Where I was tomorrow is where I am today, where I would be yesterday.
I have a horror of committing fraud. It is all very difficult, the past even more than the future, for the latter is at least probable, calculable, while the former is beyond the range of experiment.
The past is always a lie, clung to by an odour of ancestors.
It is important from the beginning to treat such things lightly. As the ghosts rise upwards over the grave wall, I recoffin them neatly, and bury them.
It is, I suppose, my last will and testament, although in so far as I have choice in the matter I shall not be dying for a long time. (One can only cultivate oneself as one awaits the issue.)
If eternity were available beyond death, […]
I should in effect have achieved it already, for I should be already beyond the pitiless onslaught of time, beyond the constant disintegration of the present, beyond all the problematic struts and viaducts with which prudence seeks to bridge the chasm of anxiety, with the ability to say, avoiding unseemly haste: “I’ll die tomorrow,” without bothering to intend it, or not to intend it
Installation view from Mark Walkers show in Cave3000