A deep breath at the place in the cafe where she can't see him. They were sitting in the same booth and talking and while they were talking they were moving closer, first he comes around to sit on her side of the booth, because she wanted him to see something on her phone, and it was the perfect way to get to the side where she was, and the very good thing about it is that when he moved to her side she didn't move to his side, not away from him, and they were on the same side and she wasn't running and neither was he. Next was that moment when she was asking him to see the picture on his phone, and it was maybe a dog, or maybe a baby, something very cute for sure, something terribly cute like a dog or a baby, and she moved a little and he moved a little and the tops of their legs were touching and it was interesting, because there was a point when he was trying to hold his leg still and that was a mistake because of a certain nervous condition that made his leg shake whenever he tried to hold it still, and that was sort of bad, except it moved further on, the way of all flesh pulled by gravity, and that was inward here, where she was on his lap and he was wrapping himself around her by the legs and nothing was shaking but everything was moving back and forth, just like that, and it was that very certain point where the flesh starts to hum and so were they, humming in the cafe of the world before god and everybody.
It was a little too much for him so he said, "Excuse me (and note to self note to editor, first thing we will need to do is look at past and present and future tense and first second third person oh this is terribly inconsistent but it's always what you think it's about so it might be ok, no we need to fix this I will get my people on it)." And he went to the place where she was not, and that place was on the rooftop, where she couldn't get to, because he was a little taller than her. And even though he was much older than her he was also much more limber and he could jump, hahaha, now let's see who's really old, eh eh eh????!!!
I worry just a little bit that I am getting older and weirder, and it's going to be going like that for a very long time.
So he was on the roof and she was inside, or maybe she was gone, he did not know because he could not see her, because he cannot see through walls, what does he look like some kind of a wizard? And he was smoking even though it bothered her because it made her feel like he was doing it because he was frustrated with her and that meant that she was accidentally slowly killing him even though that was her wish every now and then (we're all human, and we need a break from things that don't stop moving). But he was not smoking because it bothered her, but because it was so very cinematic, and he felt that it would be terribly ironic to be doing something cinematic in a novel, and yes, goddammit he was there on the roof smoking at the sky, and he made his confession>
"OK, so this is all I can say, it's all I can say, 'I love you, but it's not you, it's me.' The way you sit in my memory, I want to carry it like a child in my arms, everywhere I go, and everywhere I go people will see the weight that I carry, just so I can tell them, 'It's not that heavy, it's really not that heavy.' Because we all carry our lovers in our arms and on our backs like a coat, like a perfect coat that doesn't fit anyone else but us, and at the end of the day, we're all in this together, we all wear the same coats, and they all have their own peculiar themes and variations, and maybe, just maybe, just maybe, there's a saturation point where the number of lovers ceases to matter, more numbers won't keep us warm, but like the elders seem to understand, it's the quality of love that makes us perfect and light and hungry for the things that wake us up.' And if I can say that just once but say it right, then I won't have to keep saying that, and suddenly I am light I am light I am light."
And that was that. And the world got very bright and grey all at the same time. And no moon revealed itself, and no shooting stars fell from the morning sky. And when he went back down, he fell on the way, and he fell on his coat of lovers, and they all began to complain that he was incredibly clumsy and needed to focus, they all told him he needed to focus, and it was a complaint that was so powerful and so echo-ey that it felt just like being married.
At the same time, on the other hand, on the brighter side. He didn't realize that this was an act of surrender and it was a marriage, but marrying a destiny of a sort, one where coats and permutations and subtle and radical changes in the design and the method of weaving the cloth became something like a process, like giving in to a process over which he had no control, and you would think that would unlock things and make things perfect and right.
She was still sitting in the booth, still a little bothered from what they were doing before he left, and a little flustered by the smell of the smoke on his clothes, and a little upset that he was still carrying an effigy of her in his arms, because that meant to her that she was sort of dead to him, or at least, what he carried that was her to him was not really her at all but something else, and it looked like her and it talked like her and it wanted the same things she wanted, and he loved her double more than he loved her, because it was something he could carry and she understood that she was not that at all. And she wanted to be carried, for a little while, she wanted that very much. We like to be carried, and no one is worse off by being remembered, because being remembered is like reproducing without having to take all that time and energy to sleep with people.
