What I really want

What do I really want, X asks me, what am I trying to achieve, you should know, you know me better than I know myself. Nothing, probably, he says. No, I know, he says, I’ll tell you. To become silent. No, that’s a lie, he says, not to mention impossible, that’s the last thing I want, that would be the end of me. Then let me rephrase, he says: to accustom myself to the silence that surrounds all this noise I make, no, to the silence that underlies all this noise I make, no, to the silence that lies within all this noise I make, no, to the silence that is the noise I make, he says. But accustom is the wrong word perhaps. To end all this noise I make, then, to become silent, to bend over myself, to double over myself, no, not in that sense, or perhaps in that sense, to triple over myself, to trip over myself and become my own silent shadow, to somersault over my own silent shadow, which is of course impossible not to mention ridiculous, he says. To accustom myself, then, but to what, he says. Perhaps to endlessly ending what can’t be ended, he says, namely all this noise I make, all this bollocks I talk to you. To go forwards and backwards, to retreat and open up, to live and die, to live in death and die in life, he says. Maybe, he says, what do I know, with my kitsch, here it is again. So you tell me, my silent traitor, what do I want, you know me best, he says. Maybe I just want to get laid, he says.

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One response to “What I really want

  1. The understanding of death is to live a life inwardly ending.

    — Krishnamurti

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