Here's a little something for your bowl, courtesy of Alain Badiou's short essay "On a Finally Objectless Subject". Be sure to use the cleaning tool beforehand, though, because it's on the massy side:
A subject is that which fends off the generic indiscernibility of a truth -- a truth it effectuates in discernible finitude by an act of naming that leaves its referent in the future anterior of a condition. A subject is thus, by the good graces of names/nouns, at once the real of the procedure (the assessor of the assessments) and the hypothesis of that which its unachieved result would introduce once again into presentation. A subject emptily names the universe yet-to-come that is obtained from the fact that an indiscernible truth supplements the situation. It is concurrently the finite real, the local stage of this supplementation. Naming is only empty insofar as it is pregnant with what its own possibility sketches out. A subject is the antonym of an empty idiom [langue]."I'm not always sure how many stamps to put on a letter, but I'd place this one just to the right of Curium. Remind me to tell you about that time I couldn't lift my head off the floor, yet somehow found myself packed into a VW bug with five others for a trip to Bertola's, where I ended up drinking one Long Island Iced Tea after another. Vive la liberté et la vie au rebours!
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You misspelled "Jean-Paul Belmondo."
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Electric Avenue
Think here of Bishop's man-moth -- trying to squeeze out of the tube the moon creates of the world he presently haunts more than he inhabits -- as an allegory of the poetizing act endeavoring to catch up with that future the near impossibility of which is at once that act's essence and the condition of its possibility. I would argue that every important poem she writes after "The Man-Moth" repeats its essential structure. As to the idea of the empty idiom, think of Ashbery's anticipation of the (im)possible future in terms of his constant retokening of banality and cliché.
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Re: Electric Avenue
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re Badiou
"Pregnant," the word, strikes me as ironic when used by theorizing men, but more importantly the term works in much the same way as "communism." Present and future are remade into a present-future, which is an impending horror (following WB Yeats and Derrida). The trope begs Freud in its anxiety of the feminine.