book

A resonating passage from a book I am reading by Helene Cixous called Hyperdream: "... at this point in the book I so ardently wish to begin to write the presentment of an intention contrary to that which I believe to be my main impulse steals over me, like an inexplicable intruder in a dream: perhaps within me the desire to put off that which I most in the world desire of late keeps watch, I mean, to write a book but a wounded book, a contentious, broken book, a book not pleased to be a book, to be only a book, to be born in the absence of my friend, a book incapable of acting as if the last times were not upon us, but which at the same time cannot act as if it were only a book hence a being unaware of the end, unaware what time it is."