Status Updates From Τα κατά Α.Γ. πάθη

slow & steady reading on my ipad :)

And in this desert of great seductions, the creatures: I and the living roach. Life, my love, is a great seduction in which all that exists seduces. That room that was deserted and for that reason primally alive. I had reached the nothing, and the nothing was living and moist

Don't let me see because I'm close to seeing the nucleus of life—and, through the cockroach that even now I'm seeing again, through this specimen of calm living horror, I'm afraid that in this nucleus I'll no longer know what hope is.

I was being seduced. And I was going toward that promising madness. But my fear wasn't that of someone going toward madness, but toward a truth—my fear was of having a truth that I'd come not to want, an infamizing truth that would make me crawl along and be on the roach's level. My first contact with truths always defamed me.

This is madness, I thought with my eyes closed. But it was so undeniable feeling that birth from inside the dust—that all I could do was follow something I was well aware wasn't madness, it was, my God, the worse truth, the horrible one. But why horrible? Because without words it contradicted everything I used to think also without words.

To find out what I really could hope for, would I first have to pass through my truth? To what extent had I invented a destiny now, while subterraneously living from another?

For the first time I was astonished to feel that I'd based an entire hope on becoming something that I was not. The hope—what other name could I give it? that for the first time I now was going to abandon, out of courage and mortal curiosity. Had hope, in my prior life, been based upon a truth? With childlike surprise, I was starting to doubt it.

In a difficult demolition, hard and narrow paths were opening within me.
Opening in me, with the slowness of stone doors, opening in me was the wide life of silence, the same that was in the fixed sun, the same that was in the immobilized roach.

—it was mud, and not even dried mud but mud still damp and still alive, it was a mud in which the roots of my identity were still shifting with unbearable slowness.
Take it, take all this for yourself, I don't want to be a living person! I'm disgusted and amazed by myself, thick mud slowly oozing.

Then, before understanding, my heart went gray as hair goes gray.