You would think, given the individual's sacrosanct place at the center of a political modernity imposed across the world, you would think, given your own sense of having a body and through it a life (habeas corpus), that there would be some sure measure, when persons die, wherever persons die, of how many persons have died. But no. There are countless ways to count persons, to decide where a person ends and another starts. Stick to sheep! Counting persons would only (...) confound the mind, and if sleep came it would be a tangled, gnarled sort of sleep.Lévi-Strauss maintained that a traditional society was most ecologically viable when it did not exceed 250 (288). Students of such societies understand now this was not... Read More. (shrink)

L’inhabitable—the uninhabitable—was the bass note sounding through all of the work of Georges Perec, less a category than what categories failed to insure against: the depersonalizing, devitalizing, dark matter of modern histories and geographies, as scandalous as it was ubiquitous. At the end of Espèces d’espaces, Perec would parse “the uninhabitable” into a litany of alienating spaces produced by the very processes of industrial advancement and urban growth:L’inhabitable: la mer dépotoir, les côtes hérissées de fils de fer barbelés, la terre (...) pelée, la terre charnier, les monceaux de carcasses, les fleuves bourbiers, les villes nauséabondes […]L’inhabitable: l’étriqué... (shrink)

The care taken always to pursue if possible the prey first started, and to call off the dogs and punish them whenever they get upon a false scent, gradually accustoms them to distinguish by scent the stag they are pursuing from all others. But the stag, wearied by the pursuit, seeks to join himself to others of his own kind, and then a more acute discernment is required by the dog. In this case there is nothing to be expected from (...) those that are young. It appertains to consummate experience to form a sure and prompt judgment in this perplexity. It is the old dogs alone who are what is called hardis dans le change; that is, who untangle without hesitation the trail of their stag from among all those of the herd he... (shrink)

I feel hands thumping at my chest. A drum playing its score without respite. Like that boat that didn't stop pitching like a mean and savage wind. Where am I?Come on! You can do it. Be strong. Come on, breathe!All my life I wanted to breathe, and now that they are urging me to, I simply wish to close my eyes. To stop this unholy pain in the hollow of my chest and to give in. It hurts so much."Hurry up, (...) Nina.""Wait for me, Jacob. Wait for me, I need to catch my breath."We had to walk two kilometers to get to school. The mountain is always beautiful for those who climb it willingly. Sometimes I see a foreign tourist or nature lover open their arms wide to take in the pure air. For me, inhaling hurts so much at times... Read More. (shrink)