cgs/y why i am not a cartesian apologist

(oh but unfortunately, as much as i hate to admit it, i do know that is)...
this is getting ridiculous, this thread that keeps showing up everywhere...the black one that looked like your hair, and i remember eating it, and then two years later i ate it again, and in all that time, in between those times, you turned into so many people, so many different people, and none of them reminded me of you after a month or two, enough so that i don't know what they did to you, and i don't really understand what happened to them, either.

something on the way to becoming something that i already was or they already were, something on the way between here and there, and when i recognized that they were no longer you, it was like something coming true, like they were coming true...she was like a wish that came true.

so i swallow my breath in tunnels, and hair flies into my mouth because it sometimes doesn't matter what things are shut or locked tightly, persistence is rewarded by nature, and bravery is so very rare these days that no one can remember if nature rewards it or not.  there is a woman in berlin who told me that it is, and i would believe her if i can find her.

look.  i'm not talking about the versions of you that i can find here, the versions through which you like to paint your own representations, this is more like plato's cave than the waking world, even, and that's already a cave.  this is a cave within a cave, once removed, and dressed up to look like it isn't a cousin.  we're all going to dress up and pretend that we are not related, but you might recognize me by my tattoos when the clothes start to come off.  they never do come off all the way.  i'm not talking about you like that and i'm not looking at you talking about me like that.  there were real people once, i remember, on a porch or in a bed or under a borrowed blanket or finding the skin of priests in graveyards, there were real people once, and i am trying to find my way back to them.

but there is more thread and more hair, and whenever i think i've eaten the right strand, the one that has your taste and smell, you go away and become someone else, and i don't know what i'm eating any more.  i am the cow by the side of the road, remembering the time when it was once sacred.  this is the wrong time and the wrong place for any of these things, but the pieces are all in view, they just haven't found their way to the table yet, because we lost track of the table.  


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