I mourn therefore I am.I live my death in writing.In Specters of Marx, Jacques Derrida hails a new “scholar”—a scholar to come, a scholar of the future—who addresses the dead . This new scholar would stand in stark contrast to the “traditional” scholar, who has never been “capable” of “addressing himself … to ghosts” precisely because the “traditional” scholar insists on the “the sharp distinction between the real and the unreal …, the living and the non-living” and hence does not (...) believe in “the virtual space of spectrality” . The specter—as an incorporeal phantom—challenges such “sharp distinctions”: if the specter doesn’t exist, how can it be?1 How can the nonliving be living, and how can the .. (shrink)

But my real cat is not Alice’s little cat … because I am certainly not about to conclude hurriedly, upon waking, as Alice did, that one cannot speak with a cat on the pretext that it doesn’t reply or that it always replies the same thing. Everything that I am about to entrust to you no doubt comes back to asking you to respond to me, you, to me, reply to me concerning what it is to respond. If you can. (...) The said question of the said animal in its entirety comes down to knowing not whether the animal speaks but whether one can know what respond means. And how to distinguish the response from a reaction.A response that does not respond to a question is a response that is not the solution to a problem or the .. (shrink)

"When you find yourself neck deep in shit, start making bricks," or so I was advised by Luanne T. Frank, a faculty member during my graduate days, who was deftly "translating" Heidegger for us during one class session. And now, decades later, I look around and think, "I'd better get busy, really busy."With that prelude, and apologies to those weak of stomach or imagination—but this is not the time to be queasy—I approach Barbara Cassin's Sophistical Practice: Toward a Consistent Relativism. (...) Indeed, the paperback cover image is of a man knee deep in water, at the least, and he looks down reflectively, somberly, as if to ask: "Really? What to do?"When I first read Cassin's volume—a collection of previously... (shrink)