A miracle, the tomb and the womb, ruthless honesty, and solipsistic cannibalism

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What is not a miracle? Then it is a miracle because it 'is', and yet it is not a miracle.

Burn yourself up man, burn yourself up. Scatter your ashes to the wind, and seek no method to retrieve them.

Certain destructions are inherent in being; a man kills himself unintentionally‑ habitually, as it were; he breaks under the weight of being, and compassionately euthanizes himself with introspection; every step a man takes in his own direction, he recedes farther from himself; every breath is a death; 'you' struggling towards 'not‑you'. He buries himself with every insight, because it disproves him. The new man is born from a sarcophagus containing the remains of all the corpses he once was, and which he himself did kill. The murderer, is the murdered. Man is his own sacrifice, and his own mercy; man is his own meat; the tomb is the womb. Insatiably, the autophage consumes himself in inspirations, an act of solipsistic cannibalism. We are destroyed by confronting ourselves; man is an essential participant in his own demise; one dissolves (dis‑solves?) in one's own sweat and tears. The self cannot survive under the pressure of its own relentless scrutiny; the fire consumes the fuel that caused the fire; a specimen melts under the intense heat of the microscope observing it. You dissipate into yourself; you die from your own becoming; you become a parasite of your own life; a lamprey sucking at its own tail; you disappear under your own firy gaze; there is no such thing as intelligence, only ruthless honesty. But, then, if a man devours himself continually until there is nothing left, what has done the final devouring?

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These fragments are taken from unpublished writings by Jack Haas, selected from the notebooks 1990-2005.