1.30.2009

His Accidental Remarks, Nevertheless (Gasp!) were Far From Disappointing

He is undressed and un-moved. It is not like it is anything at all. She dismissed it, earlier, as a fated inconsequential sequence. I have far too many invitations to address, she considered. The ill timing, sure, the gargantuan-ness-ment--ah, dear lone Beast. She spelled Beast out with her fingers and then quickly, rather neatly, though it is never quite neat, suicided. There is only that question and then that answer, if intended to be negative and rather intrusive, surely intrusive, results in a myriad of actions with only one harmful and absolute (general) outcome. We are made of outcomes, he declared, posturing at the base of the staircase, submissive to finer culture and perhaps even ignorant of humanity, no, far from removed, placed in it ever firmly. She has chosen but one outcome that was, I dare say, quite inevitable. Gasp! She is not dead! No, she is dead. An outcome, I must admit, would not venture to suppose it was anything but itself. He had, in truth and in our confidence, been rather irked of late, due to his own inevitable (I dare say again) decline into pedestrian composition, one which he perhaps rightly blamed on maturity. Hmph, he pondered, my own growth in spiritual disposition--though far am I from humane in practice or in philosophical opinion--has now precluded me from witnessing (at least from a subjective stance) the angst, or even the hatred, that so defined my creations. Without it, ever without it now, I am not holding onto anything, not witnessing any hands turn white, and therefore, amongst the sordid lot of pub fare, I am no longer in so much self-disgust nor plagued by heightened self-awareness. I have, yes, of course, in large part due to my spiritual conquest, come to know the regular flow of this great human river, and in it, well, it is only ever cliche, and it is only ever simple, clean, and relaxing. There are, you see, only words for the outside vision of this reality, never the internal vision. But that has made me rather content, nevertheless. Though odd words at such a time (a funeral no less, and a funeral inappropriately attended by the late woman's audacious lover), there was, nonetheless, an air of closure--by what most commoner's supposed--to what was supposed to be a journey and a journey of peace without explanation and without rule. Of course, though his intention was purely ego in drive and in purpose, he nevertheless, succeeded, in such an elegant and direct way, to derive her own life plan--no easy task. We are only, she had once said, in opposition to each other but never in plan or in design. I should not have held onto that rock for so long, he mused later, but of course, most certainly, that was far before he learned that he was on a ball in a vacuum that was merely doing cart-wheels around a stove. Quite metaphoric. Gasp!

1.26.2009

spring cleaning

The time had come at last. "No more crying!" Susan pleaded, her eyes shining in the light of the stars. My eyes were just adjusting. "I wasn't crying," I said. "I am tired of all the fighting. I am ready for..."

"For what?"

For things to be different. First you had to find a beginning, and then a middle. The end would find you. Me, all I had was middles. "The woods were lovely dark and deep" but I had no promise. Robert and I played tennis, without a net, and personally I fucking loved it.

"ah it's just laziness, that's what it is" he griped. Somewhere I'm sure above us were stars. Would he rather they burn, or rhyme?

And then there was the moon:

(

"Yourself?" my therapist suggests. "Is that what you're looking for?"

"But I'm right here. How can I be looking for myself when I AM IN FACT MYSELF?"

But it was just rhetorical. No amount of words could console Susan; when she was a baby she swallowed a black hole and we all know how that goes. And me, here, standing with this shovel, not crying, just a little dirt in my eye.