Status Updates From Disembodied

‘What is the true unforgivable act: that the mind has invented the soul, or that the body cannot survive without it?’

‘Words are creatures, and in their bite, our blood mingles with the ink that births them.’

‘Lift not that which you cannot carry.’

‘If silence is indeed the origin of language, could a return to voicelessness give birth to a new etymology?’

‘It is not that which is most important that we search for, but rather the familiar’.

‘Time and time again, I have planted and harvested myself under the delusion that the fruit will be different with each new attempt’.

‘Same as venom, despair needs a wound to enter the body.’

‘The chemical structure of morphine is a bedtime story that death tells you.’

‘I know, and you know, and the whole of cosmos and chaos and the infinite sea knows, and all that which one cannot imagine as real knows, [that] the real is but a limitation we set for ourselves in order to go from here to there.’

‘The world is as each of us sees it, and often it loses its spell when one tries to explain or describe it.’

‘Death is what prepares us to be born, and it does so in happiness and in sorrow and in numbness’.

‘One does not have to fall victim to the flow of events traversing one’s existence, regardless of whether they be irreversible or not’.

‘I understand exhaustion. I have known it year after year. I understand this inevitable problem of nothingness: exhaustion, and that although being is indeed a void, it is a defected one, since it always allows for exhaustion to seep through.’

‘How brutal we are to those who mean the world—we let them drown and they drown us, and yet, somehow, we make each other last, we hold and we carry and we drag each other toward the end, as if no purer pain existed aside from that of having the right and power of choosing who gets to hurt us’.

‘This is what I crave still: to become wind. To return as gusts of wind upon the faces I no longer remember, so that each and every face I touch might be that of someone dear, someone familiar’.

‘And so we linger evermore famished just so that we can go on breathing’.

‘When one loves, that love becomes the primal source of happiness that we allow ourselves: it becomes the only happiness we think we must pursue. Love often becomes the path and the destination, narrowing the journey of life to utterly painful proportions, almost as if one were offering oneself as human sacrifice to a deity, to the goddess of love’.

‘The sea takes what you give her, and you take from the city what it lays at your feet, albeit love or despair, for there is no other home and all new attempts bring about the same routine’.

‘By developing a consciousness, by encouraging an openness toward something bigger than the self, one can encompass the whole of the real and thus—thus, alienation, trauma, loneliness, pain, death even, will forever become mere concepts.’