And so it went..., Filàk Dupèrre, Meursault, Ossídio Gaspar, The Judge-Penitent

Meursault starts…

Welcome to the world of screaming acrylic. Worship thy warning, love thy advertisement. Assimilate every empty referent. Herald the new gospel the Janus faced gods of late capitalism have come.

 

But don’t let this patriarchal multi-faced body ruin your day. This very day that you walk arm in arm with whilst saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and can I have a pay-rise if that’s okay, ‘sir?’ No, step off of the platform in order to re-form. But into what? You can’t even speak unknowingly, let alone freely. I’m sorry – that’s another one for you. This is a terrible introduction however, you’ve been here for years – so what’s the fucking trouble?

 

“Ah yes, a troubling dread indeed,” contemplated the narrator and looked that the alarm clock. “7:55! Fuck.” Whilst looking at himself in the bathroom he exercised saying “thank you” and please” over and over again, until the last trace of this hasty dream was wiped off alongside with the horror on his face. He quickly put on his clothes and as he was taking the last glimpse of his sentimental interior, he passed through the door and evaporated into the outside world. Today was different.

 

The progress made significantly possible from the State of being to the state of being allowed beyond a Stated form of being – somewhere between being and not-being – exaggerates the context both ways and writes the story of the possible into what the possible really is. You begin with a line about something, and suddenly you have linearity already, too. You speak about a difference and this difference being somewhere not-Stated means surely a state that states itself beyond the State, as long as you draw the difference away from a Statement of all things into the Statement of All Things beyond the State into the State it really could not be after all. Your failure may already be its failure, but your success is certainly maintainable beyond the exigencies of describing its failing states, substituting mathematically a state for a capital letter, this looking like the beginning of you state-able work.

 

I had a dream in which a plastic hard hat screamed at me. It cried; “Beware the brightly coloured signification of late modern capitalism”, but before I could heed its cry I was awoken by the comforting safety of construction. A long visibility jacket came into being and told me not to let it ruin my day, but I could not comprehend it before it passed into non-being, because “Unauthorised entry into the site of Tom’s writing is forbidden!”

 

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And so it went..., Filàk Dupèrre, Meursault, Ossídio Gaspar, The Judge-Penitent

And so it went starts…

Regarded she cares little for my life, it was interesting that she still felt it was okay to call me over while I was, firstly, stood with my friends; and secondly, while in an evidently heated discussion. For no quantity of money on this earth would I want to have walked over, but tonight wasn’t about want or desire, rather, it was about resolving conflicts. Her and I, unquestioningly, have had conflict in the past.

So, I exhaled, apologised to my friends – who, by the way, knew what was about to happen – and I walked over to her.

 

To have an intercourse is to have a diplomatic solution. The Treaty of Her Bed. All issues are aborted with contraception. Sex divides into three categories: Satisfying, unsatisfying, and sex for the purpose of never having to experience the former two ever again. The pretext is peace and all reasons have ceased. I can only walk over to her if I have some hope that I’ll never have to walk over to her ever again.

 

Who is the person we leave behind in order to speak to another? Probably someone we prefer not to be with, in the time being that would mean not speaking to her, but staying with us, as something of ourselves more desperate than chancing who we really could be instead. Why go in? Because it is already sex? Already some phantasy of accomplishment – pre-coitus being something more similar to the revival of the separation in post-coitus? But if we never go over to her, to them, to the stranger, or the strangeness of something still not that familiar, we would never know what it would be to leave ourselves behind. Perhaps then we are strangers to ourselves too, in between these feelings, and breathing would be the same as the struggle to breathe. In this case going over to her would mean to become the struggle of somehow already being. As strange as this might seem to be. Speaking to her would be familiarising oneself with the same strangeness of being who one is.

 

She called for me across conflicts and I came.

Sexual metaphors in politics keep me boundlessly entertained,

Entering my mind was someone else’s butt,

So my response to your crafts was smut,

And I think I just wrote a limerick to my shame.

