The Kunnst File

In the Summer of 1963 controversial German philosopher Johann Kunnst retired from his position as Chair of Absolute Ego at the University of Harvard to live in an isolated cabin in Texas and, as he told his colleagues, "Solve it all". Recently notes have emerged, scribbled thoughts written by Kunnst and been translated. Today we present a selection of these notes, soon to be published as ‘The Kunnst File’. I have great hopes for this project. It will take a brief shift, a pushing, a grunting, a manipulation of energies in my mind and it will all fall into place. The quiet will help. Nothing but the boiling of my kettle and the soft mutter of my television. Great thoughts are born in such circumstances.

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It is a fundamental misconception, a brain flutter of which Western philosophy has yet to rid itself, that truth exists out there, waiting to be found. Perhaps hidden at some higher level of consciousness, perhaps encoded in some hermetic cipher. If I can just find the key, they think, and waste their lives in pointless investigations. It can always be reduced to a journey- Plato’s arrogant quest outside of himself, the relentless navelgazing of Freud’s internal quest. This is wrong. Nietzsche knew this. Why, why, why…

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Nietzsche was a fool! Heidegger a fool! A Nazi fool! Their portentous, pretentious crap isn’t philosophy, it’s the screams of babies for the breast. How dare they divert me. They clouded my thoughts. Not any more.

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The kettle it boils, and it boils, and it boils. Being and Being and Being and Being. It boils, I think, and I think. If the kettle breaks it no longer boils…Why does this scare me?

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The more I consider it, the more my thoughts seem to cohere around the television. The nature of the television, the philosophy of the television, its incandescent glow, the expression, bringing into life, connection, being, angelic messaging, droning signification of the television. It has its heroes, its martyrs, its founded origins, its provisional ends. An eternal system, a cathedral, a labyrinth, a paradise. It represents something. It represents the power to represent. It signifies significance. Kennedy is its touchstone. Today I killed the dog that has been barking at night.

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Kennedy is now in my dreams. He is the cruel god whose laughter is silent. When I wake I grip the bedsheets to feel something real. Did I exist up until this moment? This moment? This moment?

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If you turn the television towards the wall you can still see the glow. What did Kant really see when he looked at that church? Did it scream at him like the television screams at me? Something large is moving inside of me. I can feel it. It wants to be born. It needs to be born. All I can hear is the boiling of the kettle and the soft mutter of the television. Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy…

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Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy…

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The smell of the corpse of the dog is now horrific. It helps to drown out the television. I left it in the centre of the room and have not touched it in 17 days. I always walk around it. It is sacred.

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The dog isn’t talking to me. I know it isn’t the dog. I can think around it, I can think around it, around it…

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Today the kettle stopped boiling.

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It has become simple. I now know what to do. What I must do. I. What a stupid, small word for the force that now exists within me, through me. It all fits together. It is him. Him! He’s coming to Dallas nest week. I know what must be done.

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A tree fell in the woods yesterday. I SAW IT!

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It is done. It is finished. I wonder how easy it would be to make people think we put a man on the moon?

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