Look, O naked watchman, the world begins again.

It falls, it laughs, it burns, it is reborn with constancy.
The sea neither repents nor ever makes a promise;
It rolls its laws upon the wicked breakers.
Fire takes what is given to it and returns what it devours,
Smoke is memory, and the blaze grows still.
Circuses come and go, return, change harbors;
They die amid cries and live without effort.

To speak of the world’s insistence is not to say that the world is there, nor even that it appears. It is to say that it never ceases to be there, that it never withdraws enough for something new to happen.
So it is with the circus and with Sang Chaud’s world.
For him, suddenly, the world — even empty — is no longer a stable given; it has become what opens within the event, what takes form at the core of existence, especially when existence is struck, surprised, displaced.
Now, insistence is precisely what opposes this opening: it is a presence without play, a presence unable any longer to fall silent.
Sang Chaud wants no more of it.
“The world insists when it no longer welcomes man, but holds him.
The enchantment is over. I no longer want to be held in a role that degrades me.
That old world does not call me: it keeps me.”
To insist is not to appear. One must distinguish rigorously between appearance and insistence.
Appearance requires distance, an originary withdrawal from which something can offer itself as such. This withdrawal is not a lack, but a condition of hospitality: the world makes room.
Insistence, on the contrary, is presence without withdrawal.
“The world of Don Carotte, and therefore mine, is everywhere, always already there, without depth and without horizon. I no longer want it!”
What insists does not appear: it occupies.
“The world is no longer an opening, but a continuous surface upon which existence slides without ever finding support.”
Thus, insistence is a form of saturation of the phenomenon.
In Sang Chaud’s mind — suddenly transformed, almost scholarly — he thinks like Henri Maldiney:
“The pathological is not first a failure of representation, but an alteration in the relation to the world.
The world’s insistence belongs to this region.
When the world insists, there is no longer a threshold.
The outside disappears.
One no longer feels silence.
Everything is already there, before man can even expose himself to it.”
Existence is no longer a response to what arrives, but a management of what never ceases.
This insistence produces an ontological fatigue: not the fatigue of acting, but the fatigue of being exposed without event.
For Maldiney, the event is what cannot be foreseen, what breaks the world’s continuity and lets a new possibility of being arise.
Insistence is the event’s radical enemy.
Sang Chaud, until now, repeats himself.
Illusory double of Sancho Panza, he doubles himself yet again…
Companion to a Don Carotte, distant ghost of Quixote, he endlessly confirms himself.
The story loops. Nothing happens, and yet something weighs.
This weight is not that of history, but that of empty permanence.
Man is no longer exposed to the event, but assigned to continuity.