The background radiation
[…]
In short, there is work to be done to create whatever, without the intention, even. And both in doing that and in not doing it, there is the same cursed perception. Like always, and I mean always, catching the fucking background radiation[🡕] of the universe, and it disturbs you every single day: I am a fucking dish antenna, while people seem not to hear it, and others seem to perceive it only rarely. And the radiation tells you things that are true and at the same time absurd, cold, and above all rough. It tells you about these things in a lousy language, in a buzz alphabet. And I can’t answer it, so I listen to it, whether I like it or not, because the radiation is the one who makes itself heard, and it does overbearingly so.
The rest is the organic, continuous, and disgustingly palpable construct of man, which rests on this buzz which is the squalid existential. But not the life of an individual, mind you… the very perception that you exist, against a background that sure is gray, but that almost counts for less.