literature! literature! everything is literature and fiction! a dose of irreality real enough to make one mad! fancy living in a mesh of signs, symbols, language! where is the real world? everything i touch i touch with the hands of a spectre; everything i see i see only a copy, a translation, corrupted by the glance of discourse, construed by the glass of projection! no sooner i shook hands with another than he took the form of a character, a someone, an image, a person; i want to see real souls! real stones! real reality! i want to live in a world free from inscription, devoid of perception; i want pure, tangible experience, unmediated, unabridged! i want to see things coming as they are from the eye of a stone, things undiscriminated, things without wonder, things indistinguishable from each other; i want to have a taste of matters before they turn into phenomenas; facts before they turn into interpretations!—nay! not even matters! not even facts! enough of knowledge! enough of reason! imagination! is the world concrete enough to be abstracted by thoughts? nay, there’s not even a thought without presumption! not a word fit enough to fit the world!—there’s not even such thing as a world! for a word is only a description of itself; it signifies nothing; it hits nothing; it reaches nothing; on the contrary: it cancels everything…..
“in the beginning of everything was the Word”—never before has nothingness so blatantly declared.
closed eyes, closed lips, closed words and a closed world
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