Japan (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a place of decentered geography, non-subjectivity and elaborate surfaces without depth.

Japan (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a semiotic system, an exercise to experience cultural difference on an abstract level.

Japan (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a country in which the labor of a gift is in in the packaging, and thereby the object loses its existence, becomes a mirage: from envelope to envelope, the signified flees, and when you finally have it, it appears insignificant, laughable, vile. The package is not empty, but emptied: to find the object which is in the package or the signified which is in the sign is to discard it.

Japan (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠where all fabricated objects have three features: precise, mobile, and empty — empty in that every citizen in the street has some sort of bundle - package, such, sack, valise, linen wrapping — an empty sign, energetically protected, vigorously transported, as if the finish, the framing, the hallucinatory outline of the Japanese object is destined to a generalized transport.

Structuralism (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a way of analysing cultural artifacts as a product of codes, or underlying systems of rules and distinctions.

Structuralism (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠an activity of taking the real, decomposing it, and then recomposing it to make something appear which was previously unintelligible. What appears is nothing but a kind of intelligible which is not the object, but man himself, his history, his situation, his freedom, and the very resistance which nature offers to his mind.

Structuralism (n.) does ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not discover but rather reconstructs an object to make it intelligible.

Structuralism's (n.) logical ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠continuation is to cease to posture as a science, to rejoin literature, no longer as an 'object' of analysis but as the activity of writing.

Structuralism (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠differentiated from semiology in that semiology is often reserved for his work on sign systems, whereas structuralism is more frequently employed in his analysis of literary narratives.

A Biographeme (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a partial biographical feature in a writer's life which delights one much like that partial object, the photograph.

The Biographeme (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the minimal unit of biographical discourse just as the morpheme is to linguistic analysis and the mytheme to mythical analysis.

The Biographeme (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a fragment that points to the essence of a life.

The Biographeme (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠that in a biography which reaches out of the text and touches, just as the photo reaches out of the photograph and pricks.

The Biographeme (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a poet's conception.

The Biographeme (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠certain biographical features which, in the life of a writer, enchant one like certain photographs.

A Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠always invisible, it is not it that we see.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠always a certificate of presence.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a mad image, a temporal hallucination that caricatures not figure, but time itself. It is a hallucination on the one hand in that 'it is not there,' on the other 'but it has indeed been'.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a motionless image... this does not mean only that the figures it represents do not move... it means that they do not emerge and they do not leave: They are anesthetized and fastened down, like butterflies.

A Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a partial object, a collection of little features which delight and which are able to flatter certain fetishes in us.

A Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠always invisible: It is not it that we see. It is like the windowpane and the landscape.

The Photograph (n.) is, ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠as an image, a message without a code.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠literally an emanation of the referent. From a real body, which was there, proceed radiations which ultimately touch me, who am here... the duration of the transmission is insignificant... the photograph of the missing being, as sontag says, will touch me like the delayed rays of a star.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a thing which, in order to see it well, it is best to look away or close your eyes.

The Photograph's (n.) immobility ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is somehow the result of a perverse confusion between two concepts: The real and the live: By attesting that the object has been real, the photograph surreptitiously induces belief that it is alive, because of that delusion which makes us attribute to reality an absolute superior, somehow eternal value... but by shifting this reality to the past ('this-has-been'), the photograph suggests that it is already dead.

The Photograph's (n.) rise ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠corresponds precisely to the explosion of the public into the private... or rather into the creation of a new social value, which is the publicity of the private: The private is consumed as such, publicly.

The Photograph (n.) is, ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠for the realist, not a 'copy' of reality, but an emanation of past reality, a magic, not an art.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a thing which to look at is really to look at the return of the dead.

The Photograph (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠violent: Not because it shows violent tings, but because on each occasion it fills the sight by force( and because in it nothing can be refused or transformed (that we can sometimes call it mild does not contradict its violence: Many say that sugar is mild, but to me sugar is violent, and I call it so).

The Photograph (n.) is, ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠when looked at, the advent of oneself as other. It is a cunning dissociation of consciousness from identity.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a utensil which tirelessly performs the gesture that creates the mouthful.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a utensil whose function is to divide, to divide not by violating the foodstuff through cutting and piercing, but by separating, parting, pecking, unraveling, prodding in a manner that rediscovers the natural fisures of the substance.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a utensil by which, unlike the knife and fork, food becomes no longer a prey to which one does violence, but a substance harmoniously transferred.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a utensil that never pierces, cuts, or slits, never wounds but only selects, turns, shifts.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a utensil which, by way of contrast, reveals Western manners as that of predation, an activity we come to armed with pikes and knives.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a utensil whose loveliest function is not to pinch, but to transfer food, either as a support (supporting a clump of rice from below), or as a scoop (scooping from bowl to lips).

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠in harmony with oriental food; the foodstuffs are cut up so they can be grasped by the sticks, but also the chopsticks exist because the foodstuffs are cut into small pieces.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not about piercing food, but about pinching it, or something more maternal than pinching, taking as it does the measured care taken in moving a child.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not just about carrying the food from the plate to the mouth; it possesses also a deietic function: it points to the food, designates the fragment, brings into existence by the very gesture of choice.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠representative of a convergence of the tiny and the esculent: things are not only small in order to be eaten, bur are also comestible in order to fulfill their essence, which is smallness.

Chopsticks (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the converse of our knife and fork in that they refuse to cut, to pierce, to mutilate, to rip.