These Words

I don’t know what to do with these words, philosopher. I don’t know what I’m saying. I didn’t know what they’re for, these words. I can’t make anything out … they’re … surprising me.

 

These words … are taking me over … kind of … I’m saying things … I shouldn’t say.

 

And there you are, standing before me. There you are, looking at me. Waiting to see what I have to say. And what do I have to say? What’s using me to say what?

See how I’m talking? See how I’m tangling myself in knots?

Who am I speaking to, philosopher? Who am I speaking for? Are you going to remember my words? Are you going to write them down, after I’m gone? Are you going to remember them? Are you going to keep them safe? In your book?

 

I’d like to sleep for ten days. And wake up … with all my problems solved. What problems, you say? What could possibly be wrong, you say?

But something’s wrong. I know that. It’s pricked my conscious. Something’s wrong – those two words say themselves over and over in me. Something’s wrong. And it’s my fault, in some way. And I’m part of it, in some sense. And it calls me to do something, this something’s wrong. It wants me to do something. And I don’t know what.

 

I wish there was something I could quote. I wish there were poems that I knew by heart. I wish I could quote the Bhagavad Gita. I wish I could remember what Krishna said to Arjuna. I wish I could remember more of the stories in the comics.

What should I say? What would you like me to say? Any requests? Anything you’d like me to read? Pass me that book. I’ll open it at random. Read out some lines. Isn’t that a kind of fortune telling?

But I have to speak. I – have – to – speak.

 

What kind of idiot am I? Am I an idiot too, like you? Have I reached your sacred stupidity? A philosophical stupidity? Am I a savant of speech? Do I have some gift for speech and questions and questions and questions. And everything I say. All of this.

 

A kind of … desperation. That isn’t even mine. That I don’t own, or control.

A … grasping … As though I were holding out my hand. But for what? Expecting what?