Oh, Ozzy! The end? What end?

Why is it that I write this blog? Well, it started of as one, but then I found myself writing longer and longer texts, so now it’s more like a collection of essays that focus on something that I find relevant to my own research, typically at least somehow linked to landscape and discourse, but at times they cover something that I happen to find interesting for whatever reason. I reckon I try to make sense of things, at least for myself, but also for others, if they happen to be interested. If it is of use to someone, then it is, if it isn’t then it isn’t. I realize that while for the sake of clarity I try to be conventional, in the sense that an essay has a beginning and an end, an intro and an outro, with a body of text in the middle, I may end up on a tangent or it may seem or even be the case that my essays are rather unconventional and eccentric. I’d like to call them plateaus, in reference to ‘A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizoprenia’ by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, but that’s probably too much. I reckon I’d be flattering myself if I did call them that. Then again, maybe they are. I mean I do tend to start with something, some brief contextualization, but I often hesitate to conclude with anything, ending up more like a summary rather than a conclusion. That’s because there’s always more to it, nothing ever ends, there is no ‘in the end’, as, sorry for the spoiler if you haven’t read it or seen it but would like to, Dr. Manhattan tells Ozymandias in the end (I know, geez!) of ‘Watchmen’ as written by Alan Moore, which itself stands in reference to a Percy Bysshe Shelley poem ‘Ozymandias’ in which the works of a self-proclaimed King of Kings, Ramesses II, boasts with his accomplishments that … now lay in ruins. If we are to trust Diodorus Siculus (169), as mentioned in the ‘Book I’ of the ‘Library of History’), there used to be an inscription on a monument of his:

“King of Kings am I, Osymandyas. If anyone would know how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass one of my works.”

So, no, this is not a made up example of hubris by Moore or Shelley. Anyway, I ended up on another tangent in order to explain why I hesitate to conclude anything rather than to say … so far. This applies to actual articles as well. It’s customary to end up with something, to include customary remarks, but I struggle with this notion, having to come up with something witty and applicable, as if what I wrote shall stand the test of time from here to eternity, or ‘Beyond Forever’ as whoever came up with the name for that David Beckham fragrance might put it. If it does, then, wow, I beat Ramesses II! Anyway, my point is, I think, that I’m always in the middle of something and so is my thought, as well as my texts, always open to revision, which is a bit problematic, considering that it’s highly unconventional and goes against the expectations that once we are done, we are done. If only it was that simple. Wouldn’t it be great to be just done with something, to finally uncover the truth? In a way yes, it would be very reassuring and comforting, as well as a true moment of proudness, feeling like you are on top of the world, having everyone know that you belong there, after all, your work proves it. Then again, as Jacques Derrida (370) puts it in ‘Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences’, as included in ‘Writing and Difference’, that would mean “the end of play.” There’d be nothing left to do, nothing to strive for, no reason for going forward, no novelty to anything. So, back to where I started with this, I like to think that I’m using this … platform to do the exact opposite, to push my boundaries, go forward and keep doing it, after all (wording!), there shall no rest for the wicked. I recommended that people read the works that I examine and make use of. I hope what I write is useful to the reader, but there are no shortcuts. If I fail to convey the meaning, then I do. Actually that’s hardly surprising, considering how paraphrasing works. I’m not going to explain something again, well, unless I do at some point in my writing. I mean that’s bound to happen, considering there is no final say, but I’ll get back to that … if I do that is. I expect the reader to think for themselves rather than take what I say for granted, for that’s what I’d do and actually do. That’s how you keep going forward. That’s not going to happen if you take things for granted, expecting there to be a final say. Nay, for in the end, nothing ever ends.


  • Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari ([1980] 1987). A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (B. Massumi, Trans.). Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.
  • Derrida, J. ([1967] 1978). Writing and Difference (A. Bass, Trans.). Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press.
  • Diodorus Siculus (1933). Library of History, Vol. I (C. H. Oldfather, Trans.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
  • Moore, A., D. Gibbons, and J. Higgins (19861987). Watchmen (L. Wein and B. Kesel, Eds.). New York, NY: DC Comics.
  • Shelley, P. B. (11.1.1818). Ozymandias. London, United Kingdom: The Examiner.