Corps sans Orgues et Amour (English)

Deleuze et Guattari
She had a pregnant pause that only literature could confess.

Georges Bataille, Literature and Evil

Sory now rewriting(2022年12月30)

When the Catholic Mass begins, there is always time to reflect on one’s ‘evil’. How many of us really have a clear view of our own heart while we look back there? The human mind is multi-layered and polysemous. It is not an easy thing to do. The Catholic Church is not meant to be a ‘building’. The agape Jesus is the heart and the believer is the ‘body’. That is why the ‘body’ needs to ask its heart before Mass. That mind is Jesus. It ‘thinks’ by repeating differences in self-awareness and cognition. Even if the prayer is the same every day, that time never comes back. Like ‘introspection’, which was the beginning of psychology, it is a religious kneeling and return to the primitive.

In 2018 I came back from the brink of death; in 2019 Adam the cat came into our home. His presence was a ray of light that came into my life. To touch the blue eyes that pooled light, the mystery of life, was a step away from death for me. The beginning of life from now on gave me a budding. Since when did the world plan for this child to be born, I had no way of knowing the plan for this little soul to be born. In the past I could not wait for happiness to come this way. Like Osamu Dazai’s schoolgirl, ‘I waited and waited for happiness, and finally, unable to hold back, I ran out of the house’, reflecting the nature of people who could not wait for the generation of time. (According to Deleuze, the daily repetition is the repetition of difference, and the failure to wait for the generative change of new things to come.)

 Whereas Bergson said that time is connected, Hume said that time is disconnected.

The being I am has no substance. I am nothing but a ‘theatre’ in which perceptions appear and disappear, a ‘bundle of perceptions'”.

Deleuze incorporates both Bergson and Hume. For me, ‘expectation’ is Bergsonian and judgement is Humean. For Christians in particular, everything is a deus ex machina, a cycle of returning to the Bergsonian. Deleuze is again collating the time frames that Hume worked on. In the first time, Deleuze is ‘present’ and the time of sensibility, based on Augustine’s theory of time. In the second time, it is the time of memory, the past and Bergsonian. The third time is also known as Thanatos (desire for death) and is future, Nietzschean. This implies an infinite ‘straight line’. Deleuze was also drawing on Bergson in Augustine with regard to the first time. What becomes important in this is ‘repetition and difference’, but ‘repetition is Hume’s famous assertion that nothing changes in the thing that repeats itself, but something changes in the contemplation of repetition, and the reading of a story (literature) is at the heart of this.

Consider the stages of a novel before it is considered a reading. First there is the author’s time-line, the completed work, which is read, and then it is read by a third person who repeats it. The quality of the person’s voice and performance, which may not completely match that of the author, nor may they be able to play the part of the story. Readings have a different appeal from voice acting. The ‘signifier’ that Deleuze did not disregard may also be the sentence. Writing is a series of sensations, but it is also a symbol. A voice actor acting does not try to make a text remain a text. It means that the images and characters try to come alive. Sometimes, it may even smack of life lessons. A reading, by contrast, is different. Just as Jean Renoir’s ‘acting instruction’ suppresses emotions and bars and inspires the actor, a reading is not about becoming a character or setting the scene for a work. It gives the reader imagination from a unique perspective while maintaining both the chain of images and symbols of the text. It is not the author’s voice, nor the voice of the characters, but the symbols they represent that speak.

So what if it is not read out loud by a human voice, but by a machine? I reflected back on Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of the ‘body without organs’. Today’s Vocaloids have become so precise that they are indistinguishable from the human voice, but they lack the vital breathing.

An organless body is not inorganic. Even if it is stripped down to symbols, it still must not forget to breathe. This is also what philosophy itself tries to be a living discipline. It is a language, but it must not be inorganic. Just as Deleuze and Guattari wrote about writing together, with concepts moving autonomously in a space between them that was neither, so author and reader are bound together without seemingly having the same roots. They are the creation of two beings that have no boundaries and waver.

Narratives continue to breathe invisibly behind the symbols. I think that what makes this world possible is a symbol that is a symbol, but a breathing symbol at the same time.

Descartes’ ‘I think, therefore I am’ also begins to exist by being aware that one’s heart is beating, but this is not always the case with art. In the real world, we do not check to see if the hearts of the people we pass by are beating, but art was meaningless unless it made us want to see the other person’s heart beating.First, the existence of a work of art is a first time, living a habit, while having a second time.Second, the existence of a work of art is a second time, living a habit, while having a first time. After all, you cannot love yourself in the moment. Habits and achievements, the accumulation of the past, leave behind only a seemingly ‘present’ production. The date of publication, the date of publication, is shown, but if you delve into the history of the symbols of those years, you will find that people will perceive the time line in a more complex way. And a work of art lives a third time in the end. It passes through death and becomes a linear time entity. Why is it a loss when a masterpiece is damaged? It starts with the fact that the artist’s soul is only seen in the body after death. To place the value of a human being solely on his or her body and while he or she is alive is not ultimately valuing the person.

