“it was neither the cradle nor the grave of anything whatever. Or rather it resembled so many other cradles, so many other graves, that I’m lost.”
The silence. The separation. The solitude. This is not novel, not uncanny, not even irregular or unexpected.
Betwixt Alias & Laramie, in fact, it would not be unusual for 1-3 years to pass without interpersonal communication.
The interruption, irregularity, or stretching intermittence of intimate interaction (current parlance “intensive interaction” – what they’re calling genuine conversation these days – a sort of treatment or therapeutic method for the autistic or ‘disabled,’ – akin to the ‘Talking Cure’ of psychoanalytics past) wasn’t really odd or unexpected or otherwise for Alias…merely unfortunate…he accustomed to his cycles and wishes, routines and desires – never mated very well with the world-at-large…his surround.
Still somehow Laramie’s “off” was different.
Alias driven back to Kafka, Beckett, Jabes, and other authors of silences whom he’s long aspired to – wishing (not so secretly) that he might require only some genuine solipsism or solitude, a kind of retreat or reversal from the cultural logorrhea (social media posts, artist’s talks, professional blogs and listservs, tweets/tumbs/grams & feeds) –
incessant reports on one’s self
– disgusting yet enticing,
If other humans ever happened to ‘like’ or ‘follow,’ ‘share’ or ‘pin-it’ or – could it be – actually care?
Alias entering thickets alone. Laramie “off” (in every way his ‘right’). No human (living, warm, alive, and responsive). Alias turns to the ‘mind’ (texts, images, memories, dreams, literature, language, art, thoughts) – in any case or scenario – some abstracted cerebral, cognitive-capacity, the Human Imaginary. The Pretend.
Meaning. God. Religion. Truth. Santa. Satan. Logic. Math.
His pet feline “Luna(tic)” and fractured Chihuahua “Gizmo” as company. And printed literature. Recorded music. Playback audio-visual-cinematography. Machinic animations. Pornography. Movie. Television. Photographs. WHATEVER. Virtual Realities in the place of persons.
Attempts to stay alive, carry on, delude oneself that meaning and reason and experience and expression had validity and representation, communication and comprehension, and so forth.
To “keep calm…& carry on.”
never the twain shall meet?
(he says, he thinks, he imagines, she says, someone hopes)
The HUMAN (Alias surmises) – ‘an interminable thinking-speech,’ Alias think-speeches, “surely I read/heard/saw/overheard that somewhere.”
It’s Alias alone…free(?), unfettered, allowed, supposedly “ON”
Laramie – “OFF,” Alias sighs.
(and therefore no way to ‘think through’)…
Point is, Alias thinks as he murmurs and walks along, there is no meaning, purpose, or point to it all. “Think-writing” Laramie once called it (re: Alias’ poetry) – “simply inscriptions of progress, er, process…languaging what happens in your miniscule portion of the world (as you know it).”
Think-writing, write thinking, “fuck you!” Alias thinks (writes). “How can one think without someone or something to think ‘off’ of or ‘with’ or ‘in relation to’?” Alias grumbles – “yet you’re ‘OFF,’ gone, along, beyond, and so remains me, it, this ‘against,’ ‘in relation to,’ this withless ‘with’ (all versions of the same) ANYthing, EVERYthing, NOThing.”
“OFF” said Laramie, he
said to Alias, “simply ‘OFF’” like a switch, a light, a life, a dream, a thought, an inception of memory, an hope, ON/OFF, ON/OFF, there/gone, here/gone, you/I, yes/no,…’OFF’ said Laramie, he said to Alias that day, that last day, that latest traversal, that…
imagining, encounter, hope, wish, Alias imaginary…
…because no one cares, and there is surely no reason to (Alias ruminates).
Having always wanted, desired, craved (it might even be said) to be some strange, unrepeatable and unique (or recognizable) combination of human/person/lover/writer/philosopher/musician/writer/virile male and sensitive, omniscient (no, not ‘omniscient,’ not ‘all-knowing’ but ‘all-considering,’ ‘all-comprehending’ and ‘-allowing,’ ‘understanding’) homo sapien.
There is never any reason (Alias considers) that he should (in any way) be special, “special,” and yet, and yet…
There’s no smidgen of doubt (Alias i. e. Harlequin, piecemeal patchwork of human male – a man, a father, son, parent, professor, laborer, home-owner, some-time partner, friend, teammate, band member, student, child-like adult, mature-seeming child, and so forth…animal, patron, caretaker & guardian, public, customer, businessman, blah, blah, blah, descriptor, descriptor, word, word, term…) that Alias i.e. Harlequin, in relation to Laramie James Backstagger, in relation to J, J, K, T, A, H, O, I, Sam, Franz, Helene, Clarice, mom, sister, dad, daughter, cat, dog, cow, instructor, stranger, landscape, realm, city, genre, language, world…
wanted, even craved (it might be said)
A thousand shades from cynical to fine…
…medium nor method, mechanism nor machine matters…
…it’s simply the persons involved…
…the choices they make…
….ways they behave…
…what is made of it…
….making and interpreting…
…given the day, the moment, the situation…
…without matter or evidence or reason.
The world happens.
And then we die.
And then world continues.
Happens (for us) (me) (Alias) (Laramie) (you)
The equations very, VERY simple.
Here & Gone
Heaps of trouble in between