Do you get tired of being yourself? Are you bored of being who you are? Don’t you want a holiday from philosophy? From filling your head with this kind of stuff? Wouldn’t you like to forget it all? To, like, loosen your grip?
Don’t you feel it: a great calm that’s outside of us. A calmness that’s out there. That could come to us. Invade us. Envelop us. And gulp us up like Moby Dick.
Don’t you want to be NOTHING? In capital letters? And no one?
And not to have to do anything. Just, like, be lost in the afternoon. The whole afternoon …
It could be the last afternoon of our lives. Just giving way into the Afternoon of afternoons. Just dissipate into the greater Calm.
Just letting yourself float up there. Letting yourself be suspended.
And it’s not even your calm. It’s just some cloud drifting through you. God’s calm, or something.
Disappear. Let your atoms be … dispersed. Do you have atoms, philosopher? Are you like the rest of us?
Like, become totally porous. Let everything disperse into you. Let it pass through you.
We’ve lost our names in this idyll. In the afternoon.
It’s like being drunk without being drunk. Everything I say now – isn’t even me talking. It’s something else and someone else.
Do you think we’re invisible?
I can see you. Can you see me.
Not to ourselves, idiot. We’re getting farther and farther out.
The way we’re speaking. Who’s speaking in our places? Who’s saying things for us? Who’s speaking for me? Who’s taking our places?
Just words, streaming through us. Talking about talking. Talking about … Nothing, philosopher. NOTHING, in capital letters.
Work in Progress 