That was encoded
with the truth
that never was
end: 1:37 p.m.
beginning precedes the middle below:
It is 11:40 a.m. on Sunday, nothing discernible has changed, in the transparent scheme of things, and yet, somehow, keeping afloat, like the Robert Redford movie where he says two words and one of them is “FUUUUCK!” at the top of his lungs when he realizes his water is contaminated.
I love that movie. It is a tour de force. I am not exactly sure what tour de force means, in the original French sense of the phrase, it is something beautiful like a ballerina perfectly executing Swan Lake or the voice of an angel, whenever it alights upon your sphere of comprehension. Take it in. Bless that. You may miss it all together, but that is okay, because the one thing that has been proven is there is some stretchiness to the cosmos, and believe half of what you see and none of what you hear or is it the other way around is good advice because all it’s saying is always get more than one source for your information. Unless that source is something finely tuned and humbly honed [my ears hurt, btw, or more exactly, my left ear keeps requiring me to stick my finger in in as if my hair were a sword tickling all the adhesive that won’t wash away. What is it adhering, you may ask? Oh, do not ask what is it, let us go and make our visit…
Now we have 12:05 p.m. after finding and copying T.S. Eliot (which I have realized says something about me, I’d swear my computer is making typewriter noises to make me feel more at ease as I channel my favorite author, poet, my favorite words in a string, much like radiohead is my favorite lyrical string of music and madness and sonorous sadness all together in a balled up string that unravels like pulling blossoms from a string. I begin. I believe. I humbly ask your forgiveness.
But I do have something important to tell you.
This is say to one in particular who I can never actually tell for if they do not know then they know something else and that is enough, and what would it be anyway, because it cannot and does not and will never exist in that formal reality we know as physicality, the force upon our chest, or the weight upon our backs, the searching you used to mention circumvented by this serious discussion and then I don’t know what, your wife’s nice ass, and my poetic distractions the dark mistress of an ethereal soul that I could care to discuss as time yearns by and I become more and more dissolute and resolved in my dissolution. Does this absolve? You, specifically, of being the leading one of the compliment kind and you can’t do that to someone who is obviously vulnerable so I hold you guilty [enough to say] of having to at least finish what you sought, which was some question that got muddled, and it doesn’t matter in the ways you think I am saying it matters. Absolve your brain of all belief that has not come between us, already.
I beseech you sounds so great in your head but I have never actually wanted to say it out loud ever in my life.
I love you, as well, an over-used to the point of meaningless phrase that always makes me want to respond, “I know.”
570 is all I can bare for the moment.
12:13 pm. Go outside for smoke. Consider jogging.
“Should this be the last thing I see, I want you to know it’s enough for me.”
All you do is let me down and somehow you’ve been okay with just admitting it, it’s a way of thinking so foreign to me that I guess I don’t believe it or I haven’t been able to comprehend for so long that it has almost done me in on the substantial planetary level. The physical detriments to my soul. I can’t carry you no more. Without a little more truth behind the words, that is. I am such a softie.
I want nothing more than for you to be happy and in myself, that all got lost, when I could no longer figure out what to do in a world that makes no sense to me and which I want to be no part of, and yet I stay. I hang around in emptiness. Floating whistfully away.