Last Monologue

One day, I’m going to deliver the last monologue, philosopher. I’m going to speak until the end of time. Do you think that’s possible?

What about?, you ask. I don’t know. I’ll just talk. And talk. And talk some more. Why not? It’ll pass the time.

I’d like speech to float upwards. Does that ever happen? For words to float up. For words to lighten.

 

At least you can listen to me, philosopher. At least I have company in this. My monologues … Do you object to my monologues? I object to them. I’ve become far too … self-indulgent. Listen to me! I’ve become far too philosophical.

 

I could say profound things, I think. I could wonder into some grove of profundity, where everything I said was just immeasurably deep.

 

These aren’t my words … that’s what it feels like. I’m not saying these things. It’s my distance saying them. It’s the faraway that’s speaking. And it’s speaking of being faraway.

 

I don’t know whether anything reaches me. It’s like I’m far away from everything. Too far away to be anything. I don’t know how to express it.

 

Nothing touches me. Nothing reaches me. Even you. All you’re doing is help me express this … absence. Allowing me to say these things.

 

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’m never going to be able to finish what I’ve begun. I’m never going to be able to stop saying it.

You can write this down, if you like. You can put these words in your book. To close your book. I don’t mind. You can have them.

I can just … saying these things. I’m saying them now. I don’t know how. I’m simply … able to speak. I’ve been given an … ability. I’ve been inspired, or whatever. Speaking like this has become easy for me. I didn’t know how, or why. Maybe I should write them down, these words. Maybe I should write a treatise.

 

What’s in your head, philosopher? What are you thinking? I don’t think you’re thinking anything at all. I think you’re just being vague … and withdrawn. I think you live in a kind of fog. And sometimes you come out of your fog – I like that. But mostly you’re just … lost.

Why aren’t you here, philosopher? Why can’t you be with me? What are you gazing at, that’s so far away? What’s happened to your … attention? You only like remote things. Nothing close. Nothing real, though I doubt that I’m real. Nothing living.

At least join me here. At least be with me, so I don’t have to suffer alone. Because I really am suffering, philosophy. Or at least I think I am. Ever since the beginning of our … affair. Even since, I’ve … suffered. Can it even be called suffering? I’m at sea. I’ve lost my equilibrium. Things are not where they should be. And you’re no help.

Don’t you feel it, too? Don’t you feel lost? Won’t you be lost with me? Emerge. Come out of your trance. I’m calling you. Say a few things. Say a few profound things. They don’t have to be your own words. You can quote, philosopher. You must know a few quotations.

 

It’s as if the world’s already ended. And perhaps it has. It’s like there’s no more world. And that time is no more, either. But here we are, outside the world and outside time.

 

This day will never end. Not this day. We’re in a …. Loop of time. Time – this time – has broken off from time. It’s an ox-bow lake of time, separate from the main river.

We’ve been given this time. This irrelevant time. This leading nowhere time. In order to – what? In order to take us – where? In order to be delivered – to what?

 

Becalmed, that’s what we are. There’s no wind to … catch our sails. To blow us anywhere. We’re just here. Here with time, with open time. With space.

 

The coast. I know why you chose to live here. I feel the attraction. The open skies, the open sea. You can … forget yourself. And it’s good to forget yourself.

 

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.

 

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

 

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?

 

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.

 

Is there something wrong with me? Is there something wrong – with everything? Is there something wrong – with God?

 

In the last hour, in the final hour, I went mad. Madness came. In the last hour … In this last hour.

 

All my life – I’ve … what? What can I say about all of my life? What can I say about anything?

All my life, I … all my life … What can I say? Who am I to say anything? Who do I have to be to say anything?

 

Maybe this will be the last time we’re reborn. Maybe we’ll escape the whole wheel of rebirth. Maybe we’ll be absorbed back into God.

 

All we want is … obliteration. All we want is not to exist anymore.

 

One day pfft – that’ll be it. One day – what? One day, philosopher … one day … there’ll be no more days. One day, there’ll be a end of days. An end to the end of time.

 

I don’t even know whether I’m suffering. I don’t even know who’s suffering. I don’t know anything I don’t know whether there’s anyone here. Whether I am at all. Whether anything’s real.

 

Do you know how tired I am of being dead? Do you know how tired I am?

 

How did we end up here – in this Limbo? Who brought us to so-called life here? Who let us be born again, and here? It was cruel. It was mean, to make us so-called live again. To bring us back to so-called life.