The Emasculation of Willie and Overall Impotence

The emasculated Kevin Barnes, of Montreal

Happy Days seems to hint at moments of impotence and emasculation. As an artist writes down his (masculine case used in reference of Beckett) words, he transfers all thought of the creative process onto a stone of interpretation. He surrenders his ideas to failing linguistics, as each reader reads, interprets, and perhaps bastardizes his creation. It is indeed total objectification personified through words. His thoughts, his power, his ability to create with his pen (masculine pun) is stripped down and emasculated by the reader. His will is done, only to lose.

Winnie and Willie (Win and Will) sit, or are rather trapped, at the center of this play. Winnie, in Act I, buried up to her hips, and Willie stuck in a hole. I believe this is the first case of a gender-role reversal, and the first hint at impotence. Winnie, the female, is sticking straight up out of the sand, erected (phallic). Willie rests in the bottom of his hole (yonic). Their respective genitalia are personified and reversed.

Winnie is also in possession of a gun, and upon initially removing it from her purse, she kisses it (sexual connotation). A gun, like a penis, has control over life and death, and Willie (perhaps a pun on “will”/its connection with the penis, cf. Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 136”) being impotent, stuck in a hole, cannot be in possession of it.

Winnie and the gun

Winnie, being erect and in possession of the weapon, has complete masculine control over Willie: “Go back into your hole now, Willie, you’ve exposed yourself enough. Do as I say, Willie, don’t lie sprawling in this hellish sun, go back into your hole. Go on now Willie. That’s the man. Not head first, stupid” (Selected Works Vol. III, 280). After Willie “exposes” himself (a sort of sexual revealing attached to “exposed”), Winnie demands he crawl back into the hole, but not head first (I don’t believe in need to make the connection there for you).

There are also a few connections between things that control both life and death: the phallic representations, the sun, the gun, and “earth you old extinguisher” (287). All things (minus the gun) create and give life, but also breed death. A penis creates a death-sentenced being, given too much power the sun can vaporize the earth it warms, and the earth itself can turn into a death-ball of destruction. All things create, breeding death (like writing itself).

Away from that quick diversion, Willie’s impotence is again seen at the end of the play. He goes to shoot Winnie, his master, dominator, but instead he cannot do it – he can’t fire the gun (impotence). Instead, all he can do is crawl up the hill and fall back down it. Winnie smiles, sings, and they stare at each other until the smiles fade in a troubling confusion.   

Winnie and Willie, as told by the Beatles

Two Pieces of Krapp: How I Can Relate to Him

“Perhaps my best years are gone. Where there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back” (The Selected Works Vol. III 226)

I normally try to stray away from posts like this, but here comes another personal one. Sorry, I hope you can relate though (but hopefully you can’t).

As a kid, whenever I found myself alone and in total darkness, I would naturally feel afraid. I thought there was something lurking out there in the shadows, some force greater than me, some presence that wanted to harm me. The fear was that I was not alone.

Now that I’m older, I realize I experience a similar fear when in this situation. After intramural games in the SRC, I walk alone back to my dorm by way of the track. Most of the time the track lights are off, absolutely nothing is visible, and all I can hear is the trees rustling. In this “advanced darkness,” my heart begins to race, my muscles tense, and I become afraid. But now it’s for a different reason.

Walking along the track, I remember this same fear that I felt as a kid, a fear of complete submission to the thought of something greater. The only difference was that when I was a kid, there was a sort of hope in the fear, that there was something supernatural near me, something beyond my comprehension. But now at the pretentiously-cynical age of 18 where I think I know everything, the fear has turned from thinking that I wasn’t alone, to knowing that I am alone. In the dark, an overwhelming anxiety comes back to me, reminding me that I am alone all the time and always will be especially in the end where this is all there is and nothing else to hope for. I’m reminded of how temporary my existence is, how unordinary it is, how minimal, insignificant and fleeting it is. Out of all of space and time in this cosmic madhouse of contemplation, these moments so rare will never happen again.

