This is a serious problem: I no longer know what I am doing!
What chain of events led me to do the thing I did? Why? I seem to hold the answers in my mouth and all I have been doing is chewing them into tiny particles to distort them into concealing things even to myself. The thing churning in the hollow of my mouth seems to have some kind of dehydrating agency and I am slowly losing consciousness.
But the human mouth is a remarkable organ; it secretes saliva before I shrivel up!
All I have been repeatedly saying is that my actions are ‘meta-acts’. They are acts (or mistakes?) Man is entitled to commit. It is Man’s nature to do so. From the epoch of time, he has been doing so, unnoticed by neither his wife nor his furtive lover(s) although the prodding Philosopher was aware of it (because he did it too). So it is of no harmful consequence if I indulge in the same acts.
Such vague ontological assumptions are valid as long as one is writing a great philosophical doctrine potent enough to change the very course of man, when the author of that doctrine takes up the responsibility for the whole of mankind. But what changes will my acts cause in the grand design of Man; how do they affect his evolution? And when I cannot take the responsibility for my own ‘commitments’, how can I afford to bear the weight of an entire civilization? To hold him responsible for whatever I do (or do not do) – is it not a kind of escapism? To blame Man for my shortcomings is to not blame myself for my own weaknesses. It is as if my actions are no longer mine (of course when the results of an act are favorable, I take full credit for the enterprise); and if action is what defines Man’s identity, then what is my identity?
I have been disintegrating inside the hollow of my mouth, being chewed politely into millions of particles that cling on to each other. An amoebic existence. And as everyone with decent table manners dining at a social gathering would know, it is quite impolite to open your mouth wide, stick your tongue out and reveal its contents. ‘‘Quite rude!’’, the one across the table would think. (He too must have bitten himself into pieces).
So you see my case is utterly hopeless. I do not remember my natural shape nor am I aware of what size I was. I am slowly churning inside my mouth, protected in its black shelter, gently moisturized by its unctuous saliva. But before long, the organ begins to tire of holding my weight and soon I must swallow myself to be digested inside my depths. What after digestion?
This is a more serious problem: Am I to be flushed down the toilet?
What chain of events led me to do the thing I did? Why? I seem to hold the answers in my mouth and all I have been doing is chewing them into tiny particles to distort them into concealing things even to myself. The thing churning in the hollow of my mouth seems to have some kind of dehydrating agency and I am slowly losing consciousness.
But the human mouth is a remarkable organ; it secretes saliva before I shrivel up!
All I have been repeatedly saying is that my actions are ‘meta-acts’. They are acts (or mistakes?) Man is entitled to commit. It is Man’s nature to do so. From the epoch of time, he has been doing so, unnoticed by neither his wife nor his furtive lover(s) although the prodding Philosopher was aware of it (because he did it too). So it is of no harmful consequence if I indulge in the same acts.
Such vague ontological assumptions are valid as long as one is writing a great philosophical doctrine potent enough to change the very course of man, when the author of that doctrine takes up the responsibility for the whole of mankind. But what changes will my acts cause in the grand design of Man; how do they affect his evolution? And when I cannot take the responsibility for my own ‘commitments’, how can I afford to bear the weight of an entire civilization? To hold him responsible for whatever I do (or do not do) – is it not a kind of escapism? To blame Man for my shortcomings is to not blame myself for my own weaknesses. It is as if my actions are no longer mine (of course when the results of an act are favorable, I take full credit for the enterprise); and if action is what defines Man’s identity, then what is my identity?
I have been disintegrating inside the hollow of my mouth, being chewed politely into millions of particles that cling on to each other. An amoebic existence. And as everyone with decent table manners dining at a social gathering would know, it is quite impolite to open your mouth wide, stick your tongue out and reveal its contents. ‘‘Quite rude!’’, the one across the table would think. (He too must have bitten himself into pieces).
So you see my case is utterly hopeless. I do not remember my natural shape nor am I aware of what size I was. I am slowly churning inside my mouth, protected in its black shelter, gently moisturized by its unctuous saliva. But before long, the organ begins to tire of holding my weight and soon I must swallow myself to be digested inside my depths. What after digestion?
This is a more serious problem: Am I to be flushed down the toilet?
No comments:
Post a Comment