RECORD TWENTY
DISCHARGE
THE MATERIAL OF A IDEA
THE ZERO ROCK
Discharge is the best word for it. Now I see that it was actually like an electric discharge. The pulse of my last few days had been becoming dryer and dryer, more and more frequent, more intense. The opposite poles had been drawing nearer and nearer and already I could hear the dry crackling; one millimeter more, and—an explosion! Then silence.
Within me there is quiet now and emptiness like that of a house after everybody has left, when one lies ill, all alone and hears so clearly the distinct, metallic, tick-tock of thoughts.
Perhaps that “discharge” cured me at last of my torturing “soul.” Again I am like all of us. At least at this moment as I write, I can see as it were, without any pain in my mental eye, how O-90 is
