My somewhat knotty essay on Blanchot and time in modernism, communism and accelerationism is now available online via Diffractions Collective.
I think I wrote most of this with a fever — a common experience on a few commissions last year — and now, reading it back for the first time in about six months or something, I quite like the feverish subjective dissolution bubbling beneath the surface.
At first, I thought it was an essay that was slightly confused… Now I wonder how it could have honestly been anything but…
As Woolf would write from the depths of her novel’s templexity: “How to describe the world seen without a self? There are no words.” What an opportunity for the ever-present xenopoetics of late capitalism, for there is no time here either and, for capitalism, as for us, time is all there is.