Monthly Archives: March 2011

We’re in danger on two fronts, X and I agree. Of going too far inside but also of being pulled too far outside. Inside where we fall into dead time, outside where we’re exposed as liars, cowards, perverts, overexposed… in a bleached light… We face the same danger on both fronts, we agree, we have to walk a narrow line so we don’t lose ourselves and cease to separate inside from out. But there are good ways to lose yourself too, aren’t there, I ask, necessary ways? They don’t care how we do it, says X, it’s all the same to them. But aren’t there ways even they haven’t discovered, that they can’t get to? I ask. It’s possible, he says.

I’ve been thinking about those intellectuals who embarrassed me because of you, I tell X, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t care. Aren’t we all in the same leaking boat? At last you talk some sense, says X.

We’re back in our old town, whose size and pace is more suitable for the likes of us; back in the margins where we belong. We’re content. For now, says X. Now we can breathe again. Well you can, says X. We’re getting things done we’ve been meaning to do for years! I say. We’re not lying about in our pyjamas! It’s spring! A little breath of air, X concedes, but don’t be fooled, it’s just the change of scene talking, you felt the same way when we moved away. What did we do all that time we were away, I say, can you remember? Not really, he says. Were we happy? I ask. Were we even alive? Stay calm, he says, you’ll probably feel the same way when we leave this place.

I met some intellectuals at the pub after work today, I tell X, and told them some of the things you’ve told me to see what they’d say. They laughed. What did you expect? he says. I don’t know. They told me you’re out of date. Out of what date? Did you tell them to go fuck themselves? No, I listened, and so should you, I say. You embarrassed me, I say.

Back in our old town to start again, or to end again, I’m less discontent than I’ve been for years. Even X allows himself the odd smile as we walk around and unpack in the spring light, under the chorus of small birds on the roof above us and in the trees around us. Stay calm, he says. This doesn’t mean we’re not still in danger. You’re only happy when you’re leaving or arriving, or both. Soon tedium will set in, maybe tonight, probably at dusk, which is already setting in. So stay calm and be prepared.

We’ve always hated each other when we talk to people, haven’t we? I ask X. When you talk, X says. Maybe it’s not even ourselves we hate, I say, but the inadequacy of talking itself, the false notes that bounce off each other, between people! No, it’s probably just you, he says. But these days we don’t care as much as we used to, do we? I say. Remember how we used to fall silent with disgust if either of us caught sight of ourselves in a window while we were talking to someone? Now you’ll jabber on about anything, he says, you’d talk in a hall of circus mirrors, you’d talk to your own distorted reflections. Oh we still hate each other when we talk bollocks, I say, but it’s a tepid hate now, like you taught me. We don’t take talk personally. But your jabbering still wins out, he says, you just can’t help yourself. Talking always wins out.

You only think right when you drink, X tells me, when you’ve drunk as much as me and the horizon of thought opens up beyond both of us and your words reach out towards it. That’s when I love you, he says, that’s when I know we were meant for each other. Sometimes when we’ve drunk enough I don’t know who’s talking, you, me or no one, and that’s the only time I feel free. Well, that’s telling, isn’t it? I say. The only time you love me is when I’m out of my head and you don’t know who I am. I could’ve been someone but for you, I say. I could’ve been someone if I didn’t love you, I say.