In a losing game where all action is in vain, all motions, thoughts, ideas, experiences, and creations will be lost, it is hard to keep going. I didn’t always feel this way though. Something happened to me, something changed. I think this realization that I had was that I finally arrived at the fact that this is all there is, and it’s all a lost cause. Before I had this revelation though, I was typically much happier, more satisfied, and optimistic. Now, I’m Krapp.

The last sentences of Krapp’s Last Tape were incredibly haunting. For the first time, everything I had been turning over in my head since that fatal age of 15 when I first picked up Nietzsche, all the thoughts I had contemplated, all the fears I had to realize, were presented to me in four simple sentences. The profundity of such an immaculate understanding of the human condition amazed me. It scared me as well. Something hit me that hadn’t hit me in a while. I believe the last time it did, I was looking at my little brother and sister (then 7 and 5) and broke down crying hysterically. To realize this was the only time in eternity that I would ever be able to spend with them, that they would die, grow up, and be unhappy horrified me. I realized myself perhaps my better days are behind me now. Back before this realization there was a chance of happiness. But I don’t want those days back, I wouldn’t want those days back. Now there’s some fire in my and I don’t fully understand what it is but it’s there.

I’m not sure if it’s possible for me now to ever be truly happy again. To constantly be aware that this is it, and it’s all a losing game, and everyone and everything will lose, is a hard thought to swallow. It’s overwhelming and at times unbearable (but thank the heavens we have whiskey and gin). But this realization in me, has inspired something. I can’t go back to the days before, I don’t want to. Although it’s a heavy burden and melancholic (and I know, I know, mostly melodramatic), it’s something profound. Something everyone needs to realize at some point in their lives to fully authenticate their existence (in my own, unqualified opinion). It’s a realization so intense, so overpowering, that all you can do upon figuring it out is stare out into the distance, and let the tape roll on in silence. But after that you go on, no you can’t go on, but you must go on. Old endgame lost of old, play and lose and have done with losing.

There is something greater than me though, something incomprehensible, but perhaps that's the real fear, that I'll never understand it. But to truly appreciate this rare and unfortunately fortunate existence, you need to realize this is it and this is all there is (hopefully I'm wrong). At that point, you can really begin to understand, appreciate, and forgive everything and everyone around you in their powerless strive for understanding and importance. It's all vain, and a little solipsistic, but if this is all there is, at least it's all there is. 

Know happiness. 

Oh, Krapp, it's Coldplay.

The Meta-Theatrical Aspects of Endgame: All Plots Being Towards Death

I know there are no symbols where none intended, but I want to try to comment on some of the meta-theatrical aspects of Endgame. Beckett is a writer that seems to be very aware of himself, his work, and the process of creating. I think there is some inherent anxiety that comes along with being a writer, especially when we write for the stage where an audience will be directly interacting with the work in more ways than they would just reading the script. And I think Beckett may just be expressing some of that anxiety within this play. I hope this makes sense.

Be a practical player... 

Hamm sits at the center of the stage, and is very anxious about remaining there:

                                HAMM: Am I right in the center?

                                  CLOV: I’ll measure it.

                                HAMM: More or less! More or less!

                                  CLOV: [moving chair slightly] There!

                                HAMM: I’m more or less in the center?

                                  CLOV: I’d say so.

                                HAMM: You’d say so! Put me right in the center! (The Selected Works Vol. III 108)

Hamm then goes further on to heckle Clov about whether or not he is exactly in the middle. Why does Hamm have such a great concern for this? If by sitting in the center, does he feel some sort of control over his environment, over his work? Perhaps.

The paradox of Hamm’s intense desire to remain in the center sits in the fact that he is entirely blind and entirely dependent upon Clov to place him there. He also tries to dictate Clov’s every move, asserting his power with a whistle. Hamm wants to be in complete control however, he is at the mercy of Clov’s response to his demands. Much like Beckett (as we have learned was a complete control freak when it came to the theater) would like to have control over his work yet is at the mercy of the audience’s response to the play.

