It was odd to find out today that he had died, and recently too, because what is time or recent, or death for that matter, when he had only really been words to me back in college, and words that I likely misunderstood, all the while engaged in the ecstasy of reading them. Did Jean Baudrillard ever even exist? Could that face possibly really exist in flesh and blood, taken with the digital camera, and replicated through this cyberspace. Was there a real Jean Baudrillard when he was born and later he stopped existing? What about where he lies now? If we robbed the grave would we perhaps find a series of notes written on cocktail napkins, a bundle of computer cords, a one dollar bill? Was the Paris that he died in “Paris” or more like that Paris at the end of the war. And where will he be buried there, if he is not incinerated, and does that fire burn, or is that just what has been said of fire. I am so glad I have relieved myself of this now, although surely I have still gotten it all wrong.
Was playing: My Body Is a Cage by
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