Loss

In the end, it is loss.

This may be the only pure land, clean enough that I am willing to sting and confuse myself here, enough for me to sink into incoherence and affectation.

We are all losing.

All hope, thought, answers, emptiness, burning heat — all are being lost.

What is the anaesthetic effect of life? It makes you ever more clear-headed, and then ever more accepting of everything you bear. Only by being clear-headed enough can a person have enough fear — the fear of the loss that not accepting would bring.

This is a road of no return.

Loss is a road of no return.

It has nothing to do with effort.

And often, the harder you strive, the clearer your head; the clearer your head, the more you lose.

The world is a thing like this: it is like a programme on television, or a film playing on an endless loop. Now and then you sink into it and dance along, but in the end you must lift your head and look at the floor or the ceiling. And then you discover that this world has nothing to do with you; the world is noise, a cold wind howling, and beneath your feet, a cliff.