Whatever

This is what our affair’s all about. The sky. The open sky. And time. And sharing time. And sharing the sky. And sharing this … mood … whatever it is. This mood, or whatever. This whatever …

Maybe that’s the word for it: whatever. Maybe that’s the word for everything: Whatever. Or maybe whatsoever. Or maybe whatso-fucking-ever.

 

Dare me. Dare me to do something crazy. Dare me to tear up my life. Dare me to destroy my life. Dare me to laugh at my life – laugh until I die. Dare me, philosopher. Dare me to start what I can’t finish. Dare me to go mad. Just to let myself go mad. Just to open my head. Take off the top of my head. Dare me, philosopher.

 

I could talk forever. But really, it’s talking, not me. It’s spinning out. This is the infinite’s work. This is the sky’s work. I’m speaking the words of the sky. I’m speaking as the sky would speak. This is the forever speech. This is where I touch forever. This is where I reach it, and it reaches me. And I don’t want anything else to happen but this. It’s mad, it’s my madness, but it isn’t even mine.

 

This is the last time I’ll come. I don’t need anymore.

The memory of it all will grow in me. Will grow right through me. It will saturate me. I will be nothing other than what has happened here.

I’ll seem … distracted. I’ll seem … turned away. Impersonal. And when asked, what will I say? I was remembering. I was remembering what it was to be forgotten. To be totally obscure.

And for this to be madness, my madness, my legitimate madness.

 

This is our intimacy. This is where we both disappear. This is where we are lost, in the afternoon. Together by not being together. Together, with the whole afternoon between us.

This is where we’re lost together. This is where we’ll find ourselves lost, and together.

 

This is the speaking. This is speech. This is the way of letting it resound. Letting it echo through what I say.

I’d call this God. I’d say God was speaking. If I believed in God.

We’re just two poles of a relation, philosopher. But the relation’s the thing. The in-between. What happens or doesn’t happen between us.

 

Sometimes you have to get lost, philosopher. To get vague. We’re vague, aren’t we, philosopher? We’re lost in vagueness.

 

See, I’ve entered the zone. I’ve entered some kind of zone. I’m in the zone speaking out of the zone, don’t you think?

I’m saying something profound. Only it’s not my profundity. Actually, I’m not sure it’s even profound. I’m not sure it’s even deep. Profound superficiality. The superficial profound. That’s the paradox. Saying nothing, saying everything: both at the same time.

 

Nothing ever happens, does it? Nothing ever happens. No – it’s that something undoes what happens. Makes it unimportant. Erodes its memory. There’s an unhappening that happens, too. There’s an unevent that turns things from what they’re supposed to be.

 

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! It’s like being muffled. Like no one can hear me. You can hear me, can’t you? You know what I’m saying, even if I don’t. God … I want to get OUT! I can’t get OUT!

It’s like I’m trapped up here. Trapped with you.

 

And I want to shout it out. Scream it up. To the skylight. To the eye of God. To the eye of non-God. The eye of the God who is not there. The eye of no one. No one’s eye. And it’s not even an eye.

 

Who sees us? Who watches us? Who watches over us? Who cares for us? Who cares at all?

 

If I ask any more questions, then … What? If question falls into question falls into question, what? If questioning just becomes, like, infinite, what? If I question everything, and question questioning and things just get deeper, then what?

 

Life is long, isn’t it, philosopher? Life’s terribly long.

This is a life sentence. We’re sentenced to all these endless days. All these weeks and months and years.

Where is it all going, philosopher? Who’s going to remember these things? This … oblivion. That we share. This passion of forgetting? Who’s going to mark it?

 

It’s like I’m slurring, but in speech. Like I’m really stoned – or what I imagine being stoned is like.

Dissociation: is that it? I’m looking in on this from faraway. From a great distance. I’m here and not here. The distance … between me and me, let along between me and you. It's like some weird trip. What’s doing this to us? What’s happening or not happening or whatever? What’s anything?