The Death Of Life
Livingness creates problems for its’ own resolution. There is nothing interesting or exotic about it. You live, you have problems, you find solutions and carry them out. Then, you do it all over again. Its’ called the merry-go-round of life. Other versions exist, but are rarely sought.
Time floats and matter sinks. Sticking to matter we live and in so doing we die. In order to create a livingness environment we must become something and that something takes form and definition. It becomes matter. It becomes the body we call home.
Exteriorizing is a game enjoyed by many, but in reality it does not exist even though the promises made pretend otherwise. We are the body and have assumed definition because of it. The body is inseparable from who or what we really are.
Pretending to exteriorize, we find ourselves right back where we started. Comfy and warm, our house protects us from the elements of physicality. Home sweet home.
When our goals of livingness cease, our protection vanishes with little fanfare but we ensure that our book of memories continues to live on. In fact, we go to great pains to ensure the survivability of our diligence. Faithfully have we recorded history in the making.
Time floats within us as we seek avenues of exploration, sometimes in desperation and in other times a longing for the temporal experience we forever attempt to make real.
Life is not the time of experience, that is the time of forgetfulness. Life is the embodiment of eternity, expressing itself. When searching for experiential recordings a Kodak moment just will not do. What it requires is an emptiness that yearns for fulfillment. Life is like that. Empty and full of meaning.1
Subject: The Death of Life
From: Chanceemail@example.com (Chance-llor)
Date: Sun, 27 Aug 2000 04:01:22 GMT
My usual disclaimer: Entertainment, of dubious value, for your reading
The Death of Life /attachedNotes]
Note: This article was posted to the newsgroup alt.clearing.technology using the identity ‘Chance-llor’ and included the following:
My usual disclaimer: Entertainment, of dubious value, for your reading pleasure.