Jacques Derrida has died of pancreatic cancer:

… from the invisible inside , where I could neither see nor want the very thing that I have always been scared to have revealed on the scanner, by analysis – radiology, echography, endocrinology, hematology – a crural vein expelled my blood outside that I thought beautiful once stored in that bottle under a label that I doubted couldavoid confusion or misappropriation of the vintage, leaving me nothing more to do, the inside of my life exhibiting itself outside , expressing itself before my eyes, absolved without a gesture, dare I say of writing if I compare the pen to a syringe, and I always dream of a pen that wouldbe a syringe, a suction point rather than that very hard weapon with which one must inscribe, incise, choose, calculate, take ink before filtering the inscribable, playing the keyboard on the screen, whereas here, once the vein has been found, no more toil, no responsibility, no risk of bad taste or violence, the blood delivers itself all alone, the inside gives itself up and you can do as you like with it, it’s me but I’m no longer there, for nothing, for nobody , diagnose the worst… )