Ok everyone I have worked a long day and it’s 3:47 in the morning I have to be up soon and I am beyond, so stay with me 😀
One consequence of spending a lot of time alone is that you become familiar with these moments of intersection I like to call them, where that inner voice in your head, that voice that speaks for your heart, and the voice that speaks for your loins, all sound the same. You cannot tell whether you want or need something, you cannot tell whether you are asleep being ever so slowly lulled by the gentle rhythms of emergent images all fantastic just beyond their plain superficial ordinary-ness, you cannot tell whether or not you are moving or stationary because everything whether it is the children playing just beyond the glass of the window or your books, figurine or whatever, passing relic you surround yourself with, right in front of your seems unfairly unreachable.
You dont have the patience to wait, but you dont have a choice, being alone with the experience of alone-ness dictates that you will be forced at some point to that moment afterwards of complete cessation. All the voices go louder and louder till there is nothing to said or a space to say it in, and from that unimaginably lofty position, you know things. You know that that 100lbs or more body that you carry around through the avenues of your life is just that, something you carry around. You also are born into the fact that the face you wear, the personality you have is just an accoutrement, it’s just a decoration, a mark of distinction for whatever it is you are. The right before you are completely taken by the singleness of the moment, you find yourself back here.
And where are you ?
Your in a place where the word on the page are more meaningful than the empty spaces. Where we have titles, were every single action is a transaction bringing us closer to a kind or arrogant solipsism. It’s quite easy to get lost in being called Prof, its even simpler to get lost at someone giving you that kind of smile you always wanted but even received when it happens on the A train heading deeper and deeper into the heart of the city.
It’s not too long before you forgotten that quiet, the singular quietude you were forced into however long ago it was. You’re back to thinking the mask you were and body you drag around are all that there is to you. The Mask and Manteau
I like to remind myself, that this is all a game. I like to remind myself that in enough time, I will be old and peeing in a bag and no one except chicks with gerontic fetishes will want to fuck me. A little while longer after that there will be no trace of my having been here. One of the keenest expressions of mortality is it’s own dismissal.
Maybe there is some meaning in bringing it to the forefront in a conscious way by taking a picture blogging on a toilet in an uncomfortable state of undress.
The last words always belong to someone else, in this case Shakespeare,
Thou hast nor youth nor age,
But, as it were, an after-dinner’s sleep,
Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What’s yet in this
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.