Monthly Archives: October 2010

You won’t leave me

I’m going to have to turn my back on you, I tell X. I’m too busy, I’ve got things to do and you bring me down. What are you talking about? he says. This is it, I say, you’re going to have to leave, I have to get on with my life, I’m busy. See you later. I know you, he smirks, you won’t leave me. See you later, I say, walking away. Come back here, he shouts, running towards me.

Almost human

Sometimes you speak to me, you become almost human, then we speak together. Moments of pause, a gathering together to be celebrated. Moments of ecstasy which make me all the more aware of how you elude me even though I’m made of you. And beyond you? What made you?

This act of writing

Who are you? My self beyond my self. What ties me to and unbinds me from the world. These very words, and the spaces between them. This act of writing, which I’ll never understand. In the beginning was you. I fell into you, I fell into a state beyond repair. And beyond you? Unknown upon unknown.

Experience is in the first place a struggle against the spell in which useful language holds us.

– Battaille (via here)

Before and after

The word before the first word. The word after the last word. Before and after you. What is it? Impossible silence. The clearing beyond your clearing.

In the clearing

But the very words with which you address me are my words, you tell me. They are already the words with which I address myself. That’s already much, you say, so much that’s there’s little more for you to do, here in the clearing I make for you, when you choose to address me. But how can I be sure this is your voice? I say. And what is this ‘little more’?

The same result

They say the mark of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. And me, when I address you over and over expecting a different result, am I insane? What happens when the result is the same no matter what one does? When the same non-answer stretches out around me each time I address you? Do I stop? Do something else? Go elsewhere? But there’s nowhere else to go. Or is there?