Monday 26 May 2008

Nonsense falls out of my fingers and into the wrong blog

While looking for the name of an artist whose paintings stayed in my head long after his name left it I stumbled across words I once wrote but failed to remember either, and they were put together in such a way that I stopped to ask myself what on earth was I doing at the time to give me the ability to write so many pages ><>< White writing on pink paper: now that's pretty; gold writing on pink paper too, and it's harder to read but still quite nice, the lines are straight and the indents are equal, as if the whole activity was thought out in advance and rehearsed well. Nonetheless, you can't say "rehearse" without saying "hearse".

<< There come times when life seems so boring and I find myself with nothing to do to pass the time until that blissful moment of sleep arrives. ... At best, my brain manages to process everything as nothing and connect it to nothing, leaving me with a feeling that there's nothing to life, no point in anything, not even death, which is probably just the same as life anyway, so we're doomed to boredom no matter what. ... This is all such bollocks, it really is. >>

A couple of years before discovering la nada as explored by Macedonio, nothing was being connected to nothing, and nothing was being stirred within the void.

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If you're lucky enough to find a point to life, then you instantly run the risk of impaling yourself on that very point.

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My life is far from boring and sleep is no longer an escape route.