and passionate conversation: perception always has an element of deception – there’s something rather irksome but also delicious about that – you say with a glint in your eye. Aren’t you obsessed with yourself? Great crimes are committed before mirrors; no one is ever the wiser. Et nous vivions de l’air du temps. Made in made. Your gaze is haze, too. I take it that what finds partial expression in the various radical disruptions of academic ideals is sometimes a desire for a real Dionysian chaos. Até quando posso ficar contigo? I guess something like this needed to be said. Perhaps not so drunkenly. E tira forte il vento.*

*This text is an assemblage by Silvana Ivaldi from: Silvana Ivaldi, Madeline Gins, McKenzie Wark, Kenneth Goldsmith, Charles Aznavour, James Elkins, Kathy Acker, and Raffaele Sacco.