Absence: amor fati
She would be such, there would be no need to write about her. The
writing would only be about writing about her. (Like now?)
She would be the subject of my only writing. My only writing would have
to proceed impersonally.
She would be such, there would be no need to use the paradigm verbs
“must” and “need not” in writing about her.
She would be one of the themes of my only writing about the beings of
her sex. (However, that sex would only be grammatical.)
She would give rise to interpretations that would push her into the
realm of pure fiction or metaphor.
She would be such from the first moment.
She would be a real metaphor but only if someone — a person possibly
squeezable into what we designate by the personal pronoun “I” —
would guide her through the bridge of transcription.
She would be, of course, an ambiguous metaphor: its metaphorised
presence, enchanted into script, would not clarify in the least whether
the writing was about a higher or a lower thing.
She would really be enchanted, and therefore: there would be: a castle,
a knight, a dragon. Perhaps what we call “I” could be that knight.
She would be a manifestation of existence closely connected with the
dynamism of grammatical relations. Those relations, those tangles,
would stand for seven dragons’ heads.
She would be something that would exceed such a manifestation, passing
through seven grades of maturing.
She would stand outside syntactic relations, although the writing
about her would arise as the consequence of the ability to create such
relations. (The castle.)
She would be imaginary only insofar as the properties of the language in
which she is written, read and spoken about, are imaginary.
She would be contained completely and fully only in her absence,
wherever it might be manifest.
© Peter Macsovszky, Trial Autopsy (Drewo a srd, 1997), translated by Marián Andričík