altPicture1151146698

Oxidizable

Modifié le : 2019/08/07

Since life is a per­pet­u­al restart, it is nec­es­sar­i­ly con­stant oxi­da­tion. What-it-is no longer becomes. Some­times, this is grad­u­al­ly reduced, slow­ly jammed, oxi­dized, and then stopped. But some­times, the break­age occurs, and it is already no longer, in a great crash of indif­fer­ence since it is now elsewhere.

Our ances­tors, those of long ago, had this abil­i­ty, or igno­rance, to accept the Order, the Great Plan. They knew that from destruc­tion arose the con­struc­tion, that noise was the broth­er of silence, that death was the mil­i­tary lover of life. The lives of our ances­tors did not belong to them, did not even exist.

Obvi­ous­ly, this glo­ri­ous cer­tain­ty could not resist ero­sion either. The vision of the Great Archi­tect was dis­creet­ly dis­tort­ed by the emo­tions and desires of the strongest. A new order was born, and things became very com­pli­cat­ed so that Jus­tice became adul­ter­ous, Good­ness burst her eyes with impa­tience and the false prophets lit scan­dalous fires. Heav­en could not last. It was prob­a­bly the Men who killed it, but it could have been a comet.

Thus, every­thing oxi­dizes, espe­cial­ly our bod­ies. For our souls, we don’t know yet. The answers we found no longer seem to hold water. Rust col­ors the clams. All times are aging, and those who still adhere to them often become vio­lent or stu­pid­ly suicidal.

My own bones are show­ing signs of fatigue. So I lis­ten to this song, this inte­ri­or beat, this melody with dis­cor­dant and beau­ti­ful notes. This song does not belong to me, I know nei­ther the source nor the des­tiny. It does­n’t care about any­thing. Do you hear it, read­er ? Do you under­stand it ?

#1a3958
#1a3958