This piece dates back to August 19th of 2013.

The world imposes itself on me; it wants to be; the world likes to be. The world is that parasite that sucks my erected attention as if we were mutually dependent in existence, as if we were Yin Yang. But the world is not content with its Being for me; the world is a world that is also real and is bragging about its reality: “Here I am, and I am.”  And the world’s bragging about its Being and being real has so consumed my entire attention that I am solely concerned with its Being rather than its Being There, as a system of possible accomplishments! But this world and all its objects never interest me; it is Being as such that I see and nothing else. Ever since the weight of Being stole the virginity of thought I have been a devotee of Being itself.

The world is; the world needs my undivided attention, and my undivided attention needs a world. Yet the world, as the pointer, wants to mean something; it wants me recognize its autonomy, its Being There for me as if it were there before and after me. The world tells me to my ear in our most intimate moments, that “I am There for you.” I hear the world and yet can’t tell the difference; I know he means something, he’s pointing, but whether the world says, “I am there for you,” or “I am therefore you!” I am not sure! Is world a face of me I have never seen before!

The world is the withdrawing pointer, and it points not to itself as There-ness but rather to the fleeting Being of there-ness. The world seems to me to be the meaning of Being and yet the referent is always ahead of me, and I catch it only when I am six feet under; so the world makes sense in the face of death. Like everything that means something by a promise, the world too promises reunion, a mirage of a thousand martyrs.

Therefore, life is a verb; life is the instance of meaning; it is the Being of meaning itself, an act of continually meaning something and not just as something passively meant: Life is neither the sense nor the referent. Life is being on the way of joining the two ends, being in the middle of the act of meaning. The world is a carrot on a stick.