Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Random, randomer, randomest thoughts

From Snippets of absurd confessions by Anaraa, June-August, 2004 (from www.mongoldyke.jimdo.com)

Agony purifies and distils your soul and feelings, when experienced sharply for a brief period. If the period is extended, it dulls your soul and blunts your self-awareness... (Comments of July 2011: such an astute observation.)

I wanna cry tonight. Cry because it is absurd, the stuff I just read, and cry because that absurdity is true. Absurdity is truth, truth is absurd. I recognise myself in those absurd words of lost and lonely souls who don’t understand that they are something that they don’t imagine they are. Or the absurd words that I am what I don’t see… What am I? Who am I? The absurdity of feelings so true that they scratch and cut all my intestines with the power of a drill going at million turns a minute that I feel that that very truth is shredding me into minute pieces, filling my empty shape of the body with blood that won’t curdle and stop, the red wet blood that slowly morphs into words, flowing, and the pieces of me falling onto the floor and becoming whole. Blood is words. Words are blood. Broken pieces are whole, whole is piece. Absurdity is truth... (Comments of July 2011: I wrote these thoughts when I finished the book "Our Lady of the Flowers" by Jean Genet. He's still definitely one of those few writers that capture my imagination and soul in his post-structuralist ramblings, much the same with António Lobo Antunes. Began reading his "What can I do when everything's on fire" last week.)

What is madness, if not being loved to death? What is sanity, if not loving to death? And how long had I to ponder these questions of love, death, friendship, hate? The answer is, for as long as I remember. I have always obsessed these questions, never really letting them slip off my mind, these questions lurked beneath my gaze, even when I was talking of absolutely irrelevant issues. That is, if the human emotions were separated from bare facts of life, but then, those bare facts of life never arise in vacuum, there always precedes some sort of human emotion. What is madness, if not being loved to death? What is sanity, if not loving to death? And I did love to death, and I was loved to death, a number of times, but each time differently, for the uniqueness of certain actions, however many times repeated with someone or the other, retained their uniqueness, for there had always been some subtle difference of one compared to another…(Comments of July 2011: thoughts on love and relationships dating circa 2004. They still hold true, but then again, not sure at all of anything to do with love/relationships anymore. For better or worse.)

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