There must be a kind of violence in reading. Poetry scares philosophers. So there's a question to ask there. I am content. That jibes with what I think about accident, for example, about the possibility of writing, about reading the world uniquely via this thread, this knife edge that is accident.
Accident is the legible's only possibility.
Speaking about the island a while ago, you were saying that birth and death are what come to pass the most conspicuously and the most brutally. I want to say that the whole of philosophy can only find its bearings between these two accidents, even though it never touches either. It falls short, if I dare say so. It's where philosophy encroaches upon these two shapeless accidents about which nothing can be said. I'm feeling a little sluggish. . .