If I can reject the self, perhaps I can be anything. But — how do I do it without losing all I hold?
Perhaps that's the simple trick it played on us: 'when there is nothing, everything is equally possible.' no, no, no, no, no.
Or rather, there is no self to reject. The self we recognize is just a conglomeration of all the things we hold. It is not a substance our experiences add to, but a name given to those experiences. (Whatever was there in the beginning is contained in them as well.)
We cannot start fresh without losing everything. And it's painfully impossibly to lose everything.
(The more I dwell on an image, the more it seems to petrify in my grip.)
nov. 11 / 2020
Somehow the things all change without our noticing, and when we do, we yearn for what we never dreamed we would treasure.
Most horrifying of all is the prospect of forgetting. Ironic, because what is forgotten cannot be missed. But maybe that's the point — only then, when it is no longer mourned, is the dead (or a piece of ourselves) truly lost.
i'm repeating my thoughts.
i'm a man of thought.
i'm at once shallow and true, filled
with neon gas and tethered to the soil. At once genius and scoundrel. I wish I wasn't (or that the world was perfect; that works too).
But then again, there are the things I must do as a physical human. Checking boxes; that's what drives me on (funnily enough); without the urge of mortality, the threat of decay, looming over us and all things alike, nothing at all would happen in this universe. Change means being and, at the same time, loss. Loss makes all things precious.
nov. 17 / 2020
