Have always found Kundera’s line ‘the unbearable lightness of being’ a very beautiful and accurate description of the general mess we find our selves in.

Feel the same about Deleuze’s notion that we’re all living on our own desert island, as something that ‘precedes beginning itself’, each moment constantly being completely new:

Those people who come to the island indeed occupy and populate it; but in reality, were they sufficiently separate, sufficiently creative, they would would give the island only a dynamic image of itself, a consciousness of the movement which produced the island, such that through them the island would in the end become conscious of itself as deserted and unpeopled. The island would be only the dream of humans, and humans, the pure consciousness of the island.

For this to be the case, there is again but one condition: humans would have to reduce themselves to the movement that brings them to the island, the movement which prolongs and takes up the élan that produced the island.

…In the ideal beginning anew there is something that precedes beginning itself, that takes it up to deepen it and delay it in the passage of time. The deserted island is the material of this something immemorial, this something most profound. (Deleuze ‘Desert Islands’)

As the enigmatic Leos Carax said at the end of a recent interview about his very amazing, and sort of disturbing ‘Merde’ (part of a trilogy about Tokyo, about a hazard wreaking man who lives in the sewer): ‘I travel, I read, I write, I have other lives,” he says. “But when I have a camera I know that’s my country, my island.”

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