Folly of Being
The only way for tomorrow not to be worse is for tomorrow never to occur at all. As a homily one could do worse. It’s paradoxical and yet practical all at once, but first your practise must that of a bleak theorist. For everything else try anything else. My father failed to tell me that you can break it easily, but try putting it back together again, that’s life (or an egg). I only understood when I found myself smashed against the wall with nobody to put me back together again.
Let us be serious for a moment: accumulations of psychical experience compound until they begin to sound like bustling chatter (or, perhaps, “idle talk,” as the old master across the border once said). Glimpses of people appear, but each time ever-more faded, invariably distorted. The subjectification process continues to fascinate, the degraded electricity in your brain strains for focus, this time all is more manic, this time ruinous. On a recent psychedelic experience I called out to Odin and he didn’t reply. You know you are in trouble when Odin will not listen.