My Life Living Lived
(Jan 27/06)
I have no beginning or ending, nor a present or future. I am somewhere in the middle, a life lived and yet to be lived. I have neither a conscious nor a mid-conscious, nor have I a post-conscious or a conscious conscious. I have what I refer to as a contra-consciousness; a battleground where my life living, lived and yet to be lived, acts out its mercenary impersonation of life. Puppetry without the stooge, the unmoved mover moving and manipulating the strings that represent the socialization of an individual life lived, living and yet to be either or. In this manner I can never be sure if what I believe to be living is in fact lived, or what is lived is in the process of living, or vice versa. All I know for certain, if anything at all, is that I have no living, no moment of life living or lived. As you can well imagine, this creates its own inherent problems, a battleground of infinite possibilities, a conflict between disparate lives lived, living and yet to be lived, or a life lived at all. Should this be the case, I have neither a life, a living, a life lived, or a living life, or a living or yet to be lived life.
I have no beginning or ending, nor a present or future. I am somewhere in the middle, a life lived and yet to be lived. I have neither a conscious nor a mid-conscious, nor have I a post-conscious or a conscious conscious. I have what I refer to as a contra-consciousness; a battleground where my life living, lived and yet to be lived, acts out its mercenary impersonation of life. Puppetry without the stooge, the unmoved mover moving and manipulating the strings that represent the socialization of an individual life lived, living and yet to be either or. In this manner I can never be sure if what I believe to be living is in fact lived, or what is lived is in the process of living, or vice versa. All I know for certain, if anything at all, is that I have no living, no moment of life living or lived. As you can well imagine, this creates its own inherent problems, a battleground of infinite possibilities, a conflict between disparate lives lived, living and yet to be lived, or a life lived at all. Should this be the case, I have neither a life, a living, a life lived, or a living life, or a living or yet to be lived life.
Again, the permutations, computations, and possibilities are seemingly infinite and subject to change, infinite and incalculable as they are, or as they appear to be. Poetry is much simpler, and infinitely less ontologically cumbersome. As I have no idea whether I sleep well when I sleep, as I would either be asleep, which I would be unaware of, or dreaming that I am, as it were, asleep, the query as to whether I slept or have or will sleep well seems moot at best. Throwing caution to the wind, I will sleep regardless of the inherent difficulties in determining whether I am, will be, or have slept at all. As I said at the beginning of this teleological quandary, it really matters little what I think, think I think, or whether I think at all. It’s all moot conjecture, middle with no beginning, no ending, no consciousness or post-consciousness, just puppetry and cunning stoogery.
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