Date: Sun, 14 Jul 2002 12:55:02
Subject: The Trouble with the Signifier
From: simonsaysthis@omphalos.com
To: skipvskip@hotmail.com

Skip,

This is all besides the point but I am having trouble with the nature of writing, signification, the meaning of my dreams, the connection between what I write and what I mean, the connection between the films I watch and the music that I listen to, the art I experience, the women I date, the politicians I hate, many things I can't relate.

In other words what the fuck am I doing with my life?

Also, is there an UR story, a beginning which precedes all beginnings or perhaps more importantly an ending which precedes all beginnings, that is -- without being fatalistic -- is life a story in which the middle is of little consequence? That is -- we have all been born and we will all die and of what matter is what comes between? I know that the existentialists say we are what we do so the beginning and end are of little consequence, what's in between is the matter. And also, I suppose, what one leaves behind. I'm not sure.

But there is no magic bullet, Skip, as far as I can tell, insofar as we are an evolutionary species have we really evolved that much? I mean we have this technology, I am writing you this letter using this technology and using this technology you will read it within perhaps a matter of minutes at the outside a matter of days but really it leaves nothing behind now does it? You will hit the delete key and that will be the end of this.

And then stories, we distract ourselves with stories, we make viewing and reading experiences with stories, we make "objects" out of our stories but are they really OUR stories at all? Really aren't they just a kind of defense mechanism against the fact that our lives, our conscious lives (if there is in fact consciousness at all and I'm not even sure how I feel about that) lack the order, the closure, the "morals" that we treasure in our stories. Life ends but if there is consciousness it doesn't really have an ending now does it? I mean it just drifts off, it doesn't sum up.

And so we come up with these mechanisms, wills and librettos and life insurance and the like, to give our lives some kind of material signification. And if we become rich enough via our endless pursuit of material wealth we endow libraries and art museums and symphony orchestras and university buildings with our names on them in hope of what in hope that our names will live on or that these stories these distractions will somehow help with the evolution of the human "race" which is racing towards the same thing it has always been racing towards, that is sickness unto death.

And humans? Humans are creatures that walk on two legs, eat, shit, fuck, kill and die. And ultimately all our fine cuisine, philosophies, sculptures and abstractions lead to little but.

And the sensory apparatus doesn't tell the truth, nor do the organs of the media.

So I'm in a quandary is what I mean to say here.

Also I have seen bad omens this weekend.

For instance I was in the park and a hawk shit on my head.

This was unusual, unusual that there was a hawk in the city.

Perhaps not unusual that the bird shit on my head, that's a biological function I mean . . .

(ampersand)

That wasn't all.

There's a vibe in the air, a vibe that I don't trust.

Truth is untrustworthy, I think.

Something's going down, something that I don't like and I'm not just being paranoid, I mean I'm probably the least paranoid person you know.

Also I'm out of Sid and would like to see you soon in that regard.

Regards,

Simon