Am I capitalist who dreams? Or is it capital that dreams in me?
I thought I saw you working in the Sales Team. It looked like you – looked like the one I remembered from school, the one who was obsessed with sex, who spoke of nothing else, but who also spoke of the Bible (you brought it on that fieldtrip and read it at night). It looked like you, but was it you in a suit and braces? Speaking with a salesman’s voice? Was it you?
I think it was you. Between the one I knew and the one I no longer knew I saw the difference on which identity always depends. I saw that difference, that virtuality which gave itself in you to be seized by the movement of capital.
Capitalism captures difference. How then to recapture it – or at least to draw anew on that difference, that virtuality, in order to stop capitalism from dreaming us?