a text from the archives…ready again, relevant, near…
Homo Scribus Attonbitus
(2012?)

a personal note
I have long disliked and had an intense aversion to telephone calls. Like televisions transmitting in shared or public spaces, they present inescapable interruption and intrusion. One could be in thought, repose, intimacy, conversation, activity — in fact, whatever one is about when one is not on the telephone – and then suddenly must react to a demand. A call. But WHO is calling? WHY? Why now? When my attention is demanded through interruption or intrusion, my body anticipates emergency.
Disembodied conversation shifts the burden of dialogue to the voice. Therefore the natural indicators for “I’m thinking…” or “give me a moment,” nods, smiles, frowns or gestures that flow in face-to-face interaction, offering wholistic responses, are all pressured onto the mind and voice – forcing incessant reports and the trickiness and difficulty of translating bodily experience into language. I require time to listen, consider, and respond. Movement. Silence. Whether it’s a simple invitation, business matter, question or request – it always emerges as demand on the telephone. Respond to this NOW. (public or shared-space televisions – SEE this NOW). You cannot escape, select, regulate or direct such importunities.
Global Communication Technologies, – our networks, internetworks and their myriad machines and devices – have provided some enormous benefits toward expanding our social lives outside of limited demographics and cultures, opening realms of activities and artifacts, information and resources that in any other time-period we may never have known about or encountered. As these technologies proliferate into internets of things, ubiquitous (or pervasive / invasive) computing, and manifest the inherently linked realities of our world…simultaneously providing ambient findability (all of these terms and phrases as easily interpreted as violence or intrusion as well as opportunities or boon).
I’ve long preferred face-to-face interaction (in spare doses, they are taxing & rewarding) and textual communications (obviously, but also texting, emails, postal correspondence), because in the F2F we are offered and allowed appropriate cues to follow and respond to one another, and in textual discourse we are allowed the time and distance to craft and dictate our translations of experience, messaging intentions, and terminological tones.
Of late, however, I have noted a convergence of Call-Anxiety and Pervasive-Communications. And am wondering about our levels of autonomy (if there even is such a thing for the human) or self-direction, any amount of governance we might preserve over our lives and activities and choices in a world populated with linked devices?
How much of our days – work time, supposedly “personal”/private time, play time, labor time, interpersonal time, family time, meal-times, chore-times, reading times, creative times, necessity times, and so on…- are steered and directed, controlled and dictated by the consistent, persistent, pervasive and invasive thoroughfare of MESSAGES from OUTSIDE? If we consult our devices upon waking – how often are that day’s events passively designed around what we receive? If we respond to text vibrations / updates / posts / SMS or IMs / emails – how much are they eroding self-governance and discipline or choice and instead simply ANNOUNCING (demanding?) direction and response?
How many swerves do we make in our causeways of living by our over-saturation with “friends,” our communicative reach far beyond our communities, our global information system versus our local work offices or families or few (actual) friends? There have been plenty of studies from nearly every field of inquiry reporting that our safe or thrivable social capacities are quite limited – most studies indicate humans do best in consistent contact with 30 or less others. Proffering sufficient opportunities to know, understand, interact and relate. Yet any given Facebooker or tweeter or snappy-chatter may have exponentially larger engagements nearly every minute of their lives.
How different would my relationships with co-workers, children, family, friends, BE if we weren’t including thousands of others in remote places, professional connections throughout the world, images and language and emotional reports and happenstances flooding like telephone calls and tele-visions and noise into our domains, habitats, domiciles, studies? What might i NOT buy if it weren’t so easy? How differently might I know books, movies, music, animals, persons – if they weren’t in virtually infinite supply?Do we preserve moments of choice and connection, safe from Call-demands or Pervasive/Invasive-communication-technologies? Or do we simply escape or take breaks from time to time? Going for a walk or having a dinner, camping, hiking or traveling once in a while without our devices? What would it be like to lose them? What would we know? What kinds of knowing would we produce? What sorts of makings? What might be drawn or composed, felt or engaged, seen or heard if we were DISconnected to the hive of activity and input? How might we relate to those around us? Where might we go? Who might we be?
Well, that’s what I’m thinking about. Pondering. Wondering. Queries of value and quality and meaning. Stress-levels, anxiety, physical wear of being “on alert,” alarm, reactive, responsive to ubiquitous “Calls.” Demands. Invasions.
What if we saved intrusions for emergencies? Took time to send only specific, relational-oriented, relevant and appropriate information to one another? Thought critically? Reflected? Looked, touched, listened, and managed more wholistic presence with our immediate surrounds?
I don’t know. I’m just wondering.
