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Words too can be wrung from us like a cry from that space which doesn’t seem to be the body nor a metaphor curving into perspective. Rather the thickness silence gains when pressed. The ghosts of grammar veer toward shape while my hopes still lie embedded in a quiet myopia from which they don’t want to arise. The mistake is to look for explanations where we should just watch the slow fuse burning. Nerve of confession. What we let go we let go.
There is horror in being: this horror is repugnant animality; this does not repel me, on the contrary, I thirst for it; far from escaping, I may resolutely quench my thirst with this horror … for this I have filthy words at my disposal, words that sharpen the feeling I have of touching on the intolerable secret of being … at this moment I no longer doubt that I am embracing the totality without which I was only outside: I reach orgasm.
Georges Bataille, The Accursed Share, translation by Rowan G. Tepper
How the words are. Suspended around you. And. Bones in the body.
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In a Dream You Saw a Way to Survive and You Were Full of Joy from Survival Series by Jenny Holzer, 1983-85 (published 1991)
Then People Forget You by Robert Heinecken, 1965
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Someone wants to cut a hole in you… from Living Series by Jenny Holzer, 1981
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When you’ve been someplace… from Living Series by Jenny Holzer, 1981
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Laugh hard at the… from Living Series by Jenny Holzer, 1983-1985
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