As for me, I
expect that
my gold
teeth will
be ripped
out of my
head as soon
as I hit the
ground, by
ghouls in
longcoats
with
snapping
steel
pliers,
drooling in
the shadows,
who have
been waiting
for years to
devour
whatever it
is in me
that hates
mankind, and
it won't
matter.
Slit me side
to side and
I'll be
grateful. I
am tired of
having a
body,
carrying
around this
stupid piece
of meat like
a bag of
soggy
groceries,
having teeth
to brush, a
face to
shave,
fingernails
to cut, just
being tired
of being
anything,
anybody at
all. I want
to be
nobody,
nothing. To
have never
been. Why
this
responsibility
of having
been that I
must be? It
is far
better to
have never
been. I
never asked
for this,
and yet, I
am, when I
would rather
not to have
been, to
never have
been, to
have been
nothing.
Nothing, no
thing is by
definition,
without
definition,
being that
it is, by
definition,
nothing.
Nothing is
there, but
because
nothing is
there, it
must be
something,
rather than
no thing.
Nothing must
be something
because it
exists.
Nothing is
the
completion
of all
contradictions,
the void,
nothingness.
A separation
from God, no
conscience,
yet what can
nothing be
if not
something?
Does not the
darkness
define the
light and
the light
the
darkness?
Everything
is something
yet nothing
must, by
definition,
not be
something.
Nothing can
not be
something
because then
it would
cease to be
nothing.
The void is
something,
not
nothing.
The waves,
the pulse,
the
velocity,
the hidden
whisper, is
something.
Even if
nothing is
only the
space
between
something,
it too is
something,
the space
between
something.
The
molecules
that make up
the universe
are
something,
and that
space
between the
molecules is
also
something,
though it is
nothing,
containing
everything.
Gravity is a
force and
although
seems to be
nothing, is
something
and all that
is must be
subject to
the force of
it's
emptiness.
What then is
nothing?
Is there
something in
our
perception
of what is,
to
understand
what is
not? Can
what is not
be defined,
and if so,
compared to
what?
Nothing,
what is not,
nor has ever
been, nor
will ever
be, has
gravity and
draws what
is into
itself
becoming
what is not
something.
Nothing
cannot exist
or it would
be
something.
Death, too,
is
something:
decay, rot,
a returning
to the
elements to
become
something.
At no time
can
something
become
nothing
because
there can
not be
nothing,
since even
nothing is
something.
Yet there
also can not
be something
without
nothing to
define what
that
something
is. No
thing is
nothing, but
if there is
truly no
thing, what
can it be
that
occupies
it's place?
It must be
something.
Something
can be
intangible.
The warmth
of a breeze,
the
fragrance of
perfume, the
knowledge
that it will
rain soon, a
hazy dream
in the
morning, the
spin of the
earth, the
passage of
time.
Nothing
cannot exist
because by
it's very
existence,
it must be
something.
Something is
here. It is
defined by
it's thin
membrane of
what is,
compared to
what never
was, but
osmosis
exists and
nothing
becomes
something by
its
proximity to
something,
which was
nothing, but
became
something.
Memory is
nothing but
the imagined
picture of
something in
time, which
becomes
nothing when
there is no
longer
anybody to
remember,
something.
Nothing
becomes
something
when draped
over a
phantom, a
vapor in a
mist. I n a
fog, smoke
curling into
the air,
something
dispersing
into
something
else, which
was or may
have been,
but is not
any longer,
and yet is
still
something.
But then,
what is
nothing?
As
Shakesphere
said in
"Macbeth,"
"nothing is,
but what is
not."