[The lucky piece for us at present is that, like pulling the phone line from the wall, our technologies are remarkably easy to dismantle and turn OFF, should we CHOOSE to]
“it was neither the cradle nor the grave of anything whatever. Or rather it resembled so many other cradles, so many other graves, that I’m lost.”
–Samuel Beckett-

The silence. The separation. The solitude. This is not novel, not uncanny, not even irregular or unexpected.
Betwixt Alias & Laramie, in fact, it would not be unusual for 1-3 years to pass without interpersonal communication.
The interruption, irregularity, or stretching intermittence of intimate interaction (current parlance “intensive interaction” – what they’re calling genuine conversation these days – a sort of treatment or therapeutic method for the autistic or ‘disabled,’ – akin to the ‘Talking Cure’ of psychoanalytics past) wasn’t really odd or unexpected or otherwise for Alias…merely unfortunate…he accustomed to his cycles and wishes, routines and desires – never mated very well with the world-at-large…his surround.
Still somehow Laramie’s “off” was different.
Perhaps.
No matter.
Alias driven back to Kafka, Beckett, Jabes, and other authors of silences whom he’s long aspired to – wishing (not so secretly) that he might require only some genuine solipsism or solitude, a kind of retreat or reversal from the cultural logorrhea (social media posts, artist’s talks, professional blogs and listservs, tweets/tumbs/grams & feeds) –
incessant reports on one’s self
– disgusting yet enticing,
If other humans ever happened to ‘like’ or ‘follow,’ ‘share’ or ‘pin-it’ or – could it be – actually care?
Alias entering thickets alone. Laramie “off” (in every way his ‘right’). No human (living, warm, alive, and responsive). Alias turns to the ‘mind’ (texts, images, memories, dreams, literature, language, art, thoughts) – in any case or scenario – some abstracted cerebral, cognitive-capacity, the Human Imaginary. The Pretend.
Meaning. God. Religion. Truth. Santa. Satan. Logic. Math.
His pet feline “Luna(tic)” and fractured Chihuahua “Gizmo” as company. And printed literature. Recorded music. Playback audio-visual-cinematography. Machinic animations. Pornography. Movie. Television. Photographs. WHATEVER. Virtual Realities in the place of persons.
Attempts to stay alive, carry on, delude oneself that meaning and reason and experience and expression had validity and representation, communication and comprehension, and so forth.
To “keep calm…& carry on.”
Breathe.
Or…whatever.
Laramie: “OFF”
and
Alias: (“ON”)?
never the twain shall meet?
well, occasionally
(he says, he thinks, he imagines, she says, someone hopes)
The HUMAN (Alias surmises) – ‘an interminable thinking-speech,’ Alias think-speeches, “surely I read/heard/saw/overheard that somewhere.”
It’s Alias alone…free(?), unfettered, allowed, supposedly “ON”
Laramie – “OFF,” Alias sighs.
(and therefore no way to ‘think through’)…
***********************************
Point is, Alias thinks as he murmurs and walks along, there is no meaning, purpose, or point to it all. “Think-writing” Laramie once called it (re: Alias’ poetry) – “simply inscriptions of progress, er, process…languaging what happens in your miniscule portion of the world (as you know it).”
Think-writing, write thinking, “fuck you!” Alias thinks (writes). “How can one think without someone or something to think ‘off’ of or ‘with’ or ‘in relation to’?” Alias grumbles – “yet you’re ‘OFF,’ gone, along, beyond, and so remains me, it, this ‘against,’ ‘in relation to,’ this withless ‘with’ (all versions of the same) ANYthing, EVERYthing, NOThing.”
Something!
“OFF” said Laramie, he
said to Alias, “simply ‘OFF’” like a switch, a light, a life, a dream, a thought, an inception of memory, an hope, ON/OFF, ON/OFF, there/gone, here/gone, you/I, yes/no,…’OFF’ said Laramie, he said to Alias that day, that last day, that latest traversal, that…
…dream,
imagining, encounter, hope, wish, Alias imaginary…
———————————-
…because no one cares, and there is surely no reason to (Alias ruminates).
Having always wanted, desired, craved (it might even be said) to be some strange, unrepeatable and unique (or recognizable) combination of human/person/lover/writer/philosopher/musician/writer/virile male and sensitive, omniscient (no, not ‘omniscient,’ not ‘all-knowing’ but ‘all-considering,’ ‘all-comprehending’ and ‘-allowing,’ ‘understanding’) homo sapien.
