“I must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on. I must say words, as long as there are any, I must say them, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange fault, I must go on, perhaps it’s already done, perhaps they have already said me, perhaps they have already carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens onto my story, it would surprise me if it opened.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable
The one who sees the whole… the other who veils everything…
With the Moon Child, words are not mastered; they come, or rather… they must come, and one finds oneself in an almost inverted position from what is usually imagined: it is not he who says the words, it is the words that end up saying him. There is thus, in him, a very singular ontology of speech. The world does not exist there as a set of well-established things that language would come to name. It exists rather as what only comes to be at the edge of what can be said. The real is not the quiet object of language… it is what resists being said and appears only through that resistance. This is why the Moon Child touches so deeply upon the question: “I wonder whether the world exists in the same way as words.” With him, precisely, no. The world does not exist like words; but we have access to it only through the struggle of words with their own insufficiency. The world is what exceeds them, and yet can only be approached through their movement.
With the Moon Child, words are not mastered; they come, or rather… they must come, and one finds oneself in an almost inverted position from what is usually imagined: it is not he who says the words, it is the words that end up saying him. There is thus, in him, a very singular ontology of speech. The world does not exist there as a set of well-established things that language would come to name. It exists rather as what only comes to be at the edge of what can be said. The real is not the quiet object of language… it is what resists being said and appears only through that resistance. This is why the Moon Child touches so deeply upon the question: “I wonder whether the world exists in the same way as words.” With him, precisely, no. The world does not exist like words; but we have access to it only through the struggle of words with their own insufficiency. The world is what exceeds them, and yet can only be approached through their movement.
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