Summa
In the final analysis it’ll have proven to be some genetic deficiency, a recessive trait allowed dominance by the laws of probability. It’d likely been inherited from my mother’s side since they have a history of mental disorder; my father should’ve asked these questions before conceiving me. Or perhaps it’ll be something much more accidental. I did fall down those concrete steps at my Grandfather’s home, the ones that led to his basement from outside. The scar looked like a dinosaur in the mirror. The neurological damage has made a dinosaur of me. Now I’m an atavism, a silly herald of another time, another place. Out of time. Out of place. Here, now, my placement must follow necessity (I’m on this train to get to work, I’m live in this apartment to save money), my time must be spent accordingly (I need to sleep enough hours to perform my work, I must work enough hours to pay my rent, I must spend enough time with friends to keep them, etc), and my problem is a disposition averse to fragmentation. I see the whole thing. You can only want the whole thing once seeing it. But is this thing me, bigger and better? Fame and wealth are illusory: that I have the means to everything isn’t a purchase on the whole thing, the gossiped lives of celebrities have taught us that much. Fair enough. Perhaps I can know this whole thing: but the nature of knowledge isn’t simplification but complication. No, I can only see it. And I’m trying to describe it to you.
Benoît