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The Sunday Tunnel: 5 minutes can be enough

[Continues from here.]

I had sex this morning. Quite sure I was not the only one to have it. I can tell because of the noises I heard. Distant noises – coming from nearby, you know. Tongue in cheek, all that.

“So I hit upon honesty as the best revenge. I purchased a ladder to put up high principles.” (ibid. p. 361)

Get on with it, is what it means. Get on with it to get it over with. Get over it to get on with it. I like the it-bit. Add ‘t’ and all is fair for a while there is only that. I have just about the time to write crooked sentences and look down on them as if they are the material humanity is made of. I hate straight like I hate being taken for a ride. “It’s sincerely merrily hopeless”, Li said as if enjoying the rhythm of the sentences when somebody would quote him. Otherwise, Li was not a name to enjoy.

“Loss in life: that’s what I mourn for; that’s what we all mourn for, all of us who have been touched by the fascism of the heart. It’s not having held what was in our hands to hold; not having felt the feelings we were promised by our parents, friends, and lovers, not having got the simple goods we were assured we had honestly earned and rightfully had coming.” (ibid. p. 366)

I have been touched. Darkness has been instilled in my heart. I have had it all, held it all, felt it all. On top of the mountain with everything downhill from there. Not because it was promised though; because it was there for the taking. And I took it, I took it all and now I am hook-it and it is my elixir of life, my badness that keeps my aspiration alive all through a lack of time.


Goes best with chicken.

“That’s what I feel when I feel, when I smell; that’s what we all smell, we all feel – this shit on our cheeks from those other cheeks – we members of the Party of Disappointed People. And were fortune’s crooked wheel to luck us the opportunity; if even a little power should come our way like a windfall from a distant relative’s will; if we had in the bank just enough authority saved up to keep open an account; then what damage we would do, what revenge we would take; juts like that bleeding balcony, there, you’re looking at. Must be in Vilnius. In what is left of Jew town. Good bet. That’s how my smile would be, see the rotten spindles? if for the briefest bit of blessed time, I – my habitually helpless hand – once – once – just once – held the whip.” (ibid. p. 367)

True enough, who does not have the will to kill? Should we then not admire those who actually get to kill? We do: simple – 5 minute – solutions is all we want. A brief bit of blessed time to get it over with or have gotten it over with.

And then? But: and then?

The above has its shit in reverse. The butt is creating it and members of the PdP or feeding it to the silent majority, always their silent majority. Despised for its silence, the majority is constantly taken for a fuck by the disappointed. Despised for their lack of disappointment they are taken from behind and ridden to hell and back again such that they, dizzy from all of the spin, don’t know anymore whether they are in hell or back in hell or in hell and back or simply back.

And then: nothing.

Let’s put the shit in forward motion and just run from its smell, its stink and realize that the more we kill the will to kill the less we need fortune because what is there to achieve? what to have? what to lack? Just carry on and a deed will be done – by this one or the next. What we have to lose is ourselves. Better: what we have to lose is the sense of risking a loss. We never had ourselves so there is nothing to lose – only things to gain.

[Continues here.]


March 3, 2013 - Posted by | Sunday Stories | , , , , ,


  1. […] [Continued from here.] […]

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