There is never any reason (Alias considers) that he should (in any way) be special, “special,” and yet, and yet…
There’s no smidgen of doubt (Alias i. e. Harlequin, piecemeal patchwork of human male – a man, a father, son, parent, professor, laborer, home-owner, some-time partner, friend, teammate, band member, student, child-like adult, mature-seeming child, and so forth…animal, patron, caretaker & guardian, public, customer, businessman, blah, blah, blah, descriptor, descriptor, word, word, term…) that Alias i.e. Harlequin, in relation to Laramie James Backstagger, in relation to J, J, K, T, A, H, O, I, Sam, Franz, Helene, Clarice, mom, sister, dad, daughter, cat, dog, cow, instructor, stranger, landscape, realm, city, genre, language, world…
wanted, even craved (it might be said)
being “special.”
Alias Harlequin.
Alone.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
A thousand shades from cynical to fine…
…medium nor method, mechanism nor machine matters…
…it’s simply the persons involved…
…the choices they make…
….ways they behave…
…what is made of it…
….making and interpreting…
…given the day, the moment, the situation…
…without matter or evidence or reason.
The world happens.
And then we die.
And then world continues.
Happens (for us) (me) (Alias) (Laramie) (you)
No more.
The equations very, VERY simple.
Here & Gone
Heaps of trouble in between
Self-causation
-regulation
Autopoeisis

What happens is parting…
The incommensurable does not lie outside of language. It is language.
– Werner Hamacher, Minima Philologica –
“Off” bothered Alias. It aggravates Alias that Laramie only and simply, states and declares the term “off.”
Strikes him as unfair. Short-shrift. Foregone. An easy conclusion. A self-imposed or autocratic EXIT. Cheap escape.
Conversation (that day) silenced (muted) and dulled. It soured. When participants elect not to speak their minds or piece, peace or conflict, new tensions are introduced. Silence [chosen, selected, fought for (or against), willed] intentional silence effects scenarios like speech. Withdrawal.
Alias tells him; ‘Refusal to speak equals a sort of speaking. We are both ‘in it.’”
“Off.” Laramie repeated, simply, only, just “off.” And, “the switch can be binary, non-complex, Alias, simply a choice – ‘I love you,’ ‘thank you,’ ‘I would prefer not to,’ – ‘no,’ – OFF – please allow me that. I am tired. You are my friend. All is well. It is good. Life is hard. Love is pain…OFF.”
The large, long, horizony cosmic swath of atmosphere containing and surrounding human interaction (in this case, in any case) snaps. It fractures. The environment (in this case, with the pronunciation of ‘OFF’) simply breaks.
There is quiet (as in) silent (as in) absence of sound, stillness of action, stasis of communion, of commerce, connection –
VACUUM. REFUSAL. A plea and a begging to STOP. QUIT. CEASE. To not continue, to NOT go on. A demanding request for an end.
Laramie states, speaks, invokes, complains, retorts, confesses, professes, declares and pleads and laments, quite simply, to his dearest, nearest and closest confidante, companion, friend and interlocutor – “OFF.”
Laramie chooses.
Alias wants to honor…
grieves, requests, rescinds,
carries on…
evoking ambiguity, anonymity, fiction and untruth.
The calf.
The finch and bluejay and weasel.
Deer, cow, pasture, thistle.
Friends and morning-glories.
The sun, the air; clouds and mid-day.
Company.
Revoked.

We say that we “wake up depressed” wonder why and conjure up reasons. What is this “hollow” or “indentation” in relation to? Depression versus delusion?
Squirming up out of dream or slumber into wakefulness, awareness – illusions and solipsism scattered by light of day, by alertness – what would be the “norm” ‘depression’ dips under?
Say we consider “normal” as the state or condition of being aligned with what is. The only certain trajectory of living is dying. Dying the condition of life. The only permanent outcome of breathing, saying, doing, being…are their cessation. In confirmation or conformation to this “reality” – what should be the normal living response? Depression, I should say, full awareness and wakeful understanding that my promise, potential, outcome and fortune are to end.
Decay, departure and death are the certain “norms” ruling human existence. What occurs, forgets; what merges, diverges; what events, unravels; what happens, undoes; what is made, erodes. Assuredly, they are strange loops, ambiguous and temporal – more wave/particled than 0/1 – and yet as “fate” or “doom” would have it (definite futures) we know of no other.
Therefore it should seem “depression” would be the normal human state of life, and all forms of happiness or joy come about due to some compromise or delusion – an abnormality – some neuroses or failure to accord or conform to what is. How might we have come to classify conformity to what is as a “disorder” or diagnosable swerve?
“Certifiable depression” is marked as a disability, a failure to thrive, a condition incapacitating function. Yet does that not most assuredly accord with the certitude of demise, destitution, eradication? To terminate activity, halt health, conclude creativity, finish folly and destroy delight would all seem to indisputably align with the necessary phenomenon of obliteration.
