Excess tributes its own delicacy. Excess of figural congealed assets of a Junk ridden road, yet the road is stopped and forgotten by others. They are at mercy, in our slurry mock-heroic hands. It is in necessity of absconding self that others are proven slurry. In this state of stationed being, truthfulness considers other not as necessary obstacle but, in this partial situation, being substantiates ‘itself’ as it’s truth, as a repose to structurally decomposed being, ‘they’ as being of others. In this way of substantiating ‘itself’, it decomposes other by appropriating being. ‘They’ are forgotten, resolved as a condition of structural supra-reality of being, and the ‘they self’ as a partial truth of fractured self. Scenic sound appears denser than ever. Moment by moment, sound is synthesized in sense of the body space. Solidified airy sounds, dense, are felt as congealed weapon to transcribe the real. Contexts are proven to have no meaning except the limits of spatiality, yet that too is forgotten. Limit is just a result of human folly. Social images, mingled with sound, transgresses the limit of space, limitless dense vacuum appears, where the social context is de-contextualized, meaning is only in spatial body, the fourth limit dimension. ‘Spatial body’ and things as an extension of spatial body are itself the ground of its own meaning. Things ‘for-itself’ is otherized form and content of things ‘in-itself’. ‘For-itself’ is the context, where things ‘thingification’ gets nurtured and is put before an obstacle, its own objectification. This prior objectification is ‘slur of being’. Urground or primal ground is prioritized by putting into question, being ‘in-itself’, or ‘in-itself’‘s meaning. So, the process of making meaning is displaced from immanent Being’s ‘in-itself’ to more primal ground of ‘for-itself’ or, the contextual limit of space centred body. Galaxy’s time is the spatial limit. It denotes the abyss of scary time. Thus is the location of history, where mankind spaces its limitation.
I am thankful and indebted to co-traveller of junk ridden path, Dr. Partha Chatterjee.