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Jan 12, 2004 18:04



I touch my skin. I pretend that there is no motion in the universe. I am covered in darkness and silence. Light and sound have dropped and disappeared. There is no longer gravity, or speed, no constant or variable. The walls are still, and the mice in them are still. The wallpaper is still. Then my eyes are closed, and all of the walls bend in to kiss me. I want to make love alone. I pretend that I could hang a photograph on the wall and then just walk into it. Like that riddle about a room with no doors or windows only a ladder and a mirror. I want to climb into the mirror, into an other world like a world of lies where trusting nothing makes sense. Where I could feel safe constantly looking myself in the eye, trying to climb through to some imaginary dirt road, through that sky, through the sun bleeding into the clouds. That silver lining like the edge of a blade.

Last night driving home from Jimmy's I began to wonder how we learn what 'I love you' means. Is it just trial and error?

When I was in middle school, I would hear a lot of people in my age group say that people said 'I love you' too much, it became like saying 'I have a toothache'. I never thought to myself 'when someone says that they love me, I want it to mean the world'. I never thought that, but I think that that is what being told that I am loved has come to be. What I want now is not to have to hear the words. I want language to become unnecessary, to begin to speak in a language without words, a universal language. Maybe we could create a language that is like death over and over, like death being desperately and inextricably connected to connection, to desire, like Duras' language. May be we can learn to speak in a language of the body that is not always about beauty that is sometimes about leaking fluids and mortality and just touching and being touched and simplicity, fading into backgrounds, things being lost without having to lose the things, without cut off's. Losing things on a gradual incline. An asymptote of loss.

I keep listening to 'I'm on Fire' over and over. This feels right. To me, there is a desperation beneath the skin of words, a desperation that I cannot get at. It is a desperation like the smell of tears. It is distant to me, and I will never be able speak it. Sometimes, I can hear it in a song, can sing it in singing. But it is elusive and brutal. When I touch it there is the electric relief, like that of a shock, a small lightening bolt. Like friction, the way friction will light a dark room for an instant, the eyes will go numb.
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