On the Antiseptic Proof of Quality

“Today I wrote nothing,” Kafka repeated in his diaries, an ouroboros Möbius strip of via positiva in yin-yang countenance with via negativa, the oxymoronic deafening silence and the idea of ‘nothing’ as actual ‘thingness.’ What, then, is nothing? If ‘is’ insists on its verb ‘to be’ then how can something be nothing? Perhaps the only raison d’être truly is as plain and muted as because.