Theatre of the Absurd: Paragraph 1

He had nothing to express, as Beckett once said. And yet, everything to impress upon the world. But when? When would he do it? Wait. Waiting for the right moment. A great deal of the human condition is waiting. (Beckett again.) After all, the world stage is a theatre of the absurd, so why add to the absurdity? He did not. All he wanted to add was Reason, yet everyone around him saw his reasoning as absurd. That’s the great irony. The irony of individual gnosis. You know that you know, but nobody knows it like you know it. Hence it all becomes a bit solipsistic. I mean, why not? We are only here to experience ourselves, through ourselves and our reflections: ‘‘others’’. Sartre said that hell is other people, but I’m sure he had a hell of a time trying to accept himself. Hence the nihilistic existentialism. At the time it was in fashion, but now it seems that existentialism leads one to running around in circles like the ourobos. Chasing and eating our own tails. I could a tale unfold whose lightest word … but soft! I must relieve myself ere the next paragraph.