He felt a little bit odd to be talking to her there on the other side and holding her there in his arms all at the same time, and it didn't take long before he understood that she would not be able to sit on his lap even if they both wanted it badly because her double was already there, and he was wondering if this living in metaphors might not be all it's cracked up to be. Her metaphor was feeling heavy in his arms, but it also protected him from all kinds of unwanted solicitations. Her metaphor was feeling as unbearably light as anything he could exhale, and he wanted to exhale more wishes. Her metaphor was becoming very much like that hungry shaking bird that already lived in his stomach, the one that stammers and shudders and bleeds because love is impossible and necessary all at the same moment. Her metaphor would grow, until it could wrap herself around him, and hold him still and silent for three days, or months, or years, and when she unwrapped him, he knew he would be born into something else, and he would be like a small bird that would eventually learn to move freely in the world, like a wizard, like a sorcerer, like any bird worth its weight in salt. Her metaphor would tear him open again and again, and when he was open and bleeding he would find his way to the rooftops and register all his complaints and confessions and wishes, and he would be almost completely unaware that he was being put back together as something he never suspected, and it would be longer than a lifetime to decode those taps on the back of his neck. Her metaphor would turn him terribly terribly bright, filling every room with wishes as elusive as any shooting star, born with one foot in the middle of a grave and one foot in the middle of another transatlantic flight. Her metaphor would be like a hungry child in his arms, and he would learn to love her like a hungry child, even when she was asleep, and even when she couldn't hear anything else but the sound of the ocean in her ears, her head a seashell, her body a cave for the waves to come and go.
And she felt herself becoming heavy with salt, and he felt himself being torn apart from the inside, and everyone in the cafe became exhausted from trying to turn back to flesh from stone.
"This is why lovers can't be friends," he said, even though he knew it wasn't true.
She, meanwhile, became too dry for this part of the world, and felt herself rescinding herself back to the sea. He was whispering her name, and it was no longer so sweet, but a little spooky. And she, meanwhile, turned herself into a particular kind of sea monster with a particular kind of tail, and she began to make her way to the sea, and when she got to the foot of the mountain that separated the desert from the ocean, like the desert were him, and the ocean were her, and they could fall in love again if that mountain moved out of the way, she felt the winds whipping her in all directions and she thought, "I didn't know it was like this, every time, to see me it is like this every time," and while she was being blown in all directions, she started to blow in all directions, and she became wind, and he became mountain, carrying versions of things in his arms, and those things turned to shapes and formations that every other lover would see when they were on their way, desert lovers on their way to be with the ocean, like two pieces of cloth that can't ever clasp, like two pieces of cloth forever trying to clasp.
It was a little too much for him so he said, "Excuse me (and note to self note to editor, first thing we will need to do is look at past and present and future tense and first second third person oh this is terribly inconsistent but it's always what you think it's about so it might be ok, no we need to fix this I will get my people on it)." And he went to the place where she was not, and that place was on the rooftop, where she couldn't get to, because he was a little taller than her. And even though he was much older than her he was also much more limber and he could jump, hahaha, now let's see who's really old, eh eh eh????!!!
I worry just a little bit that I am getting older and weirder, and it's going to be going like that for a very long time.
So he was on the roof and she was inside, or maybe she was gone, he did not know because he could not see her, because he cannot see through walls, what does he look like some kind of a wizard? And he was smoking even though it bothered her because it made her feel like he was doing it because he was frustrated with her and that meant that she was accidentally slowly killing him even though that was her wish every now and then (we're all human, and we need a break from things that don't stop moving). But he was not smoking because it bothered her, but because it was so very cinematic, and he felt that it would be terribly ironic to be doing something cinematic in a novel, and yes, goddammit he was there on the roof smoking at the sky, and he made his confession>
"OK, so this is all I can say, it's all I can say, 'I love you, but it's not you, it's me.' The way you sit in my memory, I want to carry it like a child in my arms, everywhere I go, and everywhere I go people will see the weight that I carry, just so I can tell them, 'It's not that heavy, it's really not that heavy.' Because we all carry our lovers in our arms and on our backs like a coat, like a perfect coat that doesn't fit anyone else but us, and at the end of the day, we're all in this together, we all wear the same coats, and they all have their own peculiar themes and variations, and maybe, just maybe, just maybe, there's a saturation point where the number of lovers ceases to matter, more numbers won't keep us warm, but like the elders seem to understand, it's the quality of love that makes us perfect and light and hungry for the things that wake us up.' And if I can say that just once but say it right, then I won't have to keep saying that, and suddenly I am light I am light I am light."
