The False Blogger

I discovered that there's a hole in the middle of the world.
Like so many other things, I stumbled upon this - or into this - accidentally.

One day, feeling a bit put out, I just looked up and saw, much to my astonishment, the walls of the hole ascending far above me - and there, far away, at the top, a blur of light - the surface, from which I had so precipitously and unconsciously fallen.

Holy shit!, I thought, this is the same thing that happened to me yesterday! And the day before. And the day before that. Oh, wait - no, not the day before that - I don't think I fell into the hole on that particular day. The sense of displacement, disorientation, disconnection - entirely absent that day. Well, la di dah. What a great day that was. Yeah.

Anyway, not to be flippant, but... really - I was stunned. This explained so much! Why hadn't I noticed this before? Surrounded by walls, steep, clammy, unscalable - and I moseyed along as if everything was straightforward, a-ok, copacetic... No wonder things just haven't seemed to add up lately.

As quiet as the wind whistling through the hollowed shell, as quiet as the grave
as empty as that hope has proved to be, as vacant as an abandoned vow
the hollow in your cheek, untouched, the wind across our faces
as we turn our backs on the day

but what tomorrow comes? more voidal entropy, sagacious, potency unused
sorry? to whom? flesh razor-sliced, crimson so deep there is no recalling
we join there, the distant shore. it's too bad,
it's how it is. the sun
an amber disc.

There must be a simpler way to tell this story.

Here, on the other side; here, where it is quiet, so very quiet.

The chaotic, colored forms and masses, so dense, so undeniable, so unavoidable: I see them from here. As if through a veil. Not that they are obscured or indistinct: I can dial in, focus, magnify down to the last detail, even to the level of pain - which is the herald of any sensation, of any flavor ... at least from here... (Hey, celebrate sensation: go ahead! It is no skin off my back - ouch! - uh, maybe it is - oh, wait, sorry - that was discarded, too. I forgot... phantom limb syndrome, as pertains to feelings... )

But why? Where? I have asked that, too. I will try to answer, do my best to articulate what it is to be here, what the other side looks like from here ... but I am resigned to failure in such an attempt. If it could be described, you would already know - as would I. And perhaps I wouldn't be here at all - there would be no necessity for that. But such speculation is drivel, chatter of the idlest kind. As if, what if there had been no snake? What if there had never been a name - not a single one? What if there was no knot? Just an endless string, undifferentiated into infinity, beyond the reach of gaze, the naught, not the knot ...

If you will forgive me: I think not. Negation is the assertion of the fact of existence. Don't you agree?

Not that it matters. I am no less likely to be relieved of my perceptual burdens than you are of your physical ones. I may have escaped the envelope - OK, perhaps through no will of my own, admittedly, but, nonetheless - you stand there, and I stand here, and so it is.

And I am empty, empty as a clam, or at least as silent as one.

Or not.

I hear a quiet sound. I will try to describe.