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Thursday, October 11th, 2007
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2:42p - my imagery has gotten a lot more violent of late
Oh and the world explodes in a barrel of fuck you. it's okay though. I'm handling it.
I don't post because I've become unhappy. And all I would post would be complaining. And I would immediately feel as though I've wasted your time, that you don't want to hear, too tired to listen and you have your own shit to deal with anyway, and why do I always talk about myself and this journal must fall under the "emo-poetry" category of blogs my co-worker spoke so eloquently of the other day.
A quote from a Neofuturist monologue: "All the men I meet are babies."
We should gather together, all of us, in a field and sacrifice our "I'm sorry"s to the gods.
(that was my response)
A excerpt from my journal. (i'll give you a hint to start: death)
But nothing is nothing. The thought of no thoughts threatens a meltdown in my brain - an explosion. The concept of no concepts is inconceivable.
This is usually when I begin to cry hysterically. As the hypothetical drives hard into my brain like a stake the size of a baseball bat - dislodging all structure, logic and thought and viciously destroying it as though with a billion blades spinning through the air at terrible speeds. I, ego, is ground up like mincemeat with my blood being fiercely sucked up and disappeared by the dry, thirsty earth.
I wonder if when strangers look at me, they can tell my uncle is dying. That very soon, he will lose everything. Until there is nothing, nothing, nothing. Until there is not.
Death is a sign. A signifier. A fascinating motif in literature. Sometimes it is a character. Sometimes it is a warning. DEATH. It's a sign.
Because the real thing, the thing we can only indicate via an idea that is only a sign, a "word" which is either a series of sounds created by our mouths or a series of marks on a page that we recognize as letters, but the REAL THING cannot be named because it is the end of names. Cannot be talked about because it is the end of communication.
It is less than nothingness because nothingness is a sign too. Imagine nothingness. You thought black? Wrong. Black is color. Black is; not is not. Then white? No - it's created by the reflection of light. What color then? Nothing. No color. The extraction of color. Can you imagine it?
The idea does not fit into our heads.
Death is defined by being the opposite of all we know. So it cannot be built out of those things. All our word/signs will never stack high enough. Or rather, never be non-existent enough.
There is only one word/sign I may accept. Because it describes the last part of existence, and therefore may indicate the "transition" or "change" that is the real thing. That word?
End
I'm going home tomorrow for a funeral Sunday. I think I'll stay the week. I need a break. Badly.
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3:31p
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