Posted in previous blog:
How is it we never notice the way chocolate melts in its fancy wrapper, especially after you lug it around school looking for even more chocolates, then reshapes itself according to the intricate spiderweb marks of the aluminium foil, according to how much pressure the other chocolates in the bag are putting on it, according to whether it is unlucky enough to have strayed under the shotglass full of more chocolates right before the bag was put down – it becomes special you almost can’t bear to eat it when you’ve seen what’s under the wrapper.
…But you have to because you’ve already opened it.
How is it we never notice the way we tediously spend weeks, or even years, trying to dig up a little hole in the middle of our paths, making contact in the process, with that earthworm sticking out of the dry sandy ground, that little rabbit whose home we are destroying, that passerby who stops to give us a hand, getting attached to these people who belong above ground, then ultimately, when the hole is deep enough – almost bottomless – we walk right into it as if there were a pied piper leading the way in, as if possessed.
…But who’s going to cover it up?
How is it that we can fall asleep one slow afternoon, then dream up trouble for ourselves, like getting into a spasm and being unable to breathe while someone’s back is turned from you, and as you put in all your effort to tap that person, choking, be it on the shoulder or on the back, to please save you – simply nothing is done; and in this semiconscious crisis you know that nothing can save you from what you have done, nothing can save you from what you have lost, and nothing can save you from the walls they were made to stack up between themselves and you – to protect themselves from you.
…But aren’t we all just our own non-entities?