Poetic
Examinations Regarding the Metaphysics of Guidelines in Critical
Theory, pt. 2
“The band keeps almost starting.”
I'm sitting in a bar about to watch a
band, and there are things people say.
It's really just the band
sound-checking, but everyone is cued to beginnings.
When we are offered something to pay
attention to, it is difficult to ignore.
I can stare at an empty wall for hours
and hours in silence, it does me no good.
How do you feel when you are confronted
with emptiness?
How much of your life do you actually
remember? Boil it down to a percentage.
I imagine my percentage is something
like 1-2% but this seems real.
Ask me what day I wrote this and I will
shrug.
When did you read this? You will
probably shrug.
In 31 years, I learned not much.
One day, something will stick out in
your mind. Even though you don't know the exact points and facts and
times of what you did yesterday, something will ingrain itself into
your brain with such clarity that you will never forget every atom of
the event for as long as you live. And in the vast blur of life maybe
there is a dream you had, maybe there is a random conversation you
had and never met that person again, maybe you were so stunned that
someone would dare treat you that way that they did, or maybe you
were so stunned that you could have it in you to do that thing you
did.
That's what's real, and this only seems
real.
“The world is everything that is the
case.”
Every memory you can hold on to is a
beginning, and we are
