Time of Image is Gone
The time of the image is gone. We believed an image opened a window onto the world. Now the window has swallowed the room. My camera is my eye, and my eye is a sexual organ. I close my eyes to see what remains: my desires, drawn in the red of blood passing through closed eyelids. Maybe the last image is the one we do not take, but the one that appears in this closing. An image that resists circulation, and returns us to desire.
