Anger seems to me the more plausible provoker of action as it can erupt so abruptly from a state of nothing, of non-existence, into a something that physically exists.
Anger storms from the self. It forms into a concentrated, energetic, spewing of utterances, blasting outwards in a concentrated stream.
Anger hones our concentration, it gives an unprecedented clarity, all artifice is stripped away, all is raw, simple, the solution exists in one action.
Suppression is impossible and explosion imminent. It is the raging birth of a new moment in time.
If we extrapolate from the micro to the macro, it seems plausible that the universe would have been birthed in anger. From a battle-head between matter and anti matter that did not exist but could only possibly, probably have.
Again we can only surmise that in one instance, matter dominated, exploded, banged its way out of stasis and began its time of existence.
There is no going back, it cannot un-exist now that it has become the universe of contained matter.
The matter surged forward, out toward a 360 degree, beyond-ness. A punched through beginning to which, perhaps, we can draw a longitudinal line, now that it has begun.
But this line could never have been pinpointed before this moment and place, of time and space, because the fight itself rolled around a fuzzy curve of nothingness and never-to–be-ness.
There was no space for the dispute to rage in, the collision of the opposing forces was, an un-witness-able fight between something and nothing.
But the matter of something’s anger had more force it raged it blew apart, it became, itself.
If we return to the micro, we know this of ourselves.
For example countless young devotees of many different denominations, berate themselves for their perceived failures to control their tempers, thoughts, and impetuous and regrettable actions.
They believe themselves to be fundamentally good, yet the guilt they experience betrays them. There is evidence of a suppression of an internalized universal nature, which they view like a seam of evil, because it threatens to erupt its way to the surface of their lives.
They betray an irritation at an elemental self that is fighting its way to acknowledgement as an imperative aid in the success of the singular survival of its host body.
We inherently know that at times, our arête of effectiveness requires truthfulness and deceptiveness to work in partnership. But we deny this, battling truth and untruth through the force of our minds, trying to subsume and deny existence to a force that is ingrained within our materiality.
It is as though the imperceptible piece of original matter that abruptly forced it’s own birth in the universe, is re-birthed anew within each living skeletal and non-skeletal being, irritating and itching in every roiling, boiling piece of matter that builds from force deep in the ground, into mountains that are then shaken away by the clash of plates or washed away by tributaries that have been eroding the hardness, for their own enlargement of fluid territory.
Love is lost deep in the compressing strata in which seams form and bodies liquefy to oil.
This immense pressure and force is locked inside elements squeezed far into rocks fusing atoms that steal each others protons until one subsumes the other and progresses as a new compound.
And so on and so on, ad infinitum.
In my universe, I created a book from the ‘something’ of anger. I let the positive and negative quarks appear and disappear, exist and not exist within my vacuum.
But at some point of time, the force of something became greater than the nothing that hadn’t been, and it’s existence had to be acknowledged, so in the light of 31 days, I leeched it out through my hand, birthed it onto paper and let the matter expand.
It exists, because I exist.
It is something, because I am something.
In a way it is about nothing, but it is not nothing.
It cannot be returned to its state of non-existence, as it has been actualized into matter, and all matter remains contained within the universe.
All matter, expands and forms and reforms on its journey through time.
This book of lines is fundamentally an object, but not a fundamental object.
It is fundamentally about an idea, but may or may not be a fundamental idea.
It was created as an answer to a distorted reality, one that reflected and refracted the world so that;
“What looked big from one perspective, looked small from another, high energy could look like low energy, 11 dimensions, like 10, particles like strings and strings like membranes.”
A string puller tugged at my membrane and an idea became an object.
Something came out of nothing.
My version of reality was fundamentally affected by an idea that I converted into particles.
Something from nothing now exists because ‘nothing’ could not exist.
Oh well it was only an idea.