 

A boundless map of possibility sadly all my mind can place is a mire of unrequited desire. A hopeless occasion for all, distinguished for you by a conversation which contained neither hello nor goodbye. What more could one expect than comments which highlight the increasing banality of sex.

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And so it went...

Soul Mate

As I sit and wait for my love to return,

I feel my heart softly burn,

And it stings a bitter sweet sorrow,

I hope for winter, but I’ll take tomorrow,

I know you’re on a wild path,

But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss your laugh,

Nor the way you smile,

When I describe our walk on the Royal Mile,

Soon is the time until we have our own,

And it will be mighty, as previous times have shown,

I know good things come to those who wait,

But it’s different when you miss your soul mate.

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And so it went...

Spontaneous prose

So I sat there, and okay I was by myself but I was enjoying myself and that’s more than what most can say when they’re not by themselves, and I realised this fact at the time too which made me enjoy myself even more.

I sat and looked out to the low roofed dark room filled with loud and energetic conversation – everyone is joined with drinks and the accompaniment of this oh so sweet band playing in the background. I think it was the band which made everything seem so much better as they were obviously the focus point of the room – meaning everyone was focusing upon them and they were the happiest guys I saw throughout that whole month. They just loved what they did with a passion which had to be infectious and if it wasn’t infectious then I want to know what they put in the water at this place; probably alcohol actually.

People were sat, standing, dancing and diving, but what was consistent among them all was that they were bouncing a little wherever they were – to the music of course – and they all were just smiling as they spoke and that’s so rare! Who genuinely feels happy in these places these days anymore? These places just don’t seem to do it, and don’t seem to work because of that, but this band did work and that’s what’s so important I think because they were able to put love into their music so as we heard it we were literally being given love straight to us. That’s probably why we loved them so much, just as much as ourselves and the people who listen to us at that time. Conversations just seemed to have a beat and they were beating away in fine harmonisation and synchronisation and man the room just had so much love and elation!

Man, I was alone but that made me so much more at ease as it left me to freely look over each and every little group chat with appreciation, because I had no one else, and appreciated the fact that they didn’t mind me being there in the background raising a glass and smiling if they looked over, and they would do likewise and we’d all nod and then carry on with our lives all the better from the human experience.

Take this guy with rough black hair; actually just so happy to sit in front of the band with a drink on the table.

I look further over and there’s this blond in a pretty dress which has hearts in uniform replication all over it and this just makes me feel as though she needs someone to replace all of those cotton stitched hearts with one real beating heart that would love her and their love would be going to the beat of their hearts and the beat of this music – idealism is wonderful. She probably has someone though, someone who’s given her all of these hearts on her dress and she probably adds them as often as they’re given – which is probably lots and hence the uniform pattern.

Or maybe I’m wrong, and what’s right is staring me straight in the face, which is that I could be that guy? Although I’ve had some drinks and I feel I could just be my own kind of guy and making myself the greatest guy on the planet at that, so I should be cautious to not annoy her in a incorrectly assumed opinion of myself.

But I go over.

“Hey,” Damn she’s prettier than I originally thought and she’s now smiling the cutest and most welcoming smile I’ve seen, which is ironic because it’s scared the hell out of me and I trip up on my words, “going, how it is?” I say, cool as ice and she has no idea I’m drunk or nervous.

But the gal plays it hard, “Good. You?” I realise I have to up my game and match her tempo, tempo! Music, and, what’s more, dancing.

“Wanna dance?” That was the moment that for the first time in my life I was able to switch on and sober up at the call of my will, look her right in the eye and with a surety I’d never felt before I was able to ask someone a question which was so well asked it may as well have been a gentle command which couldn’t be ignored or denied.

She leaned back in her chair, smiled a curiously enticing smile which I thought was her thinking over how I’d just changed into the person who was now in control of the situation she was moments ago in control of – she was stumped but impressed.

