A series of jerks and tics , like those a hanged man twitching in the final death throes. A series of involuntary and grotesque spasms: that will have been your life, W. says. Have I ever exhibited a single free gesture? Have I ever shown any natural spontaneity? I'm always crabbed, always as though confined, though of course I haven't been confined.
It's not even desperation; it's more basic than that. There's a rebellion at the level of my reptile brain, that's all W. can surmise. A rebellion at the base of my spine. 'You shouldn't exist', W. says. 'You shouldn't have been born'. That's what my body knows. It's what I know at some abysmal level. And meanwhile, there's my twitching over the void, a man half-hung, neck broken …
Lars Iyer's Blog 