the people.
Life is inexpressible. Life is inexcusable.
It’s getting much harder to live. It’s getting much easier to accept the idea that
“it is an illusion that we were ever alive.” 44 Life is a knowledge, not an existence. Life is disposing of the waste: names and
categories. Name it: it’s dead. Then you live in those names and by those names. You
live in those names and by those names when you live in the world.
It’s no longer possible to tell a story: life is a story. It’s a story, a narrative
series of pictures. A series of timeless tableaus, an infinitely successive series
of nows. But this can’t be. It isn’t. “A picture held us captive. And we could not
get outside it, for it lay in our language and language seemed to repeat it to us
inexorably.” 45 The world is finite: that means “it” isn’t. We are free from the pictures and the
lives lived in the mind are at an end. Words are what matter.
I’m going out of my mind. I’m trying to hold on to my body, my life. It’s a horrifying
experience.
“We had thought to control it by assigning it a meaning, but the world has only, little
by little, lost all its life.” 46 Man is dead. It’s not enough to perish. One has to become unintelligible, almost
ridiculous.
“No sign of life but life, itself, the presence of the intelligible in that which
is created as its symbol.” 47 Life is a knowledge, not an existence. Life is not lived, it is known. Known: not
experienced. Imagine, you had an experience.
Disposable world. A reality of “decreation: to make something created pass into the
uncreated.” 48 “Modern reality is a reality of decreation, in which our revelations are not the
revelations of belief, but the precious portents of our own powers.” 49
To make something created pass into the uncreated: no action, but realization. All
created things are dead things. They belong to the world. “We participate in the creation
of the world by decreating ourselves,” 50 by peopling the world with the dead images of mankind.
The created world is a world of waste, of life. And life is the elimination of what
is dead. We give names to things that can’t be named: we create life, we create death.
Creation: the waste system. “Life is the elimination of what is dead.” 51
All these things. All these people. All these places. All this waste, this garbage:
it’s me. There was never anyone, anyone but me, anything but me, talking to me of
me. 52 “When I dream and invent without a backward glance, am I not . . . Nature?” 53
Dispense with the notion of nature: a creative power that makes something from nothing.
Nature is scenery built up by man. Man is dead. The unity is unitless. There is no
continuity, no accretion, no incremental serial advances, no depth. There is no nature.
There was never anyone but me talking to me of me. No nature: just a nature created
in what it says.
Dismiss yourself. Man is dead. There’s no nature but “a fall, into the state of nature.
The spirit, the human essence, hides, buried in the natural object: ‘projected’ . . .
the death of gods and the birth of poetry.” 54 A nature created in what it says.
“Each herb and each tree, mountain, hill, earth and sea, cloud, meteor and star, are
men seen afar.” 55 There are no external points of support in reality. The unity is unitless: this is
not just a rival to an objective reality. There is no real world: it is an illusion.
The unity is unitless. This is the whole truth, and it can only be apprehended through
its contrast with the illusion, the real world. Thus, “man perceives in the world
only what already lies within him; but to perceive what lies within him, man needs
the world.” 56
Take the real out of the world and put it back where it belongs, where it always has
been: realization. Any system that
Life is inexpressible. Life is inexcusable.
It’s getting much harder to live. It’s getting much easier to accept the idea that
“it is an illusion that we were ever alive.” 44 Life is a knowledge, not an existence. Life is disposing of the waste: names and
categories. Name it: it’s dead. Then you live in those names and by those names. You
live in those names and by those names when you live in the world.
It’s no longer possible to tell a story: life is a story. It’s a story, a narrative
series of pictures. A series of timeless tableaus, an infinitely successive series
of nows. But this can’t be. It isn’t. “A picture held us captive. And we could not
get outside it, for it lay in our language and language seemed to repeat it to us
inexorably.” 45 The world is finite: that means “it” isn’t. We are free from the pictures and the
lives lived in the mind are at an end. Words are what matter.
I’m going out of my mind. I’m trying to hold on to my body, my life. It’s a horrifying
experience.
“We had thought to control it by assigning it a meaning, but the world has only, little
by little, lost all its life.” 46 Man is dead. It’s not enough to perish. One has to become unintelligible, almost
ridiculous.
“No sign of life but life, itself, the presence of the intelligible in that which
is created as its symbol.” 47 Life is a knowledge, not an existence. Life is not lived, it is known. Known: not
experienced. Imagine, you had an experience.
Disposable world. A reality of “decreation: to make something created pass into the
uncreated.” 48 “Modern reality is a reality of decreation, in which our revelations are not the
revelations of belief, but the precious portents of our own powers.” 49
To make something created pass into the uncreated: no action, but realization. All
created things are dead things. They belong to the world. “We participate in the creation
of the world by decreating ourselves,” 50 by peopling the world with the dead images of mankind.
The created world is a world of waste, of life. And life is the elimination of what
is dead. We give names to things that can’t be named: we create life, we create death.
Creation: the waste system. “Life is the elimination of what is dead.” 51
All these things. All these people. All these places. All this waste, this garbage:
it’s me. There was never anyone, anyone but me, anything but me, talking to me of
me. 52 “When I dream and invent without a backward glance, am I not . . . Nature?” 53
Dispense with the notion of nature: a creative power that makes something from nothing.
Nature is scenery built up by man. Man is dead. The unity is unitless. There is no
continuity, no accretion, no incremental serial advances, no depth. There is no nature.
There was never anyone but me talking to me of me. No nature: just a nature created
in what it says.
Dismiss yourself. Man is dead. There’s no nature but “a fall, into the state of nature.
The spirit, the human essence, hides, buried in the natural object: ‘projected’ . . .
the death of gods and the birth of poetry.” 54 A nature created in what it says.
“Each herb and each tree, mountain, hill, earth and sea, cloud, meteor and star, are
men seen afar.” 55 There are no external points of support in reality. The unity is unitless: this is
not just a rival to an objective reality. There is no real world: it is an illusion.
The unity is unitless. This is the whole truth, and it can only be apprehended through
its contrast with the illusion, the real world. Thus, “man perceives in the world
only what already lies within him; but to perceive what lies within him, man needs
the world.” 56
Take the real out of the world and put it back where it belongs, where it always has
been: realization. Any system that
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