“Sure. You know how?” I like this girl.

“It kind of just happens, my dancing that is, so gotta hope it happens right.”

“Well let’s hope, but if not, I’ll look after ya. Come on.” She’s won, but I win because I did well for someone like me.

“Yes ma’am.”

She might have led me on to the dance floor, but I still got her there.

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And so it went...

When you know that the simplest description is the one you don’t think about

If only this ringing which surrounds me and cuts through the sky like lightning and pain and all things which we fear not just because of their reality, but also because of their speed, would slow and clear and know that if only they slowed, we would fear them so much less, because such things move quickly enough for us to know they are not within our control. But it cuts so deep. I tremble with tears balancing by my eyelids and quivering, as I quiver too, and place a test upon the capability of my muscles to tremble also, and I grit my teeth as I tremble with an anger which is more sad to look at than to fear – it’s not something we should fear at all, apart from the sobering fact that it could be felt in us one day.

I stop gritting my teeth though, and exhale, and look around so lost and sad and I don’t know what I see, how can I? And I cry though, still – how can we not? It’s so easy and it spins us into such a delirium and we forget about all things, even the things we were crying about in the first place.

I feel I know Pain, I see him so often now. He walks alongside me, sometimes ever so gently that I mistaken him for someone else, and at these times I let him know my thoughts. He uses this information like a poisoner seeking to know that element which would work to greatest effect, and oh what an effect he uses the things I tell him. I must be partly to blame then? Aren’t we all? But if ever I see the world and see that it beats so violently with happiness and passion and so much love, then I know that I can live an existence alongside Pain for however long Love asks me to, because it’s all a plan, really – not ever devised by us, but we’ll do, with respects to our parts played in its actualisation that is.

But those muscles which did so well in helping my erupting heart to shake my world, now seem tired with life too, and they let my world collapse on the floor alongside my poor mind which seems to be just by itself down on the concrete, among the dust and the smaller stones which get stuck in the cracks of the floor. But all of me – apart from that part which you hold – all that remains of me, I suppose it’s not much, is now so exhausted and tired and just lies there on the floor. And I feel so sad looking down over myself, that unfortunate being, who is ever so fragile and more so than one would think by just looking. Because inside that head there is a conscious mind fully aware of the tragedy which it is playing a part in. It’s okay, I wish to say, but it’s me already I am speaking to, and I look down upon myself anyway, and I know that it’s okay; but knowing a reality, and realising what it means for you, are two very different things.

Maybe with time? (Exhale)

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And so it went...

Sometimes…

“I’m sorry.” She said, with a soft and apologetic tone; almost a cry, but with less energy, I would say.

He said nothing in response, not out of a reserved anger, but because of a contemplation. He sat across from her. Leaning his weight forward, he rested his forearms upon his thighs. His fingers met in the middle and were interlocked. They were in sad wanting for a place to feel secure.

The mountains changed form, the wind blew, and the trees slowly swayed to one side, and back; he said nothing – Silence stood by, and was witness to this.

A change, slight, but still change. A thought emerged into his mind in a graceful and considered appearance, and this thought remained, reiterating its intention with a calm whisper.

He inhaled, holding the air purposefully in his chest; it was held there and recycled into something new. Once its evolution was fulfilled, he let it free; consciously, he ushered it on.

He lifted his head and looked to his surroundings, over to the corner, down to the floor, across to the window, and finally, to the central figure of his life, who stood just as those beautiful roses do; in an air of strength, but in reality, a soft figure; flowers have petals, but some also have thorns.

“I’m sorry,” she said once more, thinking he was angry. “I don’t know what I was thinking, please.”

The desperation of a genuine plea echoes externally, moving from place to place, asking for acceptance like a beggar in need of that smallest portion of food. Then the plea is received, found, and returns to the vocation of an echo, an internal and desperate echo; over and over, the Waves explain how they are being forced by the Moon to beat upon the Beaches, who stand in vulnerable and changing presence, and the Waves ask for forgiveness.

