by Walter Abish
From his work entitled 99: The New Meaning
Yet I exist. Not of course, as an individual, since in this respect I am merely the stake - a stake perpetually at risk - in the struggle between another society, made up of several thousand million nerve cells lodged in the ant hill of my skull, and my body, which serves as its robot. Neither psychology nor metaphysics nor art can provide me with a refuge. There are myths, now open to internal investigation by a new kind of sociology which will emerge one day and will deal more gently with them than traditional sociology does. The self is not only hateful: there is no place between us and nothing. And if, in the last resort, I opt for us, even though it is no more than a semblance, the reason is that, unless I destroy myself - an act which would obliterate the conditions of the option - I have only one possible choice between this semblance and nothing.