GroundedWe don’t disappear into thin air. There is something left behind. There is our shit that disappears down the drain. There is our piss soaking into the earth. There are our toenails, fingernails, our pubic hair, our facial hair, our snot, our cum, our smegma, our earwax. There is the sleep that sticks to our eyes, there is our dandruff and all those flakes of skin that dance in the sunlight. Daily our bodies fall apart and touch the earth. Our bodies end in the earth. Discarded. Excreted. Grounded.
We step over this earth. Hover above it in our apartments. Guard against it with the soles of our shoes. But there are moments when we are grounded.
There is a kind of tragic beauty in these bodily discharges. It is the beauty of the break-down of the body, a body that lives, even though it is already dead. As Jean-Luc Nancy wrote in Corpus:
All of its life, the body is also a dead body, the body of a dead person, of this death that I am living.
The clean death, the death where we wait for it all to disappear, is the death of fiction. The real death, is the death we die each day, our body breaks down. As Heidegger writes that being “is always already dying: in its “being-towards-its-end.”