Theory Of Nothing

or Just Theory

Shitty dreams

What does it signify when one has recurrent dreams of being trapped in a toilet?

Not just any toilet.

And definitely not one of those luxurious toilets with bidets and automated taps so that you never get your hands dirty. Those that come with fluffy towels which you drop into wicker baskets placed conveniently at the side, and branded bottles of lotions enticing you to dab your hands with. Sometimes, they even come with maybe a lounge chair or two for you to recline on while inhaling the heady aromatherpay wafting in the air from the scented candles peeking from fragile glass dishes and pots of essential oils warmed up by flickering tealight candles tucked snugly into every little corner casting lovely dancing shadows here and there. So that sometimes you forget you’re in the unique space of excrement.

And then you can’t leave. You need to be here, to do what you have to do, because this is the place where you do what cannot be done elsewhere, elsewhere it is abhorrent, this is the space of excrement. There’s no lack of it. Shit pee blood. It’s everywhere. On the walls, on the toilets, on the floors. It’s everywhere. You wipe and wipe. Because this is the place you do what cannot be done elsehwere, because elsewhere it is abhorrent. This is the space of excrement. Excrement. But it seeps through the paper. It touches your skin. And outside, outside people are waiting. Strangers, family, friends. They are all waiting. Waiting. And it’s everywhere. It’s everywhere. Because this is the space of excrement. The space of excrement. So this is the space of excrement.

Then you wake up.

And it’s really only been a dream which you’re writing about in this blog, or maybe which you’ve already really written about in your dissertation. Or maybe maybe it’s just a dream just a dream or just Bataille just Bataille. Nothing nothing. Theories of nothing.

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Friday, 6 July 2007 Posted by | Prose, Secret | Leave a comment