11 May 2015

Empty Set


'In this anonymous territory of literary imagination—where identity disintegrates and all authors become shadowlike, where all voices become masks of an impersonal nightwalker consciousness—to cite names at the outset would be to enter into a profound theoretical inconsistency… In essence, their enigmatic tonality, its madness and its fever, its hallucination and its amnesia, descends from the fact that they do not write as writers: they forget this designation with relentless precision (this is their own admission), erasing all self-awareness as a unitary, enclosed being, and instead becoming a faceless engraver, for this exhaustion is the very master code of their originality, the threshold of a previously untouched sphere.'
Mohaghegh

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