credo / unutterable horror

[Alan Sondheim]

credo

unutterable horror

if I did not _this_ and _now_ it would not, would never be, would never
have been, done; this is the unutterable horror of death, with which I
face every moment of my existence. I imagine myself near death, with the
recognition, whatever I do not say _now_ will ever be said, that these
sights are my last, my own, and not my own; that my possessions, which I
have carefully tended for so many years, will lose their inherent skein
with new distributions; that I will never see an end to anything, nor to
myself. with unutterable horror I continue to write, as if texts would
stave death from proximity; these myths no longer work; I no longer sleep,
or no longer sleep well; I survive to write _this_ text and only _this_
text; what I have promised myself - the knowledge of a new language, a
visit to a foreign country - will never be done. when I open a book my
first thought is always, will I survive to finish it; will this make a
difference, certainly not to myself, on the verge of total annihilation. I
cannot imagine such; such is literally unaccountable, unimaginable,
replete with intrinsic absence. every saying, every utterance, is a gain-
saying. this horror is not abstract; it is as concrete as the physical
pain I also inhabit, and only the onslaught of physical torment will make
my death bearable. I am a coward; such is not the case until disease or
accident wills it so. I write, I create, as fast as I do, because it is
all I can do; it is the only thing to be done; it is always the last rite;
it is never enough.