It’s not life until death

November 19, 2012

Foreknowledge would be bad enough. But I must taste in inbetween. As I gradually drift to sleep while trying to focus, I am less and less there and I wonder “to what degree will vagueries persist before they erode into a loss of meaning?” But carry on.

As a statue is known by its negative space, so is life known by death. It must be anticipated. But it’s not a matter of “life–until death.” We slip inbetween consciousness and unconsciousness periodically, perhaps between feeling and apathy, between brilliance and blank stares.

It sounds petty to despair over sleep, but it is nonetheless more wasting time. To live less than a century is a short time, but one forgets that a third of that is lying unconscious on a platform raised a few feet above ground. Or more. And even in the world of fully “being there,” precious little does one make action. Preconditioned autopilot: do as one does or you may draw attention. And perhaps the prevalent reason is simply the fact that nothing else would occur to you but to walk on the sidewalk.


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