Alles erscheint anschaulicher. Das Erwachen eine schmerzhafte jedoch notwendige Ausuebung.
That Moment- the glimpse- of perverse recognition of the illusionary insistence of that which defies.
It.…threatening to collapse the etched sanity of the Oh, so seductive false consciousness.
The unruly abjection of its uncivil -primal chained within.
It simultaneously wraps and releases itself within the very cracks of that which is you.
Consciousness what an uninvited absurd guest.
The Myth of You!!
The You that keeps circling back to Freud’s notion of the thrive for life- yet destruction.
The point of return. Absolution. The sweet lure of collapse.
“The Goal of Life is Death”.
The incessant repetitive compulsion emerges as an inescapable facet of the human
condition. The illusion of Y-o-u-! The Self marked by the matrix of the social , in a
Jungian sense, the collective unconscious of corporal antiquity.
Freud’s notions of the incessant tension of Thanatos and Eros manifests itself within the shade of gray. The gray that, much like, Maggie Nelson’s “Bluets” announces itself as the welcomed foe. The color that transcends that which defies reason.
Nelson reflects, “And so I fell in love with a color…the color blue- as if falling under a spell- a spell I fought hard to stay under and get out from under, in turns.”
Strange,,,,,how the gray of loss is the very essence that defines the borders of the soul. It entangles you in its seductive web of sensations.
Pleasure expresses itself within the gray heaviness of recollection. The site of return, in a Freudian sense, curses the ego into the perpetual seductive dance between the Id and superego.
Grayness, of the concrete slabs pooled with the excess of your gone astray mind the imprinted memory of that moment. It propelling you on and on towards that site of return.
Mimetic desire to trace the steps of gray inevitability. The grayness of the dissolved somatic encasing that once expressed YOU. Loss of comprehensible borders between the living and dead tissue.
The animated lifeless frame -the gray (un)qualified mass -to uphold the sweet illusion of comprehension.
Gray..…….oh ruptured agony -sweet welcome friend!
It the somatic memory of you.
It the mass of grief.
There it was again this strange primal thing. The thing that takes a hold of you and momentarily suspends you in a state that collapses all perceived meaning. The collapse that threatens to strip you of all prior conditioned understanding of life. The abject that as Julia Kristeva perceives to be the complete breakdown in meaning the result of the loss of difference between self and other. The question emerges repeatably in my mind precisely who is this constant intruding other? The other that on this day causes me to flee outside into the chill of the night amidst the wasteland of the barren farm land on the verge of ending it all. Fear my steady companion propelled by the abject that does not know rules and borders-the unruly repressed part of the psyche that threatens to erupt at any moment.
That was then and this is now…… from teenager to woman.
Far away in a cloud of haze I hear the soft deafening ring of the phone. The unceasing ring that I fear bears the messenger of death. You answer despite yourself …you breathe suspended with the misgiving of your demise. Oh, the sweet irony of it all. How I long to hold you , to rescue you from the demons within. But, to no avail! The voice now drowning out the little hope left within- to escape the brutal reality of your feared demise. A stranger…. yet eerily familiar voice without a pause propels itself forward with its monotone inescapable snare. “Something awful has happened” the voice demands. “She is dead” “ Deine Mutter ist tod…gefallen vom sechsten Stock”. Your Mother is dead! My mind trying to comprehend the words penetrating my ears.The echo of death sends a shutter down my back.
Where am I ? What am I ? What does it all mean?
Confusion, haze and bewilderment bear down on me now. The heavy blanket of grief settles on the essence of my very soul. The scream penetrates the walls yet remains locked within. The scream that knows no borders but the pain of loss. The abject of death forces you to confront the materiality of life. The materiality that defines cultural borders and linguistic created Reals of society.
Du warst teil meines Traumes gestern.
Ich war dabei dich zu retten…
Die Welle …sie drohte dich zu ertrinken!
Ich sah hilfos zu-die distanz zu gross um dich zu erreichen.
Du konntest mich nicht hoeren der Rausch der Stroemung zu gewaltig…zu verlockend.
Laufe, laufe schneller…renne weg von der Macht des verlangens der anderen Stimme in dir.
Die Stimme die dich lockte : Die Stimme der zwanghaften leidenschaft der Gespaltenheit.
Die Welle erbarmungslos ueberflutet das ich – das ich das sich verzweifelt von den unsichtbaren Fesseln versucht frei zu schwimmen.
Leute….Leute versammeln sich . Die Augen strahlen die Gier der Annerkennung.
Jeder meint im Mittlepunkt stehen zu muessen. Doch stehen wir jemals? Diese Illusion des Grandiosen-Bedeutung draegt nur den Schein des Gewichtes.
Das Gewicht das mann erbarmungslos und triebhaftig anstrebt.
Der staetige Begleiter der endlose zwang der Bedeutung..der Lust der Berufung zu erschaffen.
The gray mass infiltrating that which is no more.
That nameless sensation which you held – CAUGHT- no longer able to breathe...inhale.
No more willing to expose and release…its containment within.
The reflection fades into the haze of confusion…meaning collapses….the mirror shatters pulsating unrelentingly piece by piece- fragment by fragment piling onto itself.
The Mirror NOW the empty hollow impression of the numbness of agony.
Reflections….reflections grow dim – engulfed in the blanket of refusal to face the barbarity of surreal inevitability .
“When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves
What does one do when language eludes? Words, oh sweet words ….NOW… the new found nemesis.
Silence…the possibility of escape. Yet, escape to what?
The illusion of vanquishing the REAL of that what is. The real infiltrating every part of you…the changed you of late. Yet, how to recognize the altered self ? Yesterdays-mere allusive shadows dancing and encircling that part of you -encapsulated by thoughts of Your violent exit from this world …removed from me your daughter and friend.
Body heavy now. It forcing me down-the pull of the new me weighing heavy upon animation. The battle ensues. That old part of me, the idealist, anxious to persist yet the newfound desolation of your demise demands willful blindness to encounter the hopeless abjection of loss.
IT leaves no room for liberation this untrained and unfaltering new companion.
Slap, Slap, SLAP wake up !!!!! No, you must persist…to elude corporeality.
Words. Oh words sweet slippery words! Where to find you now?