She has come to believe that the world is a fictional construct and that nothing actually exists. Not in the way that they would have you believe that things exist. She also does not believe that things don’t exist in the way that they would have you believe that things don’t exist. She believes that life does not progress in linear progression as it might in a text, with a beginning and middle and an end. Her life, everybody’s life, she believes, demonstrates that deviation and fracture and disjuncture and fissure are the norm. She wishes she could get rid of those artificial conventions like fear and desire and that feeling of wanting to believe that out there beyond the chimera and superficiality and constant transformations of daily life there wasn't in the great wide open space of the universe, among the stars, something, just something, or anything, anything at all.
James V. Coffey
jamesvcoffey@aol.com
In Search of Lost Time
Proust