People have forgotten the importance of posthumous paintings because of the high price paid for them. As the saying goes, “Man shall not live by bread alone.”
As the saying goes, a person’s value includes what is beyond his or her body. I do not value only my body and soul. I believe that everything around me represents my existence.

It is obvious that what constitutes me need not be my organ, but it is constituted by the other, and that is the only explanation for ‘otherness’ and ‘polysemy’. By the other I exist, it is not so. For the body without organs is ‘unidimensionality’. René Chérère, who further delved into Deleuze’s term nomadism, took the selfhood itself, in which I am me, as a new image and said that through the constant hospitality of the Other, I deviate from my fixed self-identity and generate myself into the Other. It is not only the assertion of self-territory and belonging, but also the hospitality of the Other, which is also ‘love’.

Love, to return to the story of Jesus’ apostles, was rich in diversity. God’s love would be for anyone at random if the only purpose was conversion. This is because if conversion is the only purpose, it is enough to force them by force. That is unity without the love of God. Jesus did not force his apostles’ hearts by violence or brainwashing. In testimony to this, Judas betrayed Jesus, and Peter said he did not know Jesus. If Jesus was brainwashing, none of that would have happened. And anyone who understands modern religion knows that liking Paul does not separate him from Jesus.

They are ‘unities’ connected by love (agape).

Future philosophy will go further, confronting religion, but if we trace back to the source, we find that they are like one with each other, and that these two beings are also ‘bodies without organs’. Confining each part to a certain role, it has meant mutual decline. When religion dominated, it was important to get out of it. However, the same invisible precepts have been created for the non-religious as well. With this trapped perception, the perception of love is constantly distorted. The same applies to philosophy. A philosopher who has never read the Bible is, after all, accompanied by Deleuze’s ‘stupidity’. The possibility of diverse combinations must seek new conjunctions.

Deleuze and Guattari may also have embodied the ‘body without organs’. The two contrasting figures became rhizomes (eternally identical rhizomes) between conjunction and separation, and succeeded in becoming the kind of ‘being’ that I can hold in my hands today. Philosophy is not a mere inorganic treatise. It gives pleasure to reason and intellect from generation to generation. It must be the same with the love of God.

 In 2018, that line, similar to Dazai’s “because I can no longer write”, made me experience a false third time. In the midst of all this, at the end of 2020, I met someone with a beautiful voice. It was so beautiful that I wanted her to read something for me to try. So I suggested that she read Dazai Osamu, from his critique of Dazai, which she had been working on before the accident in 2018. The famous line, ‘Mine has been a life of much shame’ – that’s where we began.

There was no visual information in the recorded reading. However, his voice seemed to lend itself to recitation. For me, at least, more than hearing and little linguistic information, synaesthesia was about to be created. It brings with it colours, music and even scents. His voice was not just a trendy voice, there was subtlety in his voice and an impermanence deep within the gentle personality that was apparent. His voice generated an imagery of different emotions in me. The world of words was not simply visible, and the words of the great writers of the past could not replace his recitation. He just fascinated me with the invisible everyday life. Just as the scenery I always see looks different, just by putting his voice to beautiful music, the music becomes my own personal ‘sound’ and memory. Music and literature, which were beautiful when listened to alone, became my own personal ‘sound’ and memory. The addition of others, the generation of which was the ideal formation of the world.

 He has always chosen to read only words that have some love and light in them. The destination of the literary world is not to change people. It is to empower people’s thinking. Words can empower people in all kinds of ways. Words and silence, in silence I gaze into the abyss. His and my abysses are never connected. We have different ‘roots’. Yet we become unities.

Recently, I was asked to read ‘God bless you’. It is well known that Jesus’ choice of apostles was not outstanding, except for John, but it seems that he didn’t need even more people who could perfectly embody God’s teachings. Why was this the case with Jesus? It was because he always wanted ‘hospitality’. That is why the soul must ‘confess’ at the beginning of Mass. Just as Jesus is connected to those who pray, even though they are apart. May you be able to understand the Bible reading and the role one day, even if you don’t understand the meaning, even in the ‘bar reading’. Always remember that the Bible is a way of life.

