I drill. I devour.
Kafka, Blanchot, Derrida, Bartleby. Pessoa, Nietzsche, Jabes, Beckett.
Into the absence of hope.
Of language.
Of body.
I drill and I devour.
Myself.
Vitality.
Capacity.
I try to think my end(s).
I want to get there.
I would like to make it to the end.
I would like to make the end.
I think. I serve. I love. I ask.
I care. I touch. I say. I listen.
I am not fulfilling.
I am never quite what is wanted.
I have never been “right” for a situation.
I am a person who tries very hard to be what is wanted.
I am a person who tries very hard to offer what is “good”.
How would I know?
– what is wanted?
– what is good?
I do not.
I am incapable.
But I DO know:
I AM NOT THAT.
(do not) BE HERE NOW.
simply : do not.
“I would prefer not to.”
“I will not”
No reason.
No anwer.
We are just humans.
Animals.
Purposeless.
Pointless.
Without reason(s).
Without meaning(s).
Without.
Still we go on
(for now)
Still we keep on
Still
On
On
On
OFF
(he said, said Laramie to Alias. “OFF.” He said, said Laramie to Alias. And then he was gone. Really. Gone.)
Sometimes it happens this way.
Sometimes.
OFF
Simply, over.
[Often, in my case and experience. They come, they go. There is a rush of blood to the brain and the loins. There is something I assume the others refer to as “hope,” – some reason to live, to go on, to pertain. Then OFF. Binary. Digital. Technology. Culture. Beings-in-relation. ON/OFF. Lights. ON/OFF. Progress. ON/OFF. Will. ON/OFF. Love. ON/OFF. Value. ON/OFF. Need. ON/OFF. Mood. ON/OFF. Everything binary. Irrational. Abstract. Illogical. Happenings, events, occurrences. ON/OFF. ON/OFF. Life. ON/OFF. Life. ON/OFF. Life. ON/OFF.
Life.
ON/OFF.
We are coming to an end.
I am coming to end.
We each come, to end.
The End.
Polysemic Stupor 
Wow…you finished it. I was wondering if there could be an ending. I think my heart stopped reading this….! This would make an extraordinary play. Seriously. I’ve been seeing it as a play all along. Kudos…
But we is not circled. We have no edge ( though we think otherwise) (though we think we think). We think beginnings and endings, we think words, breath, silence, breath, intake the other, exhale the other.
cannot remember any moment beyond a circumscribed horizon, cannot, even, the dreams, nor the memories, for sure (was it, was, was it so, was it not?)
There are, of course, clues. Vagrants,with a certain mildewed smell, mutter slewed directions with demon-bright eyes. ( but those we shun, as shadows,as churchyards at night,as the insisting amoral voices in the mist, peripheral, shuffled, ambiguous)
The long halls, the rooms, the chambers. My dear Gordano, such equations, such equators. So few are the moronic habitual paths, so broad the primrose paths to Hell untrod, unstudied. A rumour of damnation, like a roll of distant thunder, a storm coming. Well, certainly, there is a storm coming. From the edges to the centre, from the centre to the edges.. An ending ( of sorts). And then it echoes around another’s skull. Seed syllables. The end of worlds. The beginning of worlds.
you are so kind. they’re undone still. it can’t finish, not yet, just seems Laramie would like it to. Thanks. it’s only a parenthesis.
Thank you Simon. Samuel & Simon. Keeping me breathing :). “The end of worlds. The beginning of worlds.” Ok. Beckett lasted long. May Simon H. Lilly. I cheer you. You are kind.
“Nothing is worth anything but through it.” —Camus.
Seek not an end, never mind the beginning, the middle is what matters. Stay in it.
There is only an end and in that end is a beginning to something new. Perhaps our purpose is to at least witness some small part of what happens in between or better yet, to be be part of the process. Smiles…>KB
Perhaps this will be an end…but there are many conversations and writings in my boxes between those two…thanks again for your encouragement 🙂