Hamm and Clov also express some explicitly meta-theatrical moments throughout. Near the end of the play, Clov asks:

                                  CLOV: Will it not soon be the end?

                                HAMM: I’m afraid it will.

                                  CLOV: Pah! You’ll make up another.

                                HAMM: I don’t know.

                                               I feel rather drained.

                                               The prolonged creative effort (134).

It (it, say it, not knowing what), perhaps the play, will indeed soon end as we are nearing the final pages. Clov says to Hamm he can make up another one (story, play, idea?), but Hamm is done. He has grown weary of the “prolonged creative effort,” much like his father Nell, who rests in the back in a trashcan attempting to tell an old story, of which he professes, “I never told it worse…I tell this story worse and worse” (105). Hamm responds to his father’s story with, “Have you not finished? Will you never finish? Will this never finish?” (106). Everyone wants to keep going on with the stories except Hamm. Perhaps this is Beckett authenticating his, “go on, I can’t go on, I must go on.”

Make as much noise as you'd like, you'll still end up dead.

Even closer to the end of the play, we have one of the last exchanges between Hamm and Clov:

                                HAMM: Put me in my coffin.

                                  CLOV: There are no more coffins.

                                HAMM: Then let it end!

                                                With a bang! [another Eliot jab here?]

                                                Of darkness! And me? Did anyone ever have pity on me?

                                  CLOV: What? Is it me you’re referring to?

                                HAMM: An aside, ape! Did you never hear an aside before?

                                                I’m warming up for my last soliloquy (146).

Hamm specifically states two theatrical devices, an aside and a soliloquy, letting us know that he is fully aware of what is going on within and outside of the play. A little later on, we learn Clov is entirely aware as well as he prepares to leave the stage for the final time: “This is what we call making an exit” (149). If the two main figures of the play are completely aware of themselves, what is Beckett trying to say to us? Perhaps because a play is composed of real people playing fictitious parts (reality existing with art), the real people are a part of a limited realm (much like life itself). No play can go on forever, just like no person can live forever, all things must end, all plots being towards death. Placing real people within this limited, ending construct of a play brings them to awareness of their inevitable end, something people tend not to consider too much while living. But an actor in a play is aware that he will end, fully confronting his temporary condition. Perhaps Beckett wants us to be aware of this fact of life ourselves, that all things must end, and we will always lose: “Old endgame lost of old, play and lose and have done with losing” (149). Makes you anxious, doesn't it?

Or maybe Beckett is just toying with another accepted convention, breaking it and reinventing, “Him to play,” as Hamm might say. Will we ever know for certain what Beckett was trying to say? No. Oh, well, at least there’s something.

I think this will help explain.

Lego Jesus

Preface: After reading Godot for the second time in my life last year, I found myself reveling in a deep depression from a feeling of being trapped. I was stuck in this state for a few days and pulled myself out of it by writing this play. I presented it to my creative writing class last year, so sorry you might see this again Alex and Chase...

Lego Jesus

            by Kilian Giannini

Cast:

Rectangular Lego Structure

Damien

Julian

Audience Member

3 Drunken girls

Setting:

Nothing on stage except for a tall rectangular cube made out of large Lego blocks. The Audience Member sits in the middle of the crowd.

ACT I

The lights come up on an empty stage, other than the tall rectangular cube of Legos. Enter DAMIEN and JULIAN from opposite sides of the stage. Both men speak in British accents.

DAMIEN:  My love! How I’ve missed you! Oh the aching nights spent alone, suffering at the thought that you had forgotten me! But now I see you have returned! You still love me, don’t you? My Eduardo, my lovely, beautiful Eduardo. How I’ve longed to kiss your lips again!

DAMIEN walks to the center of the stage where the stack of Legos stands, wraps his arms around it, and begins to passionately kiss it.

