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Tel Quel

“je sais bien mai quand même”

Tag Archives: Simone De Beauvoir

September 21, 2009 If I am what I love then I am You.

There are days where time is measured by albums, or specifically beats per minute: the last I checked, I had no idea seven hours had passed or remotely felt so as I sat (and am still sitting) in a meager 7 by 3 stripped against the colours of false appeal outside. The lurid juxtaposition of being in and out of the system simultaneously compels a second sanity, one which I am forced to assume and understand. But I don’t.

Today I failed to understand the awkward choices people make, the occasional irreverent working class, self-aggrandizement and/or affliction, the strange co-habitation of blindness and impartiality in general. With whatever spare hours in between, I wondered to the point of exhaustive delirium: like De Beauvoir, it appears to exist in a spectacle of multiplicity, the truth which is not one but many. I continued with dialogues, ethical and moral, many of which failed to be coherent and logical because I had little to spare by the eighth hour. With Von Kleist, I come to the temporary conclusion of eitelkeit; vanitas; or vanity. Any form of perspective is an interminable relation with blindness, with singularities, and from the position of Omnia Vanitas from the Book of Ecclesiastes: the obsession-possession of the subject, or perhaps of the object itself, and its ultimate alienation (in memory of Narcissus’s unfortunate drowning.)

The preoccupation with the look, with people, with choices is beyond all of me, as I tried to the best of my abilities to wait for chance occurrences. I believe most think faster and more effectively than I do; I just happen to wonder, then wander. With secondary knowledge I’ve subjected to a makeshift phenomenology to hold fast onto, just to make sense of today. The problem is that I have no clue from which position I speak of: within what boundaries, or from a distance, and if so to what degree, what kind of justification? Nine hours later, I am still fast frozen beneath cryptic entries of ideologies past but in a certainty mad with distraught, that to speak is never neutral.

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