A Reminder

I thought of the title of this thing when I read this. One of the most pessimistic things that I have put to paper. I found it on a receipt for a French immersion weekend from when I was at university. Days are gone. I remembered that I wrote it in the back seat of the car of a former love who was giving me a ride home. Such is the life of the student whose friends line up with exes. The desperate attempt to reconcile the feelings I still had with the situation I had put myself in.



A life is always incomplete because of its constant need for supplementation.  A love that is presented to us is only an attempt to find a complete/whole being—as with much of the rest of the world.  The meaning is often a victim of differentiation and deferral.  It becomes an idea with your meaning imposed on it—you are really trying to complete life, so you attempt to give love that job.  When love is lost or becomes insubstantial, you realize that its meaning was imposed by you and that you have raped the idea.  Then the gravity of the situation elevates itself and supplementation becomes muddled with grief.  The spiral to life’s culmination becomes a wall-scraping gyre where incongruent meanings provide relief in the form of company.