• billytombs

ques·tion·a·ble

question(s): what is it about ambiguity and transparency? why do i live in a brain that prefers the ambiguous? but desires the transparent? what do these words mean? & where is the line that divides them? where is the point that separates ambiguity from transparency? & what does that point look like? can one live on that point? that demarcation line? that razor's edge?

this is how i write. i ask myself questions. i seem to have a lot of questions. questions about just about everything - but most times relating back to myself - my relationship to these everythings - these questions. these me-nesses in relation to the world at large. these microcosms in macrocosms. what is this constant questioning? this confusion with the given? existentialism? narcissism? individual schism-ism?

hm...

well... i somehow just don't believe anything i see, hear, or take in through the 5 senses. i must question - look deeper. it's somehow a natural part of my make-up. and one question leads to another and then another and another ... on and on and on and on ... i am not sure i ever find answers in any concrete sense. but i am aware of a kind of completion of a question. i sometimes just find myself knowing. understanding. not having an answer, but experiencing the knowing on some more basic level. like the circle of the question has been completed.

in fact, as i write this i am for the first time actually seeing how the mechanism of my questions work. it seems more scientific than anything. its almost like if a question is asked it must - via some universal law - circle back around. complete itself. be done. it must find its tail and swallow it.

maybe...

i ask myself questions because i have no answers - & i don't know what else to do. in order to understand something. anything. everything. i question. i write. i write because : i question. & i discipline (sic). or i write because i am disciplined. i have given myself a writing schedule. and so i write. i write daily. at a certain point i decided that this was important. at that same certain point it seemed life & death to me that i write... and this life & death actuated the force needed to establish the habit of writing. the write habit. and, thus, i turned myself into a being one who writes.

now...

question: am i a writer? ha! another conundrum to be offered to the gods... and waited for - to come back around and swallow its tail...

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