Thoroughgoing comprehension of what is – that birth has a single objective – that all roads lead to one – that all effort leads to naught – that entropy – is not lunatic, demented, deranged or unhinged – but rather most enlightened and balanced, intelligent and lucid, perspicacious and well-advised.
Being pressed down, a lowering of quality, vigour or amount, feelings of severe despondency and dejection are surely the most accurately normal experiences – regulated, coordinated and adjusted to what is versus what is imagined or desired – indications of astute apprehension and capacities of apperception to the real.
Do not be flummoxed by “waking depressed” – do not seek for treatments or reasonings ‘why’! – do not be baffled that a heaviness descends, or a ‘pressing down’ is felt or occurs – we emerge into life and descend into matter…the cradle and grave a continuous process.


I am not certain why stories sicken me so. By “sicken” perhaps I mean something closer to depletion or boredom, gluttedness or exhaustion. By stories I mean shaped texts of language – narrative fictions, philosophical arguments, journals and declarations and ads.
“I don’t know why I told this story. I could just as well have told another. Perhaps some other time I’ll be able to tell another. Living souls, you will see how alike they are.”
– Samuel Beckett, The Expelled
It has something to do with that. My own writings sicken me faster than others, but all writings, once entangled in plots, developing characters, or pursuing a narrative…tend me toward disgust.
The motion of “progress,” falsity of construction, illusion of meaning begins to fray as language gets “handled” or forced into order. The squeezing and pressure and molding of shaped texts, especially as they develop into sections, seem bound to conform to the size of the creator. Many texts start out wildly, with chaotic promise, almost infinite exploding potentials – but threads develop, and lines, sentences form, and shapes, causes and results, actions and repercussions, and ever so surely the mass is twisted to the size of a snake. And then I’m tired, exhausted by “how alike they are.” We are. It is.
Language imploding and exploding. This is what I want. Language available like elements. Language operative in a chaotic surround, like experiencing. Language that doesn’t know next. Language becoming, not necessarily or even especially something – just becoming within/without human.
So I read words, less to learn or be entertained, less to follow or empathize, less to argue or understand, and more to exist in a sea of potential communication and commerce, to respond, to be open and closed by each term and their relations, to go on.
As if language were oxygen, blood, water. As if language were soil. As if language were all these mystifying, crazy, strange, different and unknown others surrounding us everywhere. As if language were environment. Context. Medium. Not tool. Not machinic. Not discipline. Not function. Not at our service or in our control.
We know that it’s not. It does indeed possess others – carries and transfers multitudes – times, cultures, histories, humans, vagaries of meanings. It is untamed and unpredictable, available and unsolvable, like ourselves. But we often use it for us rather than in or with us. We often torment it into cages and patterns, (I’m doing it now) – forced representation, desiccated potentials – marks of expression or intention or persuasion or telling.
I declare. I unravel. I investigate. I express. I guess. I wonder. I commit a sound to form. It leads. I resist. I say. I listen. It leads (each of us in particular ways). I resist. I ponder. It takes shape. Incites. I want. I resist. I query.
Doing and undoing language becomes the only way to use it and avoid strangling it down to my size. Persisting and resisting, experimenting and erasing, canceling / canceling-out, backwards, forwards, at the angular. Listening to others. Throwing in, throwing away. Desist. Insist. Consist. And delete. Chaos and pattern. Detangle, knot up. Fracture. Fragment. Avoid. A void. Void and null and emergent. Perhaps. Perhaps. The attempt to leave open. It suffers to form.
Sickening me.

Laramie and Alias followed the tree-lined road into the woods ostensibly seeking a lost calf trapped at the stream. Lost and trapped. Deciduous acres. They shuffled the gravel in silence, which evolved to branches and leaves – a crackle and whisper.
Considering age and death, feeling lost and trapped – Alias. Laramie pursuing a calf, something young.
“Sorrow is sorrow,” Alias vocalized in his head or his chest, his throat or his gut – wherever we hear ourselves. “Aging – decay. Watching one’s world erode. Losing and trapped in the stream.”
Luckily alive after all of these years, Laramie felt hale and sturdy. And the bluejays, the owls, finches and starlings. The titmice.
Alias thought he might keep living each day “if I could think of at least one reason, event, thought or experience that justified enduring that day.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Laramie contributed, aware of Alias’ delimiting logic, “for you’re the only sanctioned arbiter in that case – fixing yourself to a very strange loop indeed.”
