Bataille and this blog

I recently saw a man on the screen. For two and a half hours his body decays, silently, gently. His movement is replicated by that of the siren resonating once and again on the emptying streets of Bucharest. The man's breath,  a stench of cat's piss and cheap alcohol, impregnates the sheets of different hospitals. His shit leaves traces as if the dying body wants to desperately try to write down on these places the inconveniences of bureaucracy, egotistical residents and exhausted doctors. A slow pace that leads to nowhere except the ordinary moments of a man dying between hospitals. Much like this blog I presume. And yet, there is always Bataille's thoughts on excess and death. For, "Life is a product of putrefaction, and it depends on both death and the dungheap" [...] Life is effusion; it is contrary to equilibrium, to stability. It is the tumultuous movement that bursts forth and consumes itself. Its perpetual explosion is possible on one condition: that the spent organisms give way to new ones, which enter the dance with new forces".