"Nature is Satan's church".

For several weeks I have been mulching over a hunch that crept upon my thoughts from a state of nonexistence. I have been struggling with how to properly express what I believe to be the human burden, what it means to take upon the mantle unwillingly and as if by nature of being mankind and being implicated in its artificial struggle for dominion over the self and ego, what is within and what is without as well. Then I came to a very peculiar conclusion; to think of how to express it or to express it at all was never the problem, it is in fact inconsequential, meaningless, trite, vapid, and quite frankly shallow (though I deny any semblance of depth or even the existence thereof in the first place). What can be said can, must and will be said, but what cannot must be passed over in silence, and there is no shortage of things, ranges of emotions to ideas that cannot be expressed due to the frivolity of language. To assume otherwise would be to place communication, already a crude and arbitrary tool of reference and interconnection, on an altar it is unfit to reign over, too inadequate still to dispose of its body to all of humanity and, consequently, the humane. When speaking of an object it is clear also that we may never directly reference the object but a construction thereof, an image, a painting of reality but never reality itself, this is a basic limitation of language that is swallowed up by quotidian experience and that logic can only tread on, I am careful not to imply it is illogical because that, in turn, would imply that we could consider and think illogically and while there are fallacies in both arguements and ideas to truly be illogical is to simply not exist, it is a natural, and quite logical limiter, a boundary in our minds that is all to real. Since we cannot directly speak about an object it is implied that we can instead describe it. A description is different from understanding, as I have stated before, the nature of an object and the limits of our own perceptions, beset by psychological, biological and physiological inadequacies, make it impossible for us to truly have a consolidated experience or to grasp the whole picture, as it were. These approximations are not only the result of a miscommunication between us and the great out there somewhere, but also an inability to really comprehend our own chemical processes and how they relate to reality and our experience with it. Even as I write this now I feel it rise up in me like bile, I cannot in good conscience and complete honesty define the world around me, and that disturbs me greatly, but I must recognize it as a product of ego, the dichotomy of my realization of self and the realization of things, it is however more than just the desire to realize things around me, but the actual grasping of it that is inherently nauseating. I dare say inherently because it is a similar experience for everyone, though not exactly the same of course. This realization, this nausea is the answer that I had been seeking, it is the words, the verse, the treatise, the abstract, the philosophy, the theory, the truth, the paradox all at once. It is not a matter of expressing the burden, but the product of it, the causality defined by the effect it has on man, this is what I believe to be truly important. It is more than simply the knowledge that all things attached to being human and the humane are a burden, but the discontinuous awareness that comes with it, the fruit is the realization and therefore the acceptance of how disjointed reality is and the subsequent nausea that follows. It calls to redefine the meaning of depression because it differs from the intent of the word, it is a literal indentation of the self, the realization that by being in spacetime you are sinking in it, that your 'self', both physical and psychological, expresses itself artificially as concave when the truth is there is nothing to be filled. This 'depression' is in reality the nausea of being, the nausea of brushing a quantum of the vast, impersonal nothingness that surrounds all things, the inability to coherently and systematically separate right from wrong and the realization that there is consciousness and then there is not, there is life and then there is death, and for all the frenzy in between it still doesn't mean anything.