JULIAN:  Oh, my dear sweet Francois! You’ve come back for me haven’t you? I knew you always would! What we had was something…special! Yes! That is the word! I’ve wanted you since the minute you left me! I haven’t stopped thinking about you since! My God! I cannot believe it! It’s really you! I’d recognize you a mile away in a crowd of millions! Come here and kiss me already you fool!

JULIAN runs to the center of the stage, wraps his arms around the Legos, and begins to passionately kiss the structure as well. The two do not notice each other until JULIAN begins to unzip his pants.

DAMIEN:  Hey! Who the Hell are you?

JULIAN:  My name’s Julian, and who are you? And why are your arms wrapped around my Francois? Get off him! He doesn’t love you, he loves me! Me me me me me! He is mine!

JULIAN’s pants fall to the ground.

DAMIEN:  Francois? Who is this Francois? This here is Eduardo and he is mine! Get your stinking hands off him you…vile dog!

JULIAN: [elevated tone] Vile dog? Who are you calling a vile dog, you quack-loving, donkey molester!

DAMIEN:  Donkey molester? That’s it, get off my Eduardo!

JULIAN:  He is my Francois! Leave me alone!

The two begin to slap each other like sassy teenage girls, with their arms fully extending, hands flapping back and forth furiously, without any contact being made.

DAMIEN:  WAIT! What are we doing? Obviously there must be some sort of a mix-up here!

The two stop fighting, JULIAN’s pants remain on the ground.

JULIAN:  Well I think the mix-up is quite obvious! You are sadly mistaken, my friend. This here fine piece of ass is my Eduardo! I spotted him from a mile away!

DAMIEN:  Your Eduardo? He is my Francois!

JULIAN:  Fool, open your eyes and see, this man is in love with me!

DAMIEN:  Well, I think otherwise, surely he is not in love with two guys! My dear Eduardo, tell us who you desire!

The two now stand dumbstruck as they look up to the top of the Lego structure. Their arms are flat by their sides, jaws wide open. They continue to wait for a response, but there is silence. AUDIENCE MEMBER, who has a small microphone attached to him, coughs loudly.

JULIAN:  Maybe he cannot decide…What if he’s forgotten you? Oh, my poor Eduardo.

DAMIEN:  Quit saying you’re Eduardo, it is quite uncommon to speak in the third person.

JULIAN:  What did you call me? The only third person here is YOU! In fact, I would go as far as to call you a wheel!

DAMIEN:  [gasps] You take that back! Calling me an eel, who do you think you are?

JULIAN:  I am Francois!

DAMIEN: You’re Francois? You’re the man I’ve been in love with?

JULIAN:  In love with you? I do not even know you, nor have I ever seen you in my life! This is the man I’m in love with, and he loves me!

JULIAN begins to caress the Legos with his hands as he runs his bare thigh up and down the structure, softly kissing it.

DAMIEN:  Get your hands off him!

JULIAN:  My what?

DAMIEN:  You’re hands!

JULIAN:  I am not hands! I am a man!

DAMIEN:  Hardly…

JULIAN:  More of a man than you’ll ever be! That’s why Eduardo loves me!

DAMIEN:  Quit calling Francois Eduardo! He is my Eduardo!

DAMIEN begins to perform the same acts as JULIAN. JULIAN notices and he begins to increase his sexual performance. DAMIEN tries harder in retaliation and undoes his pants and also removes his shirt. The two begin humping the structure ferociously until it almost falls over to the front. As it begins to tip the two spring to catch it and stand it up right.

JULIAN:  You almost broke him!

DAMIEN:  I love you!

JULIAN:  I hardly know you!

DAMIEN: Kiss me you damn fool!

JULIAN:  There is nothing to lose…

The two men kiss. AUDIENCE MEMBER coughs again, this time more obviously.

DAMIEN:  Get off me! You pig! Taking advantage of an emotional man like that! I’m not even a homosexual!

