1 XI 2007
We were. We are. Or, are we?
I am.
Where to start? Where to end?
I am.
The subject, regardless of his entanglement of social relations, regardless of his past, his self-styled future, and other forms of things of becoming, is ultimately and inevitably alone. He faces a group, a situation, a problem–alone–to acknowledge his oneness with time. By recognizing his solitude, the subject wills something unto himself, and attempts to make sense out of his condition: that is which I call his being. Being, maturing, evolving, morphing through time, faces its inevitable negation in the end–that is death, a subject of void and unthinkable multitude of expanded nothingness. Thus he makes a choice, which results in an act–and life is hence born to him.
The fallen Icarus is an Icarus whom, upon realizing his condition of falling as a result of his own folly, accepts his fate. He is to drown, to perish, to become void. He recognizes that no one else is responsible for his death except for he himself; and he cannot do anything to alter his fate. Nay, Daedalus, he who bequeath power through human invention, the father figure, is distant–and the gods are indifferent to the fate of a mere mortal. He fears his end. He is bewildered to the condition of his destiny: but through reason he realizes that the choice was his, and it was made with no alternative option at hand. It was he, believing in his infallibility, who flew too high so the wax connecting his wings–creation of human genius–and his natural limb melted. He resigns to his fate; but resignation is not enough. He questions its rationale.
We were. We are. Or, are we?
I am.
Where to start? Where to end?
I am.
With this will, the fallen Icarus faces inevitable death, allowing himself to become a part of time, and his being emerges into becoming, and even that strange notion of nothingness is accepted as an understandable part of existence.
Yes, the fallen Icarus speaks to himself in the very moment when ocean swallows his existence, I am.
