Monday, February 16, 2009

for machines

2 Comments:

Anonymous to be un/done said...

The world was too alive, you couldn't defeat it. Space had too much space, time too many seconds, days, weeks, milennia. You could no longer do anything to understand. You could no longer meet the frightening gaze of the absolute. (...) You had to dive head-first into vertigo and work, love, hate, suffer, be happy, kill, give birth (...) because there was nothing else to do.

3:51 PM  
Anonymous humans for humor built said...

Why couldn't the world that concerns us be a fiction? And if somebody asked, "but to be a fiction there surely belongs an author?" -- couldn't one answer simply, why? Doesn't this "belongs" perhaps belong to the fiction, too?

8:07 PM  

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