“We cannot even say that Kafka rejected his work because he judged it morally bad , or unfaithful co the message he wanted co deliver, or inferior to the silence.” – He might have wanted to destroy it simply because he considered it imperfect in literary terms. How does one distinguish between the messenger who says, “Pay no accencion to my message,” and the artist who declares, “My work is a failure, let it be destroyed”? In one sense, the artist alone has the right to make such a decision. The messenger is not master of his words; even if they are bad, chey are beyond his control, for that might be their very meaning, to be bad; aU that one is able to grasp is rhac the will to destroy it may be incorporated in the message itself: the secret desire ofspeech is to be lost, but chis desire is a vain one and speech is never lost. What is strange is not only chat so many writers believe their entire existence is devoted co che act of writing, but chat by devoting themselves co it, they still give birch to works that are masterpieces only from the aesthetic point of view, which is precisely che point of view they condemn. Moreover, the very ones who wanr co give a fundamental meaning to their activiry, a search that implies the whole of our condition, succeed only in carrying chis activiry through by reducing it to the superficial meaning they exclude, the creation of a work well done, and this creation forces chem, at least momentarily, co separate themselves from existence, co disengage themselves, co lose: interest in it. “Write with blood,” said Zarathustra, “and you will learn that blood is mind.” But it is the opposite that is tru~: one writes with the mind and one chinks one is bleeding. Kafka himself: “I will not give way to fatigue, I will dive completely into my story, even ifl gash my face. ” – Maurice Blanchot. The Work of Fire Meridian Crossing Aesthetics 1995 http://ift.tt/1Vj89ie

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