Letters from the Depths of Solitude. 128. On Individuality
Pretty much certain that the individual is no more than a cardboard silhouette, a bloody mess of trained and inherited mechanisms, a flickering and fading focus, a ramble, and an agglomeration of absurdity. Self as “a bunch of perceptions.” (Hume).
When individualism–a political dimension of the individual’s supposed independence–is spoken of proudly, I laugh. A proud individual in their contemporary refinement won’t sustain a living or even keep mannerisms, once as little happens as electricity shuts off.
Well, the only shield that the individual has against society outside of her and society inside of her (for they could hardly be separated), is the satanic pride, this pitiful umbrella, full of holes. I will be clatching mine until the end with a hand overcome by eternal cold, but I am not going to mislead myself that I am who I am because I wished to be so. Whoever I am, I am so only through and for and because of and despite and notwithstanding others. Without others, I have no qualities (thankfully). Neither virtues, nor vices. No beauty, nor imperfections. I have nothing: mind, heart, soul, everything dispossesses me gleefully, and I am happy to part with any. I am the absence.
The very word “individual” contains an ironic reversion of “monad”: individual is something which could not be divided, in itself, but also, come to think of it, from reality, surroundings, environment, infrastructure. A cyborg.
This is why–absence–it is so terrifying to imagine a child who has no grip on language yet, or of whom, let us better say, language has had no grasp, alone in the room. Alone at all. With no adult, nor older children, no animals supervising. Completely dissolved, amidst the unspeakable stare of two voids into each other: the child and the room (materiality, world). The event defying any description or expression.
this update was a lot more violent and “HOLY SHIT” than cascade or even fucking eternity served cold because both of those had their timing. both of those had breathing space. they had space between events to think.
this update was like being in a car accelerating to 150 mph and spinning out of control and narrowly avoiding hitting a semitruck full of lava and everything is on fire and youre in hell