Theory & The Void

In a continuing effort to reach some semblance of totality. The beginning is always, the void, the chaos, the primordial soup willed with alphanumerics these days. One can't imagine what is there before nothing, but only after, something. So in a string, to describe, a feeling...

What is the test of my faith?
Where is the fear of my loathing?
Why do I stand?

The way to the clearing is all but clear, muddled with the recognition of yesterday, the day before that, the day before that, the nights that connect them. To breathe in the air now, is like coughing when yawning And it is a wonder how fresh the coldness is.

If I'm not clear, I'm obviously then not. Though I think I am, and the feeling remains. When we lose our reasons we never forget what we know. And what I know has remained with me for as long as I retain this semblance. Call it a persona, or what not.

The peripherals has left me again, and in its wake the giant statues of ghastly marble makes me tremble as if i sit in the plastic chair wondering where the love songs are and how the air between my fingers has expanded to astronomical proportions when the mere idea of clasping together the flesh I've known since birth becomes a conceptual impossibility, ergo I am alone admist the sheep.

There's always this nagging feeling that what I've held pure is tainted and that perhaps the place to return to is What Is. But rather than ask "What Is It?" I think the more relevant question is always "Will I enjoy It" and as all questions worth asking, the savoring moment is perhaps sweeter than the revelation, if less memorable. In leaning away from the task of definitions I am perhaps leaning away from myself. Yet sometimes a good contrast is hard to find.

This is not a love song,
Nouvelle Vague