Expunged

I have been away for a while - to collect myself. I am, at the moment, in pieces. Floudering in a sea of information, of work, of trouble. You see, I am a vampire. I do not normally sleep before 6am and neither do I wake before 4pm. Now I wake before 9am and sleep at 1pm. It is unnatural. It is just plain unnatural.

I have been writing a play in conjunction to my ridiculous teaching workload and my research and also my part-time job as a HR manager for this company called 3minuteangels. I feel so drained. There is so little that I can do in only so many hours. It is times like these that I question the aetiology of an accelerated culture.

The exponential demands of our culture needs speed and efficiency. Everyone demands the quick release of desire and the quick satiation of affectivities. To be part of this matrix of information is to siphon oneself into the liquidated current of bodies that flow at increasing flux towards competence, productiveness, incisiveness and exactitude. This accelerated culture thus forms what Virrilio calls the aesthetic of disappearance. We hope to annihilate the physical properties and aggregates that mar the path to become prosthetic gods. To be Gods of Information, Gods of Knowledge, Gods of Efficiency, and Gods of Virtual Invinsibility; this becoming is the focal point of entropy. We are collapsing upon one another for there is nothing left to destroy along that path to power and omnipresence. When our technology warps time and space to fit the increasing demands of velocity and expedition, we have the causation of an accelerated culture. When bodies flounder, as I do, in the garbage of responsibilities that declares "Do or Perish", then you have the effect of an accelerated culture - corpses in the wake of capitalist progress.

Here we have the foundation of dying. Here is the base in which we lay the coffins next to each other, each with its own special inscription. At the corner of the eye one could see the protruding side of Jarrah wood with the chiselled note: "Rest". It is a simple proclamation. Ask yourself this: when was the last time in which the word "rest" resonated through your entire being? Restfulness, resting, and rested have reached a finality - the death of meaning. The second coffin with a fresh layer of dust on its edge had a similar engraving: "Power". The sole purpose of knowledge is to fuel the batteries of our bodies so that we may liquidify our awkward form and thus flow uninhibited in the capitalist preconditions of survival. In this coffin - one of many, many thousands - strikes a paradox. The entropic law of the universe simply states that the more energy that one exercises, the faster the systemic rate of decomposition. The more we exercise power, the faster we nail our own coffin.

In this cathartic splurge of disatisfaction, I realise that I have already engraved the testimonial of my own coffin. Perhaps it is best that I do it now than later. One never knows if there is still a form left by the end of the burn-out. So even if the coffin remains empty, it would still serve as a reminder of my idiocy. On top of my coffin are the marked words: "Expunged".