JULIAN:  Are you implying that I am?

DAMIEN:  You kissed me!

JULIAN: You convinced me it was a good idea! And now I’ve gone and cheated on Eduardo!

DAMIEN:  Francois!

JULIAN:  What?

DAMIEN:  Not you, Eduardo!

JULIAN: [sincerely] Damien…

DAMIEN:  Yes, Julian?

At this point the British accents cease and the two now speak in an American colloquial.

JULIAN:  Don’t you think it’s time we stop pretending?

DAMIEN:  I suppose so. But what are we supposed to do with this man here? [He points to the Lego structure.]

JULIAN:  Which man? Him? Well, he’s Jesus he can figure something out.

DAMNIEN:  My God! It is Jesus! How did we not recognize him?

JULIAN:  Well I knew it was him the whole time, and I thought you did as well. I just went along with it because I hear Jesus loves a good show.

DAMIEN:  And do they? [He turns and looks directly at the audience.]

JULIAN:  I don’t think so…why would they come to this?

AUDIENCE MEMBER coughs even louder and can be heard shifting around in his chair.

DAMIEN:  But really, what are we supposed to do with him?

JULIAN:  You mean Jesus? I already told you, he can figure something out.

DAMNIEN:  I read in some book once…I can’t remember the name of it, but I read, or someone told me, or maybe I overheard it, but when he comes back the world is supposed to end!

JULIAN:  It already did, do you not remember?

DAMIEN:  Oh yeah, that’s right…last week at the park with-

[Together]:  Elton John!

JULIAN:  But what if this isn’t Jesus?

DAMIEN:  How could it not be? It looks just like him.

JULIAN:  I know that, but looks can be deceiving.

DAMIEN:  Wait…haven’t we seen this before, or at least read it somewhere? It all seems too familiar. Unoriginal.

JULIAN:  Who cares about originality, we have Jesus H. Christ standing right here in front of us and we are doing absolutely nothing!

DAMIEN:  My God! Think about what we were just doing!

JULIAN:  I can’t remember…

DAMIEN:  Your pants! Pick them up for Christ’s sake! Literally!

JULIAN:  Like it matters…he’s very non-judgmental from what I hear.

DAMIEN:  But think of the name of the day!

JULIAN:  Tuesday?

DAMIEN:  No! Of this day!

JULIAN:  Saturday…? Damn the French for this nonsense!

DAMIEN:  He was Irish.

JULIAN:  Regardless, what do we do if this really is Jesus? Should we dance for him? Or maybe sing? Do you think he likes tapas?

DAMIEN:  What if it’s Muhammad? 

JULIAN:  They wouldn’t have allowed this to go on.

DAMIEN:  But I just said his name aloud…

JULIAN:  You know what I meant.

DAMIEN:  True. Maybe it’s Buddha, what if it’s Buddha?

JULIAN:  Or Joseph Smith!

DAMIEN:  Or Joseph Biden!

JULIAN:  Or Joe that ah…janitor guy from high school. You remember him?

DAMIEN:  Hardly…

JULIAN:  Well I suppose it’s not important now. Especially since Jesus has come back.

DAMIEN drops to his knees.

DAMIEN:  Praise the Lord! Forgive us for what we have done!

JULIAN:  Get up you idiot! [He smacks DAMIEN on the head.] You think He’ll forgive you after all of the other things you’ve done in that position?

DAMIEN: [somberly] This is true.

JULIAN:  Anyway, pull out that handbook about what to do when you find Jesus.

DAMIEN pulls out from his pocket a Wanted sign stapled to a K-Mart advertisement wrapped in a shoestring. He reads aloud:

DAMIEN:  What to do if Jesus comes, by H.G. Wells. Page one: clean it up.

JULIAN:  Oh God, that’s just gross. Give me that! [He rips the papers in half, turns his portion upside down and reads aloud] Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal….Do you believe any of this shit Julian?

