“A wound with blood or pus, or the sickly, acrid smell of sweat, of decay, does not signify death. In the presence of signified death - a flat encephalograph, for instance - I would understand, react, or accept. No, as in true theatre, without makeup or masks, refuse and corpses show me what I permanently thrust aside in order to live. These bodily fluids, this defilement, this shit are what life withstands, hardly and with difficulty, on the part of death. There, I am at the border of my condition as a living being. My body extricates itself, as being alive, from that border…The corpse is the utmost of abjection. It is death affecting life. Abject. It is something rejected from which one does not part, from which one does not protect oneself as from an object. Imaginary uncanniness and real threat, it beckons to us and ends up engulfing us.”—
Julia Kristeva, “Approaching Abjection” (via ghostremors)
yes! This! the abject is not about death but life. I keep getting feedback from a certain person all year long in my MA that she wonders if I should consider death. NO!