And that was that. And the world got very bright and grey all at the same time. And no moon revealed itself, and no shooting stars fell from the morning sky. And when he went back down, he fell on the way, and he fell on his coat of lovers, and they all began to complain that he was incredibly clumsy and needed to focus, they all told him he needed to focus, and it was a complaint that was so powerful and so echo-ey that it felt just like being married.
At the same time, on the other hand, on the brighter side. He didn't realize that this was an act of surrender and it was a marriage, but marrying a destiny of a sort, one where coats and permutations and subtle and radical changes in the design and the method of weaving the cloth became something like a process, like giving in to a process over which he had no control, and you would think that would unlock things and make things perfect and right.
She was still sitting in the booth, still a little bothered from what they were doing before he left, and a little flustered by the smell of the smoke on his clothes, and a little upset that he was still carrying an effigy of her in his arms, because that meant to her that she was sort of dead to him, or at least, what he carried that was her to him was not really her at all but something else, and it looked like her and it talked like her and it wanted the same things she wanted, and he loved her double more than he loved her, because it was something he could carry and she understood that she was not that at all. And she wanted to be carried, for a little while, she wanted that very much. We like to be carried, and no one is worse off by being remembered, because being remembered is like reproducing without having to take all that time and energy to sleep with people.
He felt a little bit odd to be talking to her there on the other side and holding her there in his arms all at the same time, and it didn't take long before he understood that she would not be able to sit on his lap even if they both wanted it badly because her double was already there, and he was wondering if this living in metaphors might not be all it's cracked up to be. Her metaphor was feeling heavy in his arms, but it also protected him from all kinds of unwanted solicitations. Her metaphor was feeling as unbearably light as anything he could exhale, and he wanted to exhale more wishes. Her metaphor was becoming very much like that hungry shaking bird that already lived in his stomach, the one that stammers and shudders and bleeds because love is impossible and necessary all at the same moment. Her metaphor would grow, until it could wrap herself around him, and hold him still and silent for three days, or months, or years, and when she unwrapped him, he knew he would be born into something else, and he would be like a small bird that would eventually learn to move freely in the world, like a wizard, like a sorcerer, like any bird worth its weight in salt. Her metaphor would tear him open again and again, and when he was open and bleeding he would find his way to the rooftops and register all his complaints and confessions and wishes, and he would be almost completely unaware that he was being put back together as something he never suspected, and it would be longer than a lifetime to decode those taps on the back of his neck. Her metaphor would turn him terribly terribly bright, filling every room with wishes as elusive as any shooting star, born with one foot in the middle of a grave and one foot in the middle of another transatlantic flight. Her metaphor would be like a hungry child in his arms, and he would learn to love her like a hungry child, even when she was asleep, and even when she couldn't hear anything else but the sound of the ocean in her ears, her head a seashell, her body a cave for the waves to come and go.
And she felt herself becoming heavy with salt, and he felt himself being torn apart from the inside, and everyone in the cafe became exhausted from trying to turn back to flesh from stone.
"This is why lovers can't be friends," he said, even though he knew it wasn't true.
She, meanwhile, became too dry for this part of the world, and felt herself rescinding herself back to the sea. He was whispering her name, and it was no longer so sweet, but a little spooky. And she, meanwhile, turned herself into a particular kind of sea monster with a particular kind of tail, and she began to make her way to the sea, and when she got to the foot of the mountain that separated the desert from the ocean, like the desert were him, and the ocean were her, and they could fall in love again if that mountain moved out of the way, she felt the winds whipping her in all directions and she thought, "I didn't know it was like this, every time, to see me it is like this every time," and while she was being blown in all directions, she started to blow in all directions, and she became wind, and he became mountain, carrying versions of things in his arms, and those things turned to shapes and formations that every other lover would see when they were on their way, desert lovers on their way to be with the ocean, like two pieces of cloth that can't ever clasp, like two pieces of cloth forever trying to clasp.
No comments:
Post a Comment