Our affair is very wordy, isn’t it, philosopher? And it’s me talking, mostly.
Our affair is thoroughly literary … It’s characterised by a standing apart from it all. From life. We’re not part of anything, are we?
What should we be part of?
Life – just life.
Is that easy? I don’t think it’s easy.
Part of life … I don’t think that’s an option for us. As humans, I mean. When we fuck …
When we fuck, what?
Is that life? It’s not life. I don’t know what that word means. Life: I say it to myself, and I know less and less. What is life? Like we know how to live. Like we know what to do.
That’s the problem: we don’t know what to do. So we’re here, obeying our … instincts. Did instincts lead us here? Are instincts to blame? God, what are we? What animals. Animals plus what? Rationality? Language? God ….
God, the human condition’s so disappointing, isn’t it?
Work in Progress 