https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Camus
(For a psychological reading of relief, repression, and the cost of being watched, see Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents*.)*
The universe is truly disinterested in what I do,
and that is the greatest blessing.
Not because it grants freedom.
Not because it confers meaning.
But because nothing is being staged.
No lesson is unfolding.
No arc is closing.
No invisible examiner is adjusting marks.
Things happen.
They do not mean.
If Freud were to hear this, he would not look upward with me.
He would look sideways —
at the economy of desire finally shutting down an expensive habit.
The habit of being watched.
The habit of explanation.
The habit of appeal.
Disinterest is relief.
Not hope.
Not despair.
Just the quiet cancellation of an audience.
I put this here without instructions.
If you are still reading, you are awake.
If not — sleep well.
My ashtray becomes my bin,
and the bin half a room;
those who cleared it were servants of order.
There were some coins scattered in the ash, not deliberately.
They knew.
It was a game for them.