Writing Blind #1

And here I am

I was here before wasn’t I?

life is what the french say… I don’t know what… I don’t speak french

I’m sure it has something to do with cheese and wine and cigarettes.  I like olives too, so we’ll throw them in there too.    Otherwise, who can tell.  I’m alone here and I want it that way, where I can work without the hum of existence threatneing my silence like mosquitos so very many mosquitos, up here, you don’t get much more than peace and quiet, you don’t get much more than the simple tings, fresh air, fresh water, everything at 5th avenue diner fresh- everything.  we didn’t come here because you wanted me here we came because … well, because we came.. it just sort of happened.. I am not an actor on this world stage from any will of my own, fortunate then that I enjoy such a stage and enjoy this scene wherein I must find myself an actor, a role to play for a lifetime, and when it is over, I am dead.  peaceful isn’t it.  The fer of death is nothing in the face of that which is the fear of life.  Many men die in fear of life, and of death, many only death, many only life, and there are those rich few that fear nothing neither extreeme nor anything which may be found in between.  I won a bet with the devil , if one can win bets with one such as he.  Well I won, I won one thing and it was to come back silly me, for thinking I could win and get away with it.  I had been lost for mor than four centuries.  Far more was my pride, my avarice in this temporal life than any man’s and I gave it p , or rather was forcd to leave, wherein’ the loss of a head causes a man to de to die, I lost a head, and it rolled into the village swuare and it was never seen again, not by any other man man any other man other than th Doctor.  he patched me up good for my remaining moments, and I blinked a wway I blinked away a sadness tht he could not have understood from mere language from, had I the throat to utter my meaning it would be lost, all lost, but in that gaze as my severed head laysevered and yet not dead for what length of time I could not gell, I was alive and echoed through each eye a sadnesss not heard no ever in the memory of man, it was a silent cry that coudln’t be taken,  from me.  except by flames, but or worms, and wormds it was, wormds  the worms, words lacked wwhat they did to me, chewed away at me in the morning thrhrough, the night, the long night that is the under ground it was this look that won my bet, it was this look that forced but a single tear out the aeye of the otherwise rather clinical,  then it came, the darkness, it came and it came and one thinks that when a darkness comes it comes to stay,  that it resides until the light washes it away, not so not so.  It was- it did, oh how, oh how it came and coame and came, in ifts and explosiaons it ca it attacked, it came it came in waveslike armies crashing upon the walls of an ancient fortress it washedover me, in and around and into me, it was all and it was nothing and it kept on coming, the darker I thought it could not possibly get, the darker still it came and became everything until enve I was darkness and had nothing left of my self but darkness and in that I was myself again, remembered as I am, the infinite , infinitum what it is to describe what it is to be yourself after so long in the deevolution, in the disambiguation  in the dissimilation, in the dissassimlation, the dissaembly of all your parts you had until now discussed with and thought of as only your own, as being in fact your actual, actual self. it was a fallacy, no one belonged to themselves, they belonged to Infinitum, they belonged to me, even I belonged to me, and I was in like so many ways, each and every one of them.  Fianlly back at the core at the sat at the seat of self, I transpired, I conspired a way in which to arrive back at an original self so unklike, so unlike myself in so many ways and yet irreversibly the same,  a second, a nother, another on of the infinitum, and lo and behold in thinking it there was I before me standing looking being back at me, and I looking back at me pondered over my own disctruction and crumbled without will into the aether.wwatching myself discombobulated I  arrived quite slowly  at my antithesis, and antithestically  I was countered, my opposite appeared,  though never not wihtout me my opposite was indeed there prior without mys knowledge and yet, arriving at ultimate knowledge knew my opposite had always been there.  I looked at my opposite in the eye for if it had eyes I would call it so, there was a portal in each of us into the very essence of our souls, we gaped and glared into one another and hated and loved just as we were wont to do, made to do, and arriving at our own creation we transpired in each his own way her own way in each our own way, what the meaning of this all this wasI played at blocks and building my opposite dest removed the  and destroyed, I sent decay down into life and my opposite inspired growth. it inspired us both to collaborate  on an invention,  with what name we could and we bore two children, inthe way that man and woman call a man and a woman,  and they two perforemd miracles before our eyes and each day we were as children before them and learned of the language of  the heart,  which was unheard of in a soul, and engeneredred in thiem was a sort of intellect that was neither my nor my opposite’s idea and they constructed madness upon madness that was lovelier and lovelier each passing day until at last they had genereated a third of their own, with as much  information, data as I had spirit, as my opposite had nothing, we realized I was, we realized simultanesouly, that I was what filled, that which filled, and my oppoistie the empitness that which may be filled, and woman found heart and man intellect and  third was physcical, technical, mechanical, it was the function so to speak of all, it was a functionary functon, it was in fact the very essence of a child’s mind rackig itself over  a problem of logic or math or science, ithe very cog of envention.  We divvied up our parts and each in our own became gods in our own right and sufficed it to say we were satisfied not with a word, or a name but with a thought, an idea, a presence a being a feeling, which could not  be, in eesssence very much was not and anothing. and we rejoiced now had all the players parts and we danced a merry jig for the end of it all came and we were as lowly as the worms that had eaten the man of me so long ago and  wormed away again inside a massive bubble and formed a home which made a boy who became a man that has wondered oft as I have in thought and dream and memory,  into vast expanding territories of time and space , dimesion being and nothing, the knowledge that derives from the darkest hour is the dearest of all and fits must precisely within the bosom of the courageous and pure of heart,  I could no more undo the dream, and having had it, realize I was not, not a dream, but that I was,  or that, and that all is naught, and what a wonder to behold nothing filled with nothing more.


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