A Story of the Eye/“I” the Parasitism of Postmodern Sociology

It’s incredible to be here. I never thought I’d be writing these words in prison and with such fear. It’s (k)not exactly that I hadn’t seen it coming. It was always already there in a way in my dreams. And in those unspeakable places of anxiety that ate me alive while at work or when watching television. And in the tightness of my throat during sex. For far too long I had treated these symptoms as no-thing but sliding signifiers. But tonight, from the perspective of terror in which I find myself imprisoned, I re-member these fleeting sensations as more complex and contradictory. These are (k)not discretely bound texts imagined while asleep in person. These are material prefigurations of what is most unspeakable and symptomatic. In and through HIStory. In and through my body. What’s going on? I ask this question economically, in the most general sense of the word. From my point of view, a human sacrifice, the construction of a church, the dangers of sharing the same needle, or the gift of a jewel were no less interesting than the sale of wheat, international armaments or junk bonds.2 What’s going on?