Fleeting remembrance

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.

 

 

 

 

 

The collapse of You!

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.

Der Schein

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.