DAMIEN:  No, it’s nonsense, all of this is nonsense. But forget about that. What do we do with Jesus?

JULIAN:  I suppose we could-

AUDIENCE MEMBER leaps up out of his seat and protest in outrage.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  Hey assholes!

DAMIEN:  Who said that?

JULIAN:  Wasn’t me, I’d never say assholes, it’s unconventional.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  I did damnit! [He begins jumping up and down waving his arms.]

The British accents pick up again.

DAMIEN:  We can’t see you sir! Hello? Who is out there?

JULIAN: Ssshhh! Don’t talk to them! We’re not supposed to know they’re there.

DAMIEN:  There, there, don’t worry, their minds weren’t made for the stage.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  I’m coming up there damnit!

AUDIENCE MEMBER leaves his seat and begins walking down the aisle to the stage. He struggles to get on to it, but pulls himself up, rolls over, and stands up.

JULIAN:  Hey! You’re not allowed up here! This has never happened before!

DAMIEN:  Relax, I’m sure it’s happened somewhere, or at least been written, or hopefully tried.

AUDIENCE MEMBER stomps over to the two men and stands directly in front of the Lego structure with his back facing the audience.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  I’ve had enough of this shit! I’ve been sitting out there the whole time, waiting for this shit to make sense. It doesn’t make any sense! That’s a big block of Legos for Christ’s sake. It’s not Jesus. This is blasphemous! I haven’t been to confession in thirty-two years, nine months, and sixteen days, but I think that is the first place I’m going after this to let them know how filthy I feel for watching it. How dare you, where is the writer?

JULIAN:  Surely, you don’t believe the writer is here, or in the crowd, with you?

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  Why shouldn’t he be?

DAMIEN:  No good writer goes to see his own play.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  Well that’s a little pompous…

JULIAN: Isn’t all of this?

AUDIENCE MEMBER: [In a British accent] I suppose so…[regular voice] No damnit no! You’re not sucking me into this bullshit. I’m done.

AUDIENCE MEMBER kicks over the stack of Legos and red wine spills out from the structure.

DAMIEN: My God! It really is Jesus! Look, his blood is wine! A miracle, a miracle, don’t you see! It’s wine, Francois, Eduardo, Julian! Let’s all drink up!

DAMIEN and JULIAN bend down and begin licking the wine off of the floor.

AUDIENCE MEMBER: Oh for Christ’s sake this is bullshit! What is going on here?

AUDIENCE MEMBER walks over to the pile of Legos and lifts from beneath them a box of Franzia wine.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  I guess your Christ is pretty classy…

JULIAN:  I’m not Christ, are you Christ, Damien? You’re Christ and you didn’t tell me?

DAMIEN:  No, Julian, that’s not what he means…

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  How the Hell did a box of this cheap ass Franzia get out here? Did you write this in? [He looks questioning someone offstage.] No? You didn’t? How about you? No? What the fuck?

The clicking of high heels can be heard coming from offstage. Girls giggling can also be heard. Enter 3 DRUNKEN GIRLS, all have British accents.

3 DRUNKEN GIRLS:  Heyyyyyy…..have any of you kind fellows seen our – WINE!  

The 3 DRUNKEN GIRLS run over to JULIAN and DAMIEN, bend down and start drinking furiously with them.

JULIAN:  Girls, girls, girls!

DAMIEN:  Is this really a time for Motley Crue?

JULIAN:  Is it ever a time for Motley Crue? Regardless…girls! You’re drinking the blood of Christ! Are you pure?

 3 DRUNKEN GIRLS:  [Seductively] We all showered together this morning…

DAMIEN:  [shrugs] Well, that’s good enough for me!

DAMIEN and JULIAN and 3 DRUNKEN GIRLS all return to feverishly drinking the wine. They scoop some into their hands, sometimes they lick the floor. The scene looks like five mad people in poverty have just struck gold.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:  I CAN”T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!

AUDIENCE MEMBER begins screaming and pulls out a gun.

