All 'human' creations of art and 'self' expression, all gestures, thoughts, actions, motions of locomotion, now commodified; are the hopeless attempts of articulation through fantasies which are the layered-guise of a non-being to communicate its nothingness & failed wishes to become being through a language acted upon by desires unintelligible to it. Language as tautology, language as force-fed nectarous lies, language as to signal frustration at confinement within accepted boundaries of shared-prisons, of mutual-cells: aureate shackles leave no space for breath, this assaulting white noise sparkling rouge—droplets disembodied.
Beneath appearances there lies an absolute envelope of pure non-being (thanatos), the horizon point's manifestation of becoming through which all living subjects strive, worship, act upon without knowing, are programmed for: destruction and death. Any prescribed resistance to thanatos are merely whimsical temptations of thanatos in esse; the individual is a mere representative imitation of external desire, a derivative outpouring of beyond-libidinal—which subsumes and conquers all evanescent bios. Man has the illusion of being controlled.
Rather than a ventriloquists thespian form, in reality, it is nothingness itself.
Have you not felt this nothing? Have you not smelled, heard, seen, touched, tasted this nothing? Have you been ignoring these senses, these 'reality' boulevards bounded by two lines oblivion and not the triad whose ersatz promise you feverously consume? (HS-HF-HG)
Is is omnipresent, your consciousness manifests it's symptoms: it exudes all space-time, all of substance, it is the essence which conceals through masks; there is no escape.
Perhaps this is why you so struggle to find an I within a lexis
that contains no definition of [it]self?
(no) (body) ... (nobody) ... (no-body) ... ( n o b o d y ) ... ( )
...
