There’s a void inside the sun. A black sun. And a void in the earth, at the heart of the earth. And a void on the campus …That’s why we laugh.
I can’t see it. I can’t find it. The campus is too … vast. When you’ve lost contact with the void … when you can’t laugh at everything – that’s when you know you’re in trouble.
We need to discover the void – that’s why we drink. The reassurance of the void.
Because it can reveal itself in joy – drunken joy. Impersonal joy. Laughing joy. The happiness of the void: there is such a thing.
The philosophy bomb will unleash the void.
Will it?
The philosophy bomb that changes absolutely nothing. That no one even noticed went off.
Our philosophy, wholly given over to the void. Due to our superior moods. Our elective attunements.
Void-drinking. Void chasing. Until we’re able to see it. Until it knows itself in us. In wine is truth, right? In wine: the void …
We needed to educate her in the void, Cicero said. In void studies. We need to press on with our void training.
She couldn’t reach it, not like we could. She couldn’t inhabit it. Which is why she liked to watch us drink. Which is why she liked to see us approach it, the void. In our laughing! In our shouting!
There was something exquisite, she said, in our mixture of despair and exhilaration. She hadn’t know that there could be a joy to despair. A lift. That despair could bear us heavenward, which it clear did. That there was a life to despair. That despair could bellow, as we did when we drank.
Work in Progress 