My writing wants to knock you down.
It is intended to offend, challenge, and change you.
It is calculated to thwart your expectations.
It is meant not to fit into your sad little categories.
It will crawl into your head and start eating away your pretentious smug bigotries.
From this point on, your prejudices are in ruins.
My work is permanent doubt.
/ geste
• • °
My core urge is to signal.
My work seeks response.
My writing is meant to resonate.
I transmit.
Reception remains unknown.
Returned signal may come long after me.
Crystals vibrate.
My work crystalizes experience, thought, and feeling.
My gems may never be found.
Forces through me make them.
My mind observes all this.
My hands create things I hope will last.
My hope is irrelevant.
Harlan Ellison wrote his own epitaph:
“I was here for a brief time,
“For a brief time I mattered.”
Meaning is made, not found.
My signal matters to me.
It may matter to others or not.
That it exists allows the chance.
/ geste
/ Thursday 5 July 2523 13:27
I think Har dying hit me hard because it’s linked to me.
Seeing the edge so clearly just makes it worse, y’know?
It is memento mori, not loss.
It reminds me of brevity, doubt, and ambiguity.
Remember to be a genius.
• • °
