"I don't have any idea of myself, not even the kind that consist in the lack of an idea of myself.
I'am a nomad in my self -awareness. The herds of my inner riches scattered during the first watch
The only tradgedy is not being able to conceive of ourselves as tragic. I've always clearly seen that
I coexist with the world. I've never clearly felt that I needed coexist with it.
That's why I 've never been normal"
Fernando Pessoa- The Book of Disquiet
SMO©20012
What is immanence? A life... No one has described what a life is better than Charles Dickens,
if we take the indefinite article as an index of the transcendental. A disreputable man, a rouge,
held in contept by everyone, is found as he lies dying. Suddenly, those taking care of him manifest
an eagerness, respect, even love, for his slightest sign of life. Everybody bustles about to save
him, to point where, in his deepest coma, wicked man himself senses something soft and sweet
penetrating him. But to the degree that he comes back to life, his saviors turn colder, and he becomes
once again mean and crude. Between his life and his death, there is a moment that is only that of a
life playing with death. The life of the individual gives way to an impersonal and yet singular life
that releases a pure event freed from the accidents of internal and external life, that is , from
subjectivity and objectivity of what happens: a " Homo tantum " with whom everyone empathizesand who attains a sort of beatitude. It is a haecceity no longer individuation but of singularization: a life
of pure immanence, neutral, beyond godd and evil, for it was only the subject incarnated it in the midst
of things that made it good or bad. The life of such individuality fades away in favor of the singular
life immanent to a man who no longer has a name, though he can be mistaken for no other. A singular
essence, a life...*
if we take the indefinite article as an index of the transcendental. A disreputable man, a rouge,
held in contept by everyone, is found as he lies dying. Suddenly, those taking care of him manifest
an eagerness, respect, even love, for his slightest sign of life. Everybody bustles about to save
him, to point where, in his deepest coma, wicked man himself senses something soft and sweet
penetrating him. But to the degree that he comes back to life, his saviors turn colder, and he becomes
once again mean and crude. Between his life and his death, there is a moment that is only that of a
life playing with death. The life of the individual gives way to an impersonal and yet singular life
that releases a pure event freed from the accidents of internal and external life, that is , from
subjectivity and objectivity of what happens: a " Homo tantum " with whom everyone empathizesand who attains a sort of beatitude. It is a haecceity no longer individuation but of singularization: a life
of pure immanence, neutral, beyond godd and evil, for it was only the subject incarnated it in the midst
of things that made it good or bad. The life of such individuality fades away in favor of the singular
life immanent to a man who no longer has a name, though he can be mistaken for no other. A singular
essence, a life...*
Gilles Deleuze
Pure Immanence
