And the possessed object, haunted and visited by a spirit who was of language, born not from desire but from jouissance, beamed sentences and whispered with a Voice that was his, by all means, that the One exists in the Act, for, it is a sacrificial one- that is what he has said and then has fallen in silence so that the Other who infatuated him could articulate something, a mere Thing, through another voice, that which derives from the void of the subject: there is no Other of the Other but there is the Alien of the Other, the Ξένος: he has vocalised a song about desire, which, which is not of the Other but of the Breath, which cannot be said, and has disciplined, again with a voice that was not his own, those who have heard him, to identify with their own Breath because this is the way of the feminine and a semblance with consequences; and many, many, many and many, and too much of the many and of the sane same, have refused to abandon their beloved body for the sake of a Πνευματικόν Σῶμα, which, as soon as it actually enters the division marked by the mathematical bar in the fraction of the signifier, it does not need those elements reserved in loss of sight when the subject convenes the mirror, and the erogenous zones are abandoned to the saviour of the drive whose source, not of the σάρξ anymore for it has been dedicated to another rest and otherwise, have given leave to the subject of the Act: this is a dawn from desire and the father of the orphan, of that Ξένος who moves in perpendicular ways and not mysterious: it is the way of the Έναν Άλλο Παράκλητο because desire is not spoken but breathed.
And when the invented message has overflowed the manners of the atmosphere and even the of the firmament above the fantasy of the geological familiarity of the subject, it was dethroned that desire and its body, the Act, do not permeate under the function of partition as they have no relation to any parts and reproduction- they are One: the father of the Real is desire and there are no parts to be composed for this deus ex machine who offers its presence in acreaging in concert the subject of the Act whose scene is the cause in the world; and, furthermore, he has alleged, that possessed body, that the Act is one, for, its death is marked as soon as it is born: it is born dead and its destiny is not to repeat itself for it follows not the linearity of the signifiers: radical difference does not exist: because those types of interventions which might be called Acts cannot be compared with one another because there is no structure to these elements of the ethic called the Real- it is, indeed, a terrible think to listen to what one says.
And when the curse of numbers within the set argued and which, axiomatically, have received meaning through Pascal’s fundamental fantasy, is recaptured and reclaimed in a Miltonian approach by the desire of the God of psychoanalysts, who in all his honesty devotes miracles to the Letters, especially the α and the ω designating the birth and death of the Act, then, the access to the fantasy, to meaning and knowledge, occurs with the object stanching for loosing part of the subject, that which repression, for good or for evil, hold the subject to live into this world: how does the psychoanalyst know if, let us say, he has already cross the fantasy- and if this he is question has been marked by a castration, underprovided, as much as the feminine realm, and he is deficient of nothing in the real as much as a woman, where the only name of the father is desire, and the act the only division experience by the subject.
And the horseman who had no curse to carry upon the earth has arrived with empty hands, not having actually hands and neither a horse- and yet he was called a horseman- neither has it been verified if he was a man or a woman- and by a power bestowed upon to him by a saint who was not a doctor he has brought forth a speech: a number to the power of zero is always One- how correct you are my dear friend- and yet again the letter, that ignominious Aleph, to the power of zero is always an Act: the square root of desire is the act; the drive is royal but not loyal to the abetment of the One who is repeated but not of that One to emerge from the meaninglessness: the Letter becomes One when the subject has only his desire to hold together the fragmented body.