‘God bless you’ is a phrase I like very much. I told a friend of mine who died of an absurdity that God had blessed him. So much so that I have chosen this word carefully and have never taken it lightly. I let him read a lot of things to me because I sincerely wanted to bless him. I hope that God’s love will be extended to him and that he will realise it. How we, with different roots, are generated, was in a dark dream. It loves without any lasting plan, even on days when I don’t want to think about anything, even in the darkness when I am tired and can’t think of anything.

God bless you.

We are feeble but strong.
We have the poorest talent.
Just until the day we can be in the past tense.
God bless you.


ジョルジュ・バタイユ 「文学と悪」

























処女作品の「Pangaea Doll」を器官なき身体と評価された。


Liberation Theology and Existence.(English)

(movie: Japanese)
La vulnérabilité des choses précieuses est belle parce que la vulnérabilité est une marque d’existence.

Something of value is vulnerable and helpless, and it's beautiful. Because their weakness is a sign of their existence.

Simone Weil
La Pesanteur et Grâce(Coincidences)

“The right way to write is to write like you’re translating…The right way to write is to write as though you were translating, without adding anything”, wrote Simone Weil in a letter to Gustave Dupont.

Just as there is always an idea in the world of writing, there is also an invisible beauty in the imagery that spreads out of writing. You must see what is unnecessary, even if it is painful,The evidence for existence is inside, the scraped remains.

However, it must seize one of God’s graces: the healing of time. This is a solitary task, but mixture of emotions there is a given. I did not think much of the fact that a certain monk asked for salvation from the Catholics before it was ordained. In her difficult circumstances, she first sought help from the church. So, in contrast to Catholic doctrine, it was rejected. After her ordination, the woman remained popular for her humorous vision of human Kleshas.  An older man who respected her and was also a writer encouraged me to visit her. He said that she had written responses to a great deal of public criticism and that she would be tolerant and would accept. When I was there, I was told they would look at my manuscript, but since I was Catholic, they would not.

After the result, I kept asking myself wonder to oneself in the cold February air.

My soul crashed then, but day after day I became increasingly able to understand the situation in which I found myself in this difficult situation.

I wondered who had alienated her when the one she had asked for was not a man but a god.

Those who have not saved her in her time of need demand that the soul be reconciled.

In fact, as I did, a man in distress is in a very difficult situation, and the words that come out of his body are sometimes incoherent and You can’t judge what emerges from the body.

Can we open the door for one soul without being deceived by words and appearances?

It is not easy. People despair of being forsaken in a difficult situation because they think their soul has been forsaken. Last year the Catholic Church and the bishops helped me through a very difficult situation. If I look back, there was no benefit to them in accepting me then, but they did. When I think about what that means, I understand. I imagine myself in another parallel line, where I didn’t get the relief of being saved. Some will benefit from it and some will not.

A narrow gate, a door that rarely opens, a “crossing “.

It’s always in the fate. We would like to eliminate it as much as possible, but coincidences are created.

Always a series of “coincidences” becomes destiny.

We need the “theology of liberation” that originated in South American Catholicism.

Neither the clergy nor the laity should be the door which closes between a man in trouble and Jesus. In moments of distress, the soul makes its own record and Great reconciliation takes time for the soul.

This time is given by the Lord. The vaguely given time is inorganic, but the given time of God is sure. Knowing weakness and suffering the reconciliation of the soul, this is the time of God.

Die Liebende‐Rainer Maria Rilke(English)

The image of a man, a thought that I, the other, cannot imagine from its trivial aspect,I think of words that I record time and thought. If I could understand every casual look, the light that comes through the window, the changing emotions, I would feel happy. So I realize what I think is beautiful and what it means to be born. I love everything I love. I hate it, but I love it.

Chris Kyogetu


Rilke’s “My darling”, Das ist mein Fenster, “This is my window”, starts with the inevitable awakening of her inner self and a look at the unconscious exterior. This is Eben bin ich so sanft erwacht… “I just woke up”, a gentle, relaxing moment, like a sprinkling of white powder.

“In the day-to-day life of a person like the window, “Bis wohin reicht mein Leben” (Where will my life reach?), and the eternity of the night and the universe, and the dream.

Ich könnte meinen, alleswäre noch Ich ringsum; (I feel that everything around me is still me), and thus loses the frontier between the interior and the exterior. Is both a bond and an obstacle to the outer world in this poem? She’s falling for him. and across the side world whereas his feelings and awareness of him as “objectivity from outside the window” But this is her reflection. Her existence is “inside” the window. Whether expectant or anxious, the waking ‘now’ is simply her being inside the open window.

