that flow in excess of desire, the desire that negates wholeness, in search of division in tapes. He divides his identity through different tapes so from the beginning we can see the division of identity in nomad state. As we can see there is no central theme in this play, the space of patchwork is a free space that follows its own particular values totally different from the unified, harmonious pattern. The place that Krapp lives in is like a cage not a house or room. It’s dark, empty and gloomy and this cage is the version of the nomad space, wherein the body of nomad is indexed to the cage not a normal place. It’s body that moves in the intensities of cage
A late evening in the future. Krapp’s den. Front centre a small table, the two drawers of which open towards audience. Sitting at the table, facing front, i.e. across from the drawers, a wearish old man: Krapp” Krapp himself calls his room “den” which is supposed to represent his nomad state. The convergence of the outside and nomad results in the destruction of subject and no trace of his deserted identity “I”. He is trying to back to his own identity when he says “With all this darkness around me I feel less alone. (Pause.) In a way. (Pause.) I love to get up and move about in it, then back here to . . . (hesitates) . . . me. (pause.) (69)
Krapp but that is the useless journey for nomad state that belongs to nothing.
The desire in striated space and nomadic space represents differently. Although the former takes desire in oedipal form, the latter takes desire in anti-oedipal and apersonal form. This depersonalized form of desire moves against the familiar direction of the differentiated, meaning-centered and familial Freudian Oedipality which Deleuze and Guattari call “sick desire” (Anti-Oedipus 334). The sickness of this desire is its very oedipality in their views, when desire is captured and patterned by a social machine. This limiting act practiced on desire brings it under severe discipline in a way that the circulation of its energetic forces is channeled toward a striated, socially accepted direction. The oedipal is the acknowledgment of man, who is the subject, the model point of being. Deleuze tries to negate the terrain of origin, self and identity in order to flow and pass through other than man. He also calls for an anti-oedipal revolution that aims at freeing desire from capitalist axiomatic. Capitalist society pushes personal motivation to be free but by its rules and legislations. On the other hand, Deleuze’s anti-oedipal trajectory is releasing desire from Freudian frets of the familial incestuous origin. The ego psychology functions like a totalitarian ideology that seeks stability and for this it needs to order things, to impose organization to bring about homogeneity. The prime task is thus to kill the circulation of desire as it is proven to be the enemy organization.
The process of schizophrenizing is a pivotal course BWO undertakes. Everything that is related to Oedipus is supposed to be under the domain of social and political rules while the process of schizophren known as the plane of personal “schizo analysis is the negative of Capitalist formation… destroy, destroy Oedipus, the illusion of the ego, a complete curettage” (Anti- Oedipus 311). This process can be seen in Krapp’s life when he does belong to nowhere.
Chapter Three
3.1 Not I and Nonsignifying Language
Rene Descartes laid the foundation for 17th-century continental rationalism and opposed by the empiricist school of thought consisting of Hobbes, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume. Leibniz, Spinoza and Descartes were all well versed in mathematics as well as philosophy, and Descartes and Leibniz contributed greatly to science as well. He is perhaps best known for the philosophical statement “Cogito ergo sum” (French: Je pense, donc je suis; I think, therefore I am), found in part IV of Discourse on the Method (1637 – written in French but with inclusion of “Cogito ergo sum”). René Descartes coined his famous contention: “I think, therefore I am [je pense, donc je suis; ego cogito, ergo sum]”. Embodied in Descartes’ assertion is the notion that thought alone can constitute the presence of subjectivity and indeed, he claims that: “it is contradictory for us to believe that that which thinks, at the very time when it is thinking, does not exist” (Descartes, 5). Yet, twentieth-century philosophers and writers alike seem to reject this concept and endeavor to extrapolate a way in which there can be presence without subjectivity, thought without an I. Gilles Deleuze writes that there is: “… a language III (langue III) that no longer relates language (le langage) to objects that can be enumerated and combined, nor to transmitting voices, but to immanent limits that never cease to move about – hiatuses, holes or tears you couldn’t account for … This something seen or heard is called image, visual or aural, provided it is liberated from the chains it was kept in by the other two languages” (Deleuze, 8).
Language I – “a language of names” – exhausts the possible with words and language II exhausts words themselves by relating them “to the Others who pronounce them” (Deleuze, 7). Language III, on the other hand, instead retains “nothing of the personal, nor of the rational” (Deleuze, 7). It operates, therefore, without a subject whatsoever. It is here, within language III – now that both subject and object have been thoroughly exhausted – that one discovers the Image: a presence without any subjectivity. By reading Not I through a Deleuzean standpoint – namely, through a consideration of his essay, “The Exhausted” – it becomes clear that Mouth is one of the entities that can be understood as representations of the image. It is through this reading that presence is desubjectified and experience is consequently objectified.
Reading a text is never an act of interpretation, it is never a scholarly exercise in search of what is signified, still less a highly textual exercise in search of signifier; rather it is an act of experimentation a productive use of the literary machine, a schizoid exercise that extracts from the text its revolutionary force. In fact, it is the writer who becomes a stutterer in language. So the writer makes language as such stutter, an affective and intensive language and no longer an affection of the one who speaks. In fact, for reading a text is never a scholarly exercise in search of what is signified, still less a highly textual exercise in search of a signifier. Rather it is a productive use of the literary machine, a montage of desiring-machines, a schizoid exercise that extracts from the text its revolutionary force. The exclamation “So it’s . . . !”, or the meditation of Igitur on race, in an essential relationship with madness. As for ideology, it is the most confused notion because it keeps us from seizing the relationship of the literary machine with a field of production, and the moment when the emitted sign breaks through this “form of the content” that was attempting to maintain the sign within the order of the signifier. Yet it has been a long time how an author is great because he cannot prevent himself from tracing flows and causing them to circulate, flows that split asunder the catholic and despotic signifier of his work, and that necessarily nourish a revolutionary machine on the horizon. That is what style is, or rather the absence of style-asyntactic, agrammatical: the moment when language is no longer defined by what it says, even less by what makes it a signifying thing, but by what causes it to move, to flow, and to explode-desire. For literature is like schizophrenia: a process and not a goal, a production and not an expression. In other words, at the level of the literary machine means how to produce, how to think about fragments whose sole relationship is sheer difference-fragments that are related to one another only in that each of them is different-without having recourse either to any sort of original totality (not even one that has been lost), or to a subsequent totality that may not yet have come about? It is only the category of multiplicity, used as a substantive and going beyond both the One and the many, beyond the predicative relation of the One and the many, that can account for desiring-production: desiring-production is pure multiplicity, that is to say, an affirmation that is irreducible to any sort of unity.
Language produces order. As Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari argue, in A Thousand Plateaus, “Language is made not to be believed but to be obeyed, and to compel obedience” ( A Thousand Plateaus 76) and, to this end, it is composed of order-words. Although Deleuze and Guattari’s declaration emphasizes an imperative force of language, order-words need not be imperative as such; this is clear from any everyday enunciation. Rather, language not only gives orders, it produces order. It does this in any number of ways, from the repetition of cliché to the reliance of signification on convention for its operation.
However, language can also produce a sense of chaos or an encounter with the chaotic; a literary or enunciative practice that disrupts convention or reveals language beyond signification is a practice that both draws on chaos and, to an extent, releases chaos, even if it also produces a new order. This is, in particular, characteristic of modern literature. In A Thousand Plateaus, Deleuze and Guattari write of classical art as that which organizes chaos and creates order (338-340), and of romantic art as

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