where this goes other than at the end of what I read last night I am not sure. must do some rearranging of thoughts for the snippet I fired off to redhots for our top secret project.
there were some years I spent sundays drinking beer and listening to Patti Smith and reading Nietzsche and if this sounds absurdly pretentious it may have been except that I was lacking the naive self confidence to lord it over anyone. rather I read my Nietzsche and listened to my Patti Smith and worried about how others might lord it over me were I to come out as ponderously ponderous.
not that it was not already clear that I was ponderously ponderous but then as now it only seemed sensible to me that I was the only one in the world listening to Patti Smith while reading Nietzsche and drinking beer on the sun porch during the heat of the summer only in the evening after the heat had dissipated slightly and I do mean only slightly. surely no one else ever did anything like this.
forty years later the man speaks. with urgency. I cannot explain this urgency although mortality might have something to do with it or an impulsiveness finally shredding the bonds of timidity after all this time for I have been living in urgency all along but one which strained and railed at itself for lack of egress. truly astounding is the liveliness that life can contain within its own borders and keep silently pummeling at the tip of the tongue.
for instance. that is for instance and although no one could possibly have any idea there are ideas all over and although there is not much point to taking them down and they will all be dead for the same amount of time no longer how long they live a little life at any price makes its unreasonable but irresistible demands and there is little to do but laugh it off while rendering to it every glimmer of allegiance down to the last mote of your being.
to the extent that one can say that about oneself to begin with and I am not so sure. it seems to me more of a moving along than anything else.
I was waiting for someone to invite me to speak. it was like this. what do you think. I don't know. well what do you think. I don't know. it is not that I did not know although after I had said I don't know many many times it finally became true that I did not know and could not say and wouldn't know where to begin looking for whatever it was that I might think but this came later or at least it occured during a discrete period whose boundaries I can no longer place except to say it began one day and one day a very long time later it began to ease and I began to have some idea.
I could really pull out a metaphor here. hammers and nails and plywood and refugees being driven off by the thousands or the slow decline of the species under the hot sun until the last one breathes its final breath and falls blind and silent and the universe goes out until the animal whom we love and which we are all of us even when we protest otherwise raises itself again but gods know how long that might take or radio waves crackling across clear calm skies until the earth bends away and they radiate forever out into earless space having become no information just a wave and that is all.
I could. they would all work to a degree and they would all evoke some great pathos but of more interest and indeed the space through which I suspect knowing had escaped from the very first but life shaped itself up so that I would forget almost straight away that there was a space of more interest is that interval between them where we sit and say this is like this because they are not and always the simile breaks and that was precisely what I could not say and cannot say to this day but which in its sheer proneness to all that we could do with it invites us to do just that.
and so the metaphors march on over this irreparable rent but the only way for them not to become tyrannical is to take care that the rent leaves its glowing trace.
I was called to forget by a metaphor that had stopped taking care.