I don’t know the details of the “I” relationship with that other person, but the fact that the other person is in my heart means that my beloved is not a quiet presence standing in the depths of my consciousness. My analysis of the poem is that it is a window on the outside world, without any intervention or controller (e.g. God) between ‘me’ and the ‘loved one’.

The original reality is the margin in which the poem ends. The world of empty margins, where nothing is written, exists for the poet independent of his own spirit, and when the poet enters into the spirit of a person, It ​means it changes the reader’s vison. If the window becomes special as of this day, it is a success.

It is beautiful to see the interior growth and the interior finesse.

I believe that a beautiful poem is beautiful, even in its borders. 


The Lover

That is my window. A moment ago

I woke up so softly.

I thought I would float.

To where does my life extend,

and where does the night begin?

I could think that everything

were still me all around;

translucent as a crystal’s

depths, darkened, dumb.

I could also contain the stars

inside me still; so large

does my heart appear to me; so gladly

it released him away again

whom I began perhaps to love,

perhaps began to hold.

Strange, as something never-described

my fate looks at me.

For what am I laid under this


fragrant as a meadow,

moved here and there,

calling out at the same time and afraid

that someone will hear the call,

and determined to find my downfall

in another.

R. M. Rilke

Die Liebende ( Rainer Maria Rilke ) 訳・Chris

Das ist mein Fenster. Ebenbin ich so sanft erwacht.

Ich dachte, ich würde schweben.

Bis wohin reicht mein Leben,und wo beginnt die Nacht?

Ich könnte meinen, alleswäre noch Ich ringsum;

durchsichtig wie eines Kristalles Tiefe, verdunkelt, stumm.

Ich könnte auch noch die Sterne fassen in mir, so groß

scheint mir mein Herz; so gerne ließ es ihn wieder los

den ich vielleicht zu lieben,vielleicht zu halten begann.

Fremd, wie niebeschrieben sieht mich mein Schicksal an.

Was bin ich unter diese Unendlichkeit gelegt,

duftend wie eine Wiese, hin und her bewegt,

rufend zugleich und bange, daß einer den Ruf vernimmt,

und zum Untergange in einem Andern bestimmt.

full version (Japanese)

Die Liebende‐Rainer Maria Rilke




リルケの「愛する人」、Das ist mein Fenster「これは私の窓」という始まりは、自分の内部の目覚めと共に、意識出来ない外部への視線が必然となる。それはEben bin ich so sanft erwacht.「たった今、目覚めたばかり」と、白粉が舞うような、甘くてゆったりとした時間を感じさせます。「窓」のような人間の生活に関わっている日常を通して「Bis wohin reicht mein Leben」私の人生は何処へと届くのかと、到達しえない眼路の限界と、その限界を補うための夢想、「und wo beginnt die Nacht?」そして夜は何処から始まるのだろうと、更に夜と宇宙の無限、そして夢と誘います。

「私」はIch könnte meinen, alleswäre noch Ich ringsum;(私の周りぐるりと全てが未だ私のような気がする) と、それによって内と外との境界線を失います。

私の窓、「 eben、たった今」この窓とは、この詩の中では外の世界と繋げる存在でもあり、隔たりにもなっている。恋する彼女は外の世界を通して彼への想いや気づきを「窓の外という客観性」として具象化します。けれどもこれは彼女の内省だった。



「私」と、こ の相手との関係の詳細は分かりませんが、想う相手が心の中に居るということは、愛する人とは、自分の意識の下で自分の認識している範囲の記憶を形成するが、

佇立している静かな存在では無い。この詩は 「私」と、「想い人」二人の間に何らか しらの干渉者、管理者(例えば神)を置かずに、外の世界を窓だけで表現しているというのが私の分析です。





リルケ:「愛する人」Die Liebende ( Rainer Maria Rilke )














Die Liebende ( Rainer Maria Rilke ) 訳・Chris

Das ist mein Fenster. Ebenbin ich so sanft erwacht.

Ich dachte, ich würde schweben.

Bis wohin reicht mein Leben,und wo beginnt die Nacht?

Ich könnte meinen, alleswäre noch Ich ringsum;

durchsichtig wie eines Kristalles Tiefe, verdunkelt, stumm.

Ich könnte auch noch die Sterne fassen in mir, so groß

scheint mir mein Herz; so gerne ließ es ihn wieder los

den ich vielleicht zu lieben,vielleicht zu halten begann.

Fremd, wie niebeschrieben sieht mich mein Schicksal an.

Was bin ich unter diese Unendlichkeit gelegt,

duftend wie eine Wiese, hin und her bewegt,

rufend zugleich und bange, daß einer den Ruf vernimmt,

und zum Untergange in einem Andern bestimmt.

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