Sunday, November 07, 2004

"There's still time..." - the problem with time is that it is quicksand, not solid ground. It looks, when the imagination projects itself onto future days, like a buffer zone between the real me and warded-away ordeals and strife. But that's its deception - time is always ebbing away, it's melting ice, nothing that you can stand on. Even so - it's vulgar to talk about it like this.

(seeing a spider in the corner of my eye, drifting and billowing its legs out up under the computer chair one metre away from me) - Jesus Christ, spiders are horrifying.

I don't know if a sense of humour is a defensible thing. I'll elaborate a little - I'm not trying make jokes and jar you when I write this; I'm trying to be felicitous instead.

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The destructive character has no interest in being understood. Attempts in this direction he regards as superficial. Being misunderstood cannot harm him. On the contrary he provokes it, just as oracles, those destructive institutions of the state, provoked it. The most petty of all bourgeois phenomena, gossip, comes about only because people do not wish to be misunderstood. The destructive character tolerates misunderstanding; he does not promote gossip.
Walter Benjamin, "The Destructive Character", One-Way Street

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