Saturday, December 09, 2006

My Obelisk Valise

There is a world of sound that is random and there. In darkness, you can begin tapping and touch this world. Lost at the forge, beating. Without reference of space and... what is surrounding? "I didn't want to sniffle with all our eyes closed. Everyone would hear it." Well, we're all interconnected through cords, links, strands - the omphalos is the cable of all flesh. Umbilical dipthongs. Solipsism is impossible; everything exists.

6 comments:

power locks said...

solipsism can exist alongside everything else. solipsism is the idea precisely that everything exists and that it exists for one person. i like this one.

frillytoothpicks said...

Solipsism is the view that the self is all that can be known to exist.
It derives from solus "alone" and ispe "self".

The self alone. I understand what you are getting at, but i think that is more in the philosophy of epiphenomenalism... that everything exists but exists in our minds.

No where does solipsism claim that everything exists. Find me a source, sir.

power locks said...

the source my dearest is currently in saint louis. regardless of the outcome of this existential plight, i assure you, the source exists. do you need more proof?

chelsea face said...

meg - i see nothing but childish jibber jabber when i write. someone like you who uses words i'm not even sure exist or not, how can someone like u enjoy any part of what i splooge?

frillytoothpicks said...

ipse*

Anonymous said...

Have you read Ulysses? If not, you should. If so, you need to mention it at some point because what you've written sounds eerily familiar to a certain chapter (3) in that book, and I don't want to see you berated for plagiarism. I have provided a sample to show you what I mean.

"Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs... In the darkness of the dome they wait, their pushedback chairs, my obelisk valise, around a board of abandoned platters. Who to clear it? He has the key." -James Joyce