Em America, o livro que Jean
Baudrillahrd escreveu em 1986 sobre as suas viagens aos EUA, a dada altura,
depois de considerações elaboradíssimas sobre a verticalidade barroca de Nova
Iorque ou sobre as máscaras primitivas dos seus transeuntes, diz isto:
«The number of people
here who think alone, sing alone and eat and talk alone in the streets is
mind-boggling. And yet they don’t add up. Quite the reverse. They subtract from
each other and their resemblance to one another is uncertain. Yet there is a certain
solitude like no other – that of the man preparing his meal in public on a wall,
or on the hood of his car, or along a fence, alone. You see that all the time
here. It is the saddest sight in the world. Sadder than destitution, sadder
than the beggar is the man who eats alone in public. Nothing more contradicts
the laws of man or beast, for animals always do each other the honor of sharing
or disputing each other’s food. He who eats alone is dead (but not he who
drinks alone. Why is this?)».
Adoro esse livro. E, curiosamente, ainda me lembro bem dessa passagem deliciosa. Parece o Deleuze a dizer que comer é algo que lhe mete nojo, mas já beber não - isto no Abecedário...
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