The trail of the calf, sunken hoofprints. Age faltering for beauty, youth, and strength. “someone refers to this as ‘an attachment to loss itself – a condition otherwise known as melancholy,” Alias intoned.
“For fuck’s sake Alias – is this how it’s gonna be? The ‘apophatic’ way? Via negativa? Only what isn’t there, what ya haven’t got – jabs at the pure potential?”
Fox, weevil, deer, cow. “You’re only 54,” L declares. “In a culture worshipping youth and perpetual childhood – the nubile and ageless and free – augmented and cyborg,” Alias retorts. “Not me.”
“I told ya I choose ‘OFF’” Laramie chokes.
“I demand or command or beg of it,” he continued…”OFF.”
***************************
Alias the Conjurer
I drill and devour.
A storm, a tornado.
Construction.
Destruction.
WHO cares?
Effort.
A human with language.
HUMAN LANGUAGE
Writers and speakers and singers and parents. Wise men and theorists, children and fools.
LANGUAGE
SYMBOLOGY
DEATH (finitude) & LANGUAGE (infinite abstraction)
Grandiose and meaningless at one go
(not to overreach nor undersell).
It might matter
It might not
BEING
(we don’t know)
A bone. A tomahawk.
Human creativity as, is, a war against death.
Fizzles & sparks.
Last ditch. Activity.
Efforts. Attempts.
LOVE
HOPE
ridiculous realities
MAINSTAYS
MAIN STAY(S)
In the main…
to stay.
ON
ON
ON
ON
To persist
Insist
Continue
(against death)
Against death
Against death
– to act, to do, to create –
TO CONJURE.
************************************
Laramie rides. OFF.
Alias goes further, deeper, further…on…(in)…
INSISTS PERSISTS CONSISTS
I, as human, consist as what I persist in insisting on.
= a composite “I.”

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.

You think twice. You plan. I do these things.
Finally incapable of mind over matter. The capacity of drunkenness. Full experience.
The body. The lust and wanting. The work to let it alone. To surpass or supersede.
Supplant desire with will.
Language works with, on and in the body. Larynx, lung, tongue and movement. Gut, brain and blood.
Without satiating muscle. Without exhausting the possibilities. Without terminating lust.
I think twice. I plan. You do these things.
Intention. Commitment. Decision.
“I will transcend the body. I will overcome desire. I will compensate and supplant urges with verbs. Consonants will become my flesh’s contact and content. Interoperation with world will equate to traversing its languages. To write will be my sexuality. Language my intimate other.”
I will compose my satiation. I will think my end. I will language my undoing and completion. I will create what I need.
Still the body rises. Erects itself. Rushes and longs. Aches.
I rub language all over it. Stroke it with breath and sounds. Caress every part with a term. Toy and pleasure each hollow and tense with tongued noise.
It wants. It desires. I want. I desire. I long for what it says without diction.
Be Drunk
Charles Baudelaire, 1821 – 1867
You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
Language. Alcohol. Language. Alcohol. To void and satiate the body. To provide full experience. Pair satiating self. Ache and desire. Want and sensation. As a whole – the desire to be drunk – to fulfill – saturation of pleasure and knowledge – perception/sensation and abstraction/thought – TO RESPOND. Shower the body, challenge the mind. Work the muscles. Lingua the self. Tickle with letters and edges; heat, fill, temper and calm salve and sensitize the skin and organs – flood the whole: language and alcohol. Avoid depending on kind, species, occasion. Avoiding dependency.
How might an human organism satiate itself?
I dreamt language. I imagined correspondence, intelligence, sexuality, the wide-openness of commerce between one human and another. Particularity, difference, biology, culture, knowledge, capacity undoes this. Incapacitates convergence. Ruins union.
Intimacy with other = impossible.
Intimacy with self-system = ?
Language. Alcohol. Immaterial / Matter. Body-mind. Embodied mind. Enminded body. How solve desire? Lust, want, biology, sociology, anthropology (and so on) – the logoi of BEING HUMAN.
Be wild and crazy and drunk with Love,
if you are too careful, Love will not find you.
~Rumi
Love depends on Other. Love depends on converging, connection, call / response / return. Love is impossible. Cohesive mingling.
To say the unsayable. The reach beyond. The experiment, invention, imagine. Commerce with species and kind, taking it in (language), absorbing and transforming seeds, spewing it out (language). Giving / Giving Back. Receiving / Offering. Language – perfect intimacy seed. Perfect contact and context differentiating and responding each to each, body to body, mind to mind… sans orgasm, sans drunkenness, sans satiety… regardless of ecstatic fullness.
This is the disaster.
Unfillable.
Insatiable (body)
Satisfied mind.
This is the disaster.
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