JULIAN:  Hey! Who let him have a gun in here?

The lights go out and the stage is dark. Six shots are heard being fired and the sound of bodies hitting the floor is heard six times. The curtains fall.

END

A Personal (more so than usual) Response to The Unnamable: Dr. Strangevoice or; How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Death

Well, not really love death, but get over it a little? I'm not sure, the act of reading this helped though. And a minor disclaimer, this post is mostly personal but I will attempt to give it some academic value.

"But it is quite hopeless." - Selected Works Vol. II, 286

When not reading Beckett in my copious amount of free time, I try to occupy my mind with other things. Whenever I happen to have a mind much like Zuccotti Park after evacuation day, I always seem to be focused on the same thought time and time again, “Help me god. I am going to die.” I’m not going to lie, it’s a scary one that has caused me a lot of trouble at the expense of radical decisions made from desperate affirmations in defiance of existential ennui. However, it’s usually (no, no, it is always) all in vain.

But while reading The Unnamable, I was given a break from this demoralizing thought, while being confronted with someone (or something else) battling the exact same idea (or so it seemed that way). I found hope, if I should call it that, in the hopeless, and a sense of bliss instilled in me while watching “the Unnamable” unravel like I am so prone to do.

My mind, whilst unoccupied. 

It was nice and a little relieving to watch the narrator struggle with the same things I do:

“Mean words, and needless, from the mean old spirit, I invented love, music, the smell of flowering currant, to escape from me. Organs, a without, it’s easy to imagine, a god, it’s unavoidable, you imagine them, it’s easy, the worst is dulled, you doze away, an instant. Yes, God, fomenter of calm, I never believed, not a second” (299).

I touched on this slightly before in my post about Belacqua and the arts, but the best way to distract yourself from mortality is to occupy your mind, and the narrator seems to reassert this belief. The incessant need to escape oneself, to divert your thought to allow a few moments of tranquility while ignoring your temporary condition in an insignificant sphere of existence. It gets tiring, and sometimes, at least for me, it’s easy to pass off your ignoring onto something tangible, like a God, to calm yourself, to believe in an inherent meaning. It makes life easier. But then again, as is always the case, I come back not to believe. Now I wouldn’t call myself an atheist, and I’m really not an agnostic, it’s hard to explain anyway so I’ll spare you the rhetoric.

The “Unnamable,” hits me again: “I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly” (298). While constantly confronting the impossible thought of an eternity of nothingness, it can overwhelm us with fear, and a sense of sadness. It’s not easy to accept, no, it never is, and some might suggest that we just ignore it all together, but no, no, I must go on.

It's always near.

Well, like I said, this post is very personal and I’ll selfishly use it in a casual tone because to be honest, it is nice. Venting every now and then publicly never hurt anyone…(irony). But, anyway, in the middle of the linguistic whirlwind that The Unnamable is, I find somewhere among the silence a sense of extreme hope:

“No, they have nothing to fear, I am walled round with their vociferations none will ever know what I am, none will ever hear me say it, I won’t say it, I can’t say it, I have no language but theirs, no, perhaps I’ll say it, even with their language, for me alone, so as not to have not lived in vain, and so as to go silent, if that is what confers the right to silence, and it’s unlikely, it’s they who have silence in their gift, they who decide, the same old gang, among themselves, no matter, to with silence, I’ll say what I am, so as not to have not been born for nothing” (319).

Even while confronting our inescapably current existence, our death, and how those before us have come to define everything and manipulate our current sect of thinking, the Unnamable goes on in defiance, in revolt. Even though it’s all in vain, it’s nice to try and defy that. Anyway, I’m not sure if I've said much, other than, “I’m afraid to die, Beckett made me not think of that for a little bit,” and, “I like the defiance of the Unnamable to keep on going.” After all, he “can’t go on, I’ll go on” (407). 

This song both has everything and nothing to do with what I've just written about. Listen to it. Enjoy it.