I wake up wanting to sleep, I dream other lives that are not mine and wake up again wanting mine. At the end of the day it is hard to go back to sleep. I live in that way that I can barely close my eyes. I think a lot, I write too little. I have to learn something from Derrida and keep on writing, maybe I can understand the languages I speak with myself sometimes.

I like it here. It is a painfully unaccommodating place, but I can’t get enough of some seminars. I just want to talk and think with. I don’t intend to speak about, but “speak nearby”. And every time I want more, I want more, I don’t want it to be over. How can I make it last?

Isn’t this the moment when we start archiving? What is this mal d’archive? Why do we have this drive to secure what is soon to be lost(?)? Aren’t we driving it to its ‘house arrest’? What do we conserve, preserve, save? And what do we lose and destroy in doing so? Why don’t we stop? We’ve been here before, it is not the first archive we want to build.

“What is the limit of the archive?” Katherine’s still asking in my head.

I should better look at those archives to try and answer these questions. Indeed. And “write” everything down.

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