Hey, man! Oh, mhm…
Hi, Michel! This is really great news!
You published a new book!! Congratulations!!!
Thank you. But it’s not a new book.
And I didn’t want to have it published.
I didn’t want to have anything published
after my death.
“No posthumous publications” – that
was my last will.
Hm, I heard about it. We all heard about it…
But now another new book of yours is here!
Isn’t that great!?
– What’s it about? “Confessions of a chair,”
sounds like a somewhat juicy topic…
What a stupid joke. You’re really not funny
at all.
The French title is “Les aveux de la chair.”
And you know perfectly well that this translates into
“The Confessions of the Flesh.”
And the topic is not particularly juicy,
since I am dealing here with early Christian
discourses about sexuality.
I didn’t want to offend you.
Well, you did. And this here is also an offense.
This wasn't ready for print.
This really wasn’t ready for print. –
This wasn't ready for print either. -- All of this was not ready for print.
Remember when I said “they didn’t let
me die”?
This is precisely what I meant.
They turned me into a stupid publishing puppet,
a mysterious being with a foam-filled head
producing one book after the other…
Perhaps people out there simply continue to
be interested in your work?
I don’t care. I published enough books during
my lifetime.
The “people out there,” as you call them,
should read those books.
Then they would probably understand that they
are the puppets,
confirming the rules of academic power games
without even knowing it.
Perhaps they are the ones with foam in their
heads?
Yes, perhaps.
Thank you, Michel. Take care and bye, bye.
