day 9

inventions of the other,
the days are set to separate us from once we were together.
watching a tape on rewind,
the days are hell-bent on reaching the end.
who can we blame but the far-reaching desire to conquer everything?
no, we can only blame ourselves for loving ourselves.
out of this world, while in this world, that is the problem here isn't it?
our predicament is produced by a joint effort of chance and determinism.
We just forgot how they interact.
are we looking at variations of the same order of things? or are they inventions of thought and effort?
This order, more likely ancient and contemporary simultaneously, consists of tautologies of the same:
this world - that world
nature - man
subject - object
I - You.
But frankly, are we so heterogeneous?
the same and different,
nothing much has changed. Only the content and media in which we invent or borrow.
There is nothing.
Hence, nothing becomes the order in which something must come out of nothing.
There is love.
Hence, love must govern us as if that is the only virtue that would redeem us.
There is nature.
Hence, we must co-exist with nature even if we make serious alterations to its nature.

la question, that is a 'she' we violate and rape repeatedly.
But she is babylonian, and repeatedly visits us and seduces us.
are we to blame?
But we give ourselves, in being, to the touch.
to the seduction and the touch in which the contract is sealed.
(once we had the possibility to touch. Now, we touch virtually.)
how are we to redeem ourselves?
The human touch is the most profound action.
For a simple handshake could both mean a greeting or a hostile desire leading to violence and mastery.
How are we to touch? To kiss or to rape?
There is nothing else that contains more potential energy than the touch. Without touch, nothing moves. Even if this touch is lesser than a human physical touch. It is a touch, nonetheless.
my touch, and my gift to you, both a sin principle and the potential for the touch of salvation and baptism, is my virtual writing. These words that touch you, without contact except the rays of light that bounces off your pupils. Reflected touch. I am always mediated. But if this touch can reach you and force you to stand in between sin and redemption, it is enough as it is, 'We' as churlish messengers.
let us then return to the letters, as we open each entry to read and to pretend to enter into a msyterious contact with them, and we should then find, how the touch is at the heart of communication, even if language fails us more often than we hope.

Once, we touched, embraced and truly loved each other.
im Paradies, the garden in which all could touch and feel as freely as we liked.

out of touch, that is the theme of these writings.