part two of a rambling….
– 2 –
Suffice it to say, I’m not much into “proofs” – in language or tone. Suspect I can’t believe them.
I won’t be able to prove there’s an interstice – I know that. Won’t even attempt “within reason.” Suggest.
There’s no “let me explain” to this.
– “Explain what?” she inquires, “exactly?”
The point, I would say, exactly, or nearly precise – that there isn’t. I don’t know. But it seems we converge – in some tiny remarkable space within time (or vice-versa) – we’re dis-missed. Or not missed – how to say it? There’s a meeting. It seems. In a margin, or more.
Our hallways (think architecture?) overlap? I don’t know. I’m just saying, in hopes to be, to look at you longer. Longer. It’s a fight against death, that small word. Simply, longer. With you.
Am I clear? Making sense? I don’t know.
– “Clear as mud, what you’re saying” she says, “near ‘exactly’.”
I don’t know. It’s unwise.
And I hum when the words sound just so.
– “Just so, how, exactly?” she asks.
Interaction. Locution. Between. (I am thinking).
“Interstitial,” I say. Interstitially? I wonder. How could I know. It’s all susceptible to the mark. The mark of the question. I think about changing my name. Did before. I like titles. It was “Mark” for the question, the sign, and its music. I would be Mark, Remarking. The one with the curlicue brand, like the Zorro but curved to a point, on everything : ? “My point, exactly,” I tell her (she stays) – leaving my mark. (If she’ll stay, I’ll rescind…anything).
It’s okay. I’m familiar. Not that you’re worried. There’s no worries, it’s all temporarily temporary – both state and enaction. It’s just so (so it seems). “Just-So Stories,” he wrote, long ago, relatively – they’re alike and akin, episodic. We describe.
Neither here and/nor there. Interstitial. In-between. What I wanted to tell her, to say. And I would have, had I known.
– “Known what, exactly?” she’d once said, and I’d stopped, for the meanings were lost, non-existent. Just so.
“That’s just how it is” I had said. And don’t know, was surmising. The world hypothetical and inspired (I’d thought, at the time) – simply possible. I was wrong (perhaps). But she stayed (temporarily). The words lose their meanings.
I hum. To myself.
I write: “This is what I wanted to do.”
All that’s required is a ‘trigger’…a rule.