We need our hangovers – don’t you see? After the up, the ecstasy, the falling down. We need both – both sides. The opening to transcendence. And the fall to Earth. And into the Earth. Into amorphy. Into existence without existents.
Hungovers: this is where we truly experience our conditions. This is where we know the irremissibility of it all. Where we know ourselves to be animals, caught in a trap. Where we know that we’re stuck with who we are. Stuck to ourselves. Stuck to this world. To what just repeats itself – returns on its fucking self.
When we know ourselves to be stuck in this horrible tautology. When we experience our very existence as fate. As inevitability. With no escape. No evasion. The unbearable heaviness of being, right? The unbearable crushedness of being …
When we know ourselves as buried. Buried in life.
The hungover lowers the coffin. The hungover seals the tomb.
The highest and the lowest, right? The day after the night before. The trick is to remember what we saw when drunk in the midst of the hangover. It’s the tension, you see. That’s what we need to maintain.
Work in Progress 