Sunday, 25 January 2009

"“Whoever wants to live and enjoy his life today must not be like you and me. Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours—.”
Steppenwolf.


I had woken up in a forest one morning surrounded by tall stone circular ruins, with nothing but a sense of foreboding to teach me the past few hours for i had no recollection of how i had come to be there. My memories have a habit of only leaving the blankest of details to the most important of stories.
I reached into my pockets for a watch and stumbled across a notepad i have often taken with me on walks, this small insignificant artefact was comforting as it let me know that however misty the ideas were now i had intentionally come here. I flicked through the pages hoping for some clarity but alas, all seemed to be blank.
Until there, on a single page with ink that was seeping through it because of the grass's dew stood this;
'we above you ever more residing
In the ether's star translumined ice
Know nor day nor night nor time's dividing,
wear nor age nor sex as our device.
Cool and unchanging is our eternal being,
Cool and star bright is our eternal laughter.'

then 2 words underlined heavily below it which read;
'The Immortal'

where had these come from? what did they mean?

After some hours wandering through the fog i had come to a great building who's edges i could not see and who's door looked suitable for Gods. Upon the arch doorway i read "The Library Of Babel" and at that moment i knew. It was here i would find my vindication of my past night, my reason for why i had chosen to lay amongst those stone ruins if i had chosen them at all.
And as the fog clung to the breaths i exhaled i ascended nervously into the building.
I examined my trembling hands and said under my breath "nerves arise when a man comes face to face with one fork of his endless fate, when one looks out over the canyon and is terrified of the inadequacy he feels in his soul"

I had hoped this would be the end of it, that sudden incurable melancholy that is prone to convulse in my body in the most unexpected of moments. I have since spent years in the library. I have sifted through books in search of the secret of Atlas's strength & Zarathustra's determination, attempted to understand how i had come to be here and how i should escape but all I found was clues. Useless clues.
Tlon would hold me till it saw to release me.

I'm searching for something that I cannot see. But which I know is there.

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