After reading this Barthes line, my imagination went nuts, splashing his words with watercolor and building the following scene:
‘Rescind yourself,’ life mandates in its soothing, raspy voice.
‘No,’ you respond, firmly.
The bottom of your feet start to tickle. You feel extinction’s eraser working softly. Extinction rolls its eyes and chews its cud: you. Your calves become thin strings. Your pulse is mitigated; your heart becomes a newborn dot of flesh, its convulsions too weak to do the necessary pumping.
You grow lightheaded. You see the sky tie itself into knots; you hear stars tittering at your silly resistance. You see unfathomable animal-beings bounding toward you. A ferocious hunger throbs in their eyes. You turn the other way. You run, you trip, you are plunging headlong into a bottomless pit. You see a blurry face at the top of the hole:
‘Even this bottomless horror is perishable my sweet, sweet child.’
These words reach your fading mass, but by then your ear canals have cauterized. And no gondolas will poke their modulating prows into your brain dirt. Until next time.