He now heard his whisper talking with her plea, and they conversed, they reasoned, and at last the plea understood. He rose. He walked towards her with smooth passion for the one whom he loved; it caused the walls and all the life around them to blur into a wave of trickling colours.

She stood. She looked at him, ignoring the uniqueness of the World, which now danced for them in apology for its imperfection.

He was close; mere inches away. Their hearts beat through their bodies, and found themselves feeding the floor with a strong sense of timing.

Looking, deeply, but with a tender sense of appreciation, he saw every part of her life.

“It’s okay.”

His voice was hard and rough as it fought to politely ask Silence to leave. Once his words touched upon her melancholy consciousness, he followed them, and as grace falls to the divine in worldly aptness, their lips met.

It wasn’t a most beautiful of moments. The world didn’t stop and their hearts beat on regularly. But it was comfortable, familiarity is comfortable.

It went on for a short while, as most comfortable things tend to do, and when they parted, Silence came to protect the moment; his whisper, however, was outside of Silences command.

“I’m sorry.” She uttered one final time.

Once a river finds a new route, does it return to its old one?

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.”

When the rains return, that dry and unused river bed can flow ferociously with life again; the river has changed though, its body is altered, and it is something else.

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And so it went...

Comfort which comes on a breeze and then goes just as quickly

But it never really felt like something I could have done anything about. It was like trying to keep butter cool by holding it in your hands; the more effort you make, the worse everything gets.

Ironically, it’s really rather bitter being your own poison, and your strength making matters all the more deadly. What do you do?

‘Shh, don’t you see? You do nothing, for there is nothing more to be done. It’s okay, you are love.’

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And so it went...

The simple things, like a smile from a tired train attendant

‘Excuse me?’

Bump.

‘Excuse me, sir? Sir, can you wake up please?’

Bump.

‘Sir? Excuse me?’

Bump. Clap. Okay I’m up.

‘Ahh hello sir, nice of you to join us. May I see your ticket please?’

‘Erm, yes, yes here it is.’

‘Thank you sir.’

‘How’s your evening been then? Waking, checking, waking, checking? That kind of thing?’

‘Somewhat like that, sir.’

Wow this has guy has a commitment to the role. All I was looking for was some neat, quick-fire conversation, a story perhaps? Nope- nada.

The buildings we pass by seem more modern now, we must be nearing the city.  There’s a bright glow up ahead of in the direction we’re going; we’re near.

‘All in order chief?’

‘Yes sir, all good. Have a nice evening.’

‘You too pal, take care of yourself.’

I like’d him, he did stay true to character as I said but he did it with a humble nature which is rare these days and I at least, even if I’m on my own with this, respect that- so I did mean it when I told him to take care you see. He carried on his route down the carriage and I see we’re not far from central so I get up and go to the opposite end of said carriage to collect my pack which I left on the luggage rack.

Out the window I see it looks kind of cloudy so I take out my nice woollen jacket with the fur hood- it’s not real fur but it definitely makes me feel as though I’m protected by the warmth of some kind of wild, ever so wild, wolf which has been hardened by all the years of keeping after itself in the bitterness of the wilderness in the arctic tundra or somewhere- or I imagine it’s the fur of some bold and almighty brown bear which wanders kingly and strong through the magnificent thick expanse of Canadian woodland. Anyway, it’s a good jacket and I’ve become rather fond of it, so I and the jacket bind and become one entity in the perceptive eyes of those whom we see and encounter and already I feel like it’s going to be a good night.

The straps on my pack look kind of worn and old as if they’ve served time in some kind of jungle of sorts, but really they’re warn because I think I’ve had this pack about twelve years now? and it hasn’t failed me yet, nor have I managed to lose it so I hold onto the thing as it’s now somewhat sentimental.

