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epistle log 30irty 5ive
spark
setting: midwest, ohio valley, gotham third floor bed room. dark all day, everything is the lowest shades of muted grey. miserable: cold rain and a wind that chills the spirit. surrounded by everything and nothing, simultaneous. both present and absent
time: after now; all souls day
character: connected to the one post modern construct with any connection outside of the self. in the haste to have a stake in everything, we've created an infinite space which we constantly try to fill with millions of nothings every second. nothing new on the face of this earth anymore, save the absence of things (no more novelty in presence), the new obsession is this void we spill into. with the radical individualism, we are no longer even our own contemporaries, but beyond ourselves. bored with existence, we reach past it. we live beyond even ourselves, our abnegation from our own being a final step in disinterest. no wonder cynicism is the new opiate of the masses. ignoring the sacred sciences of conservation, destruction and consumption are now separated from any form of production. consuming everything and giving back nothing, everything rolls off our strong and self-righteous backs, even darwinism. nature the enemy, ourselves now synthetic, divorced from everything. as the world shrinks daily, the infinite gulfs between individuals grow in exponential proportions. long past supernova, nothing escapes our gravity, and we spout infinite nothingness.
in this network of infinite abysses, he levels a singularity of presence, being: truth.
disseminated, cached, named, stored, forgotten
11|02|99