Skip to main content

death versus ceasing to be

There seems to be a difference between death and ceasing to be.

I sometimes imagine death, but I cannot imagine ceasing to be.

More and more it feels like ceasing to be (rather than dying) is what will happen.

Should I fear ceasing to be?

It seems silly to fear ceasing to be since death and the life never really meet (they pass each other).

But that's exactly what might be feared: the unimaginable.

As much as I tire of capitalism I sometimes find myself buying stuff (books, cds) to keep my current flowing. To keep from thinking too long on my own ceasing to be or filtering my thinking of ceasing via language.

When I think about ceasing to be I think images and emotions without words. I cannot write ceasing to be.

To plug is to prevent from leaving.

I plug the bathtub to take a bath but what if there's no water?

Or does it matter? Do we need the correspondence theory of truth? Or do we leave all the enlightment baggage behind?

Comments

Anonymous said…
two favorite thoughts about death:

1) read somewhere . . . zen master says before life is a the river at the top of a waterfall and after death is the river at the bottom of the waterfall and right now you're one of the droplets in the waterfall . . .

2) Wittgenstein: my life has no end in the same way in which my visual field has no limits.

not sure either of these really relate to what you were talking about but enjoyed the post and it made me think of them . . .

Popular posts from this blog

poets reading poets

There are on A now: Andrews, Antin, Apollinaire, Ashbery


A project from the Atlanta Poetry Group. Check it:

http://atlantapoetsgroup.blogspot.co.uk/

The Poetry of Tao Lin

Another Ireland by Robert Archambeau

This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).


Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…