I swing it round and onto my back, slot my arms through both shoulder straps, wriggle about a tad so it sits nicely against my back, tighten the straps so they now don’t really wriggle but instead clutch onto my chest. I button up my jacket and slide open the window to the carriage door so the wind blows in and I can exhale my cigarette smoke out of it, but first I need to pull out the packet of cigarettes to really do this properly anyway, so I do, and select one arbitrarily so not to be unfair. I place that chosen one between my lips and hold it there while its brothers and sisters, still in their packet of course, are put back into my jacket pocket to be kept safe for later. I light the thing, and ultimately I’m soon breathing in smoke which is good as I have an addiction and I’d rather it be at least cigarette smoke than nothing at all anyway.

Breathe, exhale.

Ahh, the train bounces nicely along the bumps of the track, quite rhythmically now as if the guys who laid the tacks down intended the trains to ride over them in such a manner. The guy who’s employed to announce where we’re going, when we’ll get there, and if we are indeed there yet, begins announcing that we are indeed there. ‘There’ turns out to be Central, as my better instinct told me and it’s only eight forty one apparently as well which apparently is also a good thing, as we’re four minutes early, apparently.

We swing into the station, but obviously it’s a big station as it’s Central and central stations always tend to be big because they’re so central to everything, including train tracks, so they have a lot of stuff going through them. This means that although we haven’t quite stopped yet, we have begun the ‘getting really near to’ stopping process and this is indicated, as I noted, by swinging into the station- and now I can see across all of the platforms because there aren’t many trains in for some reason, which is weird because it’s Central but I suppose all of the empty platforms is still some kind of evidence that there could be lots of trains, but it’s just that we’re too early for them or something and maybe in four minutes they’ll catch up to us?

But my eyes flick across and over all of these empty platforms who have to wait for four minutes or something before their trains come in and my eye is caught really quite suddenly by one particular part of one particular platform- there’s an engineer’s office, work office, where they would go to not work but make coffee and eat biscuits, but what they did was beside the point really as I only wanted to note that there was the office there and that’s why I remember the point as it’s by that office where I bode farewell to this pretty, most beautiful, girl I’ve ever had the privilege to converse with. Although that was a while ago now and I know a couple girls who really are much prettier than her but I’d never say that in public of course because I actually still know them and that would be weird, probably. Anyway this girl was radiance with the brightest smile, it would kill me. God I loved her, and God, I’m sure she probably dug the hell outta me at one point probably, and I tell you God although I don’t know why I tell you as apparently you know everything so I’m more telling myself but I’ll tell you anyway because sometimes a girl is pretty enough to talk to you about, even if you don’t exist I suppose? But we held one another so closely so we could feel the others’ heartbeat which was really just one beat because we were in love I think and clichés like that matter don’t they? And we were so close that as we paused from those final kisses you give someone when they stand before you and you don’t know when you’ll see them again, we would simply indulge in the others’ smell, which, as we’d spent the last few days in such close contact anyway was kind of the same smell, which wasn’t a cliché but more the truth and bit odd if you think of it a bit, but we had showered so- I suppose not that odd.

We would kiss passionately, really quite passionately, to the point where the engineers would probably have coffee biscuits and a show if they were there, but they weren’t- probably out committing time to laying the rhythmically positioned tracks- thankfully, although it would have been a funny addition to the memory. But we kissed passionately like out of some movie where the guy and girl say goodbye in a train station where the trains still used steam and there’s so much more noise and it’s black and white, but sadly there was still segregation between black and white during those films so I suppose they kind of represent a bad era, probably.

She got on that train and immediately began writing me a love letter about how much she dug me and hoped to see me again soon.

Bump.

