…: Do you guess what happened last night in my house.
Barthes: No! How can I guess it? I was not there by this time. Tell me what happened in last night.
…: I was reading you.
Barthes: “Reading me?” You again pick the wrong word. You cannot read me. Nobody can do this. It is not possible for you to read me, when you read anybody actually you read your own. I think you were reading you in excuse of reading me. Anyway, mind my language; so far I know you are not interested to read me, thousands time you say that when you open me…
…: Sorry, now you are choosing the wrong word. How could it is possible that I could “opening you”! Nobody could do that sans the surgeon. We appointed the medical person to dissect your bodied existence in Operation Theater and perhaps he has a right to cut you in the morgue, when you are no longer existed to see that he is dissecting you. You could say I am opening your text to read, and that strange event was happening in last night.
Barthes: Hmm! You are going clever day-by-day. Words are playful in nature and I like to puzzle me by these. You can muzzle you by receiving the words beyond doubt and maybe not. I prefer the “not”, because “not” is the open-line for any words to be twisted.
For instance at this moment you twisted me by my words. However, I bit strange to imagine that you are reading my text sans any gapes. You tell me many times before that you are not fond of reading any book; instead, it is easier for you to yawning that sleeping is better than reading. I think it is not bad at all.
Words are repetitive because that we are repetitive. Our birth to the world and action of the bodied mind are repetitive. We are the replication of replication, so it is impossible to avoid the replicas we are living on it.
Reading any text is meaningless when you are opening it for reading. You cannot read a book or anything what is readable in any extent. What you could do is that, you could imagine the imprinted words with a new glance and twisted them by your own approval. I hate the criticism of any words but prefer to twist the words like any critic. Words are born for narratives but the narratives are born to falsify the unique meaning. You falsify the “unique” by your own twisted juggling and it is a genesis, an endless genesis of uncertain meaning.
However, tell me what happened in your house last night, and how it was possible for you at last to read my text. I am strange to hear that you read me at last! Is it least possible that you read me? Sorry, I am again quoting “me” instead of “my text”, and I am deliberately doing this by the moment. Since my pen tips the syllable in an order and it is undeniable that when I tip any syllable I also tip myself.
Anyway, you can easily imply and elide me as your choice of imagination. You have right to imagine my words by your own choice of imagine and think. Reading is a playful game of extermination and I never mind if anybody exterminates my existence by the way.
It is interesting that at last you open my book to read. Tell me, what was the feeling? Did you capable to read the words by forget me? It is an urgency to forget the playful writer when you are playful to twist him. I bit interested to know what you were doing when you read, sorry again to repeat the word, “me”.
…: Thanks for your curiosity, but the fact I wish to tell you was not like that. I was reading you in dream and not really. You were staring me in dream as you are staring in the photograph from the half-opened door. Your glance was lightening up by the soft rays and that was coming from the outer world, but the background, from where you were standing for staring to the world, it was dark by shadows.
I don’t know why, it seemed to me that you are telling me to read something, which is deliberately misleading to explain the outer world. You were not provoking me to read your text by the mysterious eyesight, it could be anything, maybe the big trees or the movies and or anything that is visible to see.
You know I love to read people face rather to read the books, especially their footsteps in a busy street on half-hearted mood. I think feet are the signature of people’s mind and François Truffaut correctly read this in his film “The Man Who Loved Women”. Albeit I didn’t feel any interest to read your book “Mythologies”, but I know you have a great interest to read the hidden sign of people’s daily interest and interaction.
You are an aggressive reader of people’s artful activities on performing stage to commercial advertisement, but not the people, whom you treated as mass. Once you quoted your view about the mass culture, as far I remember you quoted the words in an interview that:-
“The bastard form of mass culture is humiliated repetition… always new books, new programs, new films, news items, but always the same meaning.”
Your view reflects your opposition to the repetition. You always try to playful by distorting the meaning; so that nobody could claim the meaning as new, since meaning is a repetitive game of meaning, instead of you want to calling it distortion of sign by the distorted signer and that could be distorted by other signatory.
Your side-glance in my dream told me to read something that is not repetitive and not to be obedient to its meaning. It seems to me that the oblique angle of your eyebrows provoked me to jump on the beginning, from where the meaning of anything was begins to wait broken by the next. It was very tough for me to choose anything that could be readable in the out-of-definition that it is virgin and still faithful to its virginity. Words are not virgin. They are banal and always trustable to serve the fiddling activities of mass people. They are just faithful communicator between the word and action of human’s.
Repetition is necessary if you want to communicate other on the bridge that it will not break suddenly. People feel comfort when they are seeing them such certainty that could longer in some extent. They are not like to tangle them with the words that could fragment by the moments change. Words are repetitive because that we are repetitive. Our birth to the world and action of the bodied mind are repetitive. We are the replication of replication, so it is impossible to avoid the replicas we are living on it.
Your tricky side-glance in the dream tried to take a photograph of anything I like to focus, but the condition was that it could not be repetition of the same old photograph, —taken by the other. Everything in this world is categorical “in order and discipline”, even the dream is a categorical reflection of reality, —clearly ordered and disciplined despite its blurry face. It was hard for me to choose anything in this out-of-order.
Suddenly some words reflect on my mind in the dream. When you were busy to write down your view about Photography in “Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography”, you quoted a paragraph from there, where you tried to say that:-
“Ultimately —or at the limit —in order to see a photograph well, it is best to look away or close your eyes. ‘The necessary condition for an image is sight, ‘Janouch told Kafka; and Kafka smiled and replied: ‘We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.”
I remembered the summary of these words and came to the decision that I will read your text in the dream. Perhaps it will help me to read my own “self” to understand that why the words are so complicated to deliver the new sign of meaning, and why they are not looking “new” despite our artful effort to the world.
I started reading your text in the dream but the story was not ending there. The main story begins after that. I come here today to tell you the actual story happened in last night at my house.
Continued to the next part link: Behind the lens, A snippet chatting with Roland Barthes in dream, Part_2