Prometheus, the stolen fire, and meaning

taken from I, FOR LACK OF A BETTER TERM: a soul's soliloquy,  from early writings by Jack Haas: this is a rare, online book

page 9

 

Prometheus may have stolen the fire, but I made off with the bomb. I severed the bonds by which I was uselessly tethered to this earth. I slayed the last of a dying species by debunking plausibility, and disproving without proving.

I uprooted the Tree of Knowledge, and then burned the fruit with the limbs for a pyre.

Indeed it is time to purge the cloaca of our fetid concepts; time to cauterize our septic meanderings; time to euthanize obsolete symbologies.

Let me tell you, after all I have seen, and all I have unseen, I now preen conception from my mind like a baboon picking squirming gnats from its own knotted fur; I gnaw upon the mind's maggots.

I simply want to erase everything and to start anew; to smash the blackboards, and throw away the chalk. Life indeed is a more genuine mystery than it is a common fact. 

I am no coward of the mind, I will not cognitively submit to agreeable notions. I unknow the world ...defiantly.

A genocide of cerebrations; I massacred ontologies and pillaged their existential remains, ruthlessly exterminated ideas, hacking my way through the barricades of false emancipations.

There is no heroism, only a war that never ceases, and soldiers that never die.

You see, mine was a distorted illumination; like the blinding light of the sun, bouncing off the lightless, light-giving moon, did I rise up in the night of our being, and shine forth despite my perpetual darkness.

I, now become eye- Eye took man's whole being away with a single malicious observance. I shredded all the papers, and there shall be no cut and paste class.

Allow me these hollow victories.

Oh, give me your greatest edifice, man, that I may with innocence knock it mercilessly to the ground.

I did not come to take part, but to take apart. Nobody can tell me what life is, not after basking in the brilliant glow of unfathomable wonder.

Mine is a ruinous decomprehension. I devoured facts, and excreted mystery.

Sacrificing to get rid of, not with intent to gain, I did not cauterize, I severed. I unrecognized being in a fanatical moment of destructive non-interpretation.

An animal of mind, I am ferocious in wild honesty. I am savage because I am free. The blood of meaning is on my hands.

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Early writings by Jack Haas: a rare, online book.

 

 

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