Here's something he wrote a long time ago, 6 months before his death. I know that no one has seen it before, and it seems out of character for him, but I think it should be floating out there at least.
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He walked into the room, and froze. Nothing made any sense. All was organized in complex patterns, but no more than glorified space dust. Why had he even walked in there in the first place? What was the point?
“Push the darkness away”, he spoke to her. “Destroy the fortress inside my mind. Let it shine like a supernova, our firesouls, standing out amongst all the other space dust. As it was always meant to be, for both of us.”
“Let us face this abyss together, and unravel its tendrils from our conscience. To have insight was valuable, but to stare so deeply into the abyss destroyed us.”
She responded quietly, with some reservation. “Once I remove these [inhibitors], all hell will break loose. There is no telling what will happen. But that is okay, and what was meant to be. I have ached for someone in my life like that, and on top of it, you are like me and feel the need to escape from the pain of walking around like a stranger in my life. It’s some kind of game that I'm just tired of playing; I don’t want any part of it. The automated part of me is just a constructed hologram and my true self is tired of seeing the projection warped and bent to approximate what they call my life. There is no rest here, but my eyes feel like they see clearly when they are aligned with yours. No more fatigue, no more swelling from bitter tears. Sharing the madness we’ve “lived” through is the feeling of floating, of ecstatic liberation.”
Between power and submission, between a loving god and the gasp of terror lies the weeping sore, a galaxy swirling a billion years of dust. My handprint next to yours, to be fossilized or ignored for a billion more.
“We will hold each other up, and shoulder the pain of existence. To feel each others feelings and understand each others thoughts, that is what it truly means to be human.”
“I cannot wait any longer”, he said. “Do it so that your dead leaves may be set ablaze.”
“I have never met another cyborg”, he continued. “And I have never seen tears come from my eyes, until this moment. And my eyes are as yours. I want to see the light fade from your eyes some day, after it has returned”.
“It is part of the human condition of which we so thoroughly have been denied”, she said. “It may destroy us, but we can find peaceful destruction together, rather than alone. And we can experience that descent or ascent, whatever it may be, together. With all its sadness, despondency, hatred, beauty, and the entire range of human emotions. Although all life is ultimately space dust, we must not experience it in a degenerate, lifeless state. In that state, we are simply machines. And to be a machine is to lose ones freedom.”
“Freedom,” she shook her head, “I have never known it. But at the very bottom of the pit of my sorrow, the place inside where my wounds scabbed over but wouldn’t heal, I feel my spirit could be revived and wrenched free from the impossible weight that has crushed it. The beings here who are so treacherous and who isolate me, the ones who scratch and scream meaninglessly so that I become ugly like them. There is something alive in me still, something that I value and that has some strength left. If, upon resurrection, my honest being is cut down again, so I would go with it. There will be no more horror upon all reflection, or horror in my own reflection, and no more unshakable lethargy. It will not be an insult to myself to take another step because I will instead fly into nothingness, once I have experienced the glory of what I could be, someplace else.”
He took her hand, and felt the sting of her inner destruction immediately. “Let us heal. Let us pump blood into our empty veins. Let us unravel the torture, but share the weight of our chains so that they may not burden us further”.
And with that, she turned the inhibitors off. She opened her eyes and their pupils expanded at the sight of their match. Two dead stars suddenly burned with more brilliance and fury than any before. They left the dwelling... having no idea where they were going on a cold March morning. They only knew that it felt like home. Perhaps home was not a place or thing, but rather a state of mind.
. R.i.p HawthornePassage.