Sometimes letters get lost, and sometimes letters shouldn’t be sent at all. But she sent that one, the one she wrote on the train, and I sent one back and a couple more and so it went and then the letters stopped altogether and I don’t think they got lost as I got one I really wish I hadn’t which said I was different and everything was different and I didn’t love her anymore which is weird because my heart hurt so much with joy when I was opening that letter and then hurt so much with pain after I read it, and I think I can’t claim what love is, but I can claim that I was either close to it or at least she was able to make me think so- and that still hurts.

Bump.

But the trains stopped! We’re here, well, I’m here and she’s there and there’s a pretty little filly from this city who I love dearly and I know I love her because I haven’t ever fallen in love with her but she is amazing and by far the most beautiful person I’ve had the joy of knowing- and now there’s telephones everywhere these days so I don’t need to worry about her sending a bad letter or thinking that I’ve changed, and anyway she’s really quite pretty and I think she’s fun at least. So with that in mind I move towards the doors before they’ve even opened but keep moving and time it ever so sweetly as I’m still moving but they’ve finally begun to open and I just glide out as easy as pie, and the risk pays off as I’m currently the only person on the platform and everyone gets off and wonders how I’m so far ahead?

So there’s a nice cold breeze as I move briskly from person to person as although I was first off I wasn’t on the first carriage so people have taken a lead, but I’m in a good flow and fly past. But we all share it and make it so- the lights and energy and this is the city and it’s smoking, she’s smoking, I’m still smoking now I come to think about it, with the cigarette still actually in my mouth as I walk over the clouds with everyone here and I try not to annoy anyone by getting in their way and tripping them up, which would be an accident and quite funny but I’d still feel bad as it would cause those clouds above us which we walk in to burst and that would put us back down on the ground and put a downer on our day I think and it’s only just night so I think that would be unfair. But the guard stands at the edge of the train looking to everyone as they go by and he’ll never see them again probably so I wish him farewell and hope he does indeed take care, in case he’s forgotten, and to seal the deal I wave and nearly bump into someone who was looking around the station for someone, and as I correct my path and stumble a bit at the cost of it he smiles at me the first ever smile he’s ever given by mistake but was still happy to do so.

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And so it went...

Youthful writings no. 12321

You know that expression ‘heart in your mouth’? Or something like that. I know what it means now. Why? Because I’d allowed the feelings of my heart to travel up to my mouth.

“I love you.” Is what my uncoordinated little mind came up with for today’s topic of conversation.

Ultimately it was probably a good thing to say, as I meant it; I do love her! But, should I have said it then? Was it truly necessary too? The answers to these questions, I realised quickly, would come rather shortly.

The statement had clearly shocked her. As in, she looked shocked. Perhaps it was a reaction or something. To scare me? Test me? Make me figure if it’s real or not? I don’t know.

How long have I been thinking now? How long has she not said anything for!? Oh God! Please say something! Anything! What does this mean!?

At least no response means I haven’t failed, officially, yet. Perhaps no response is best then? I think it is. At least I haven’t failed.

This is good. Silence is good.

I do wish she would say something though!

You know who doesn’t reply to things in good time? Daniel. For the love of humanity he needs to get better at responding to people. I think I’ll tell him that when I finally get round to replying to his last message. Poor guy has just had his second child! I’m still writing cheap stories for basic entertainment, and he has created a second human!

I feel fairly insignificant just now.

I should really get my life on track…..

Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we start running! That’s it! We’ll be a runner! They seem to have it figured, those runners.

I hear salads are good too. I’ll make a nice little Caesar salad- I hear they’re quite the rave- and eat it while I’m planning on what running shoes to buy.

“I love you too.”

Oh wow. I don’t think I’m ready for two kids, the life of a runner and having to make my own salads. Let alone love!

“I want you to move in with me.”

That should scare her off a bit.

“I think you’re right! I’ve been meaning to find a new place; this allows us to do it together!”

Ahh, I didn’t really think this one through.

“Yeah!? I can’t wait.”

I’m going to put that runner salad stuff on hold now I think about it.

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And so it went...

There’s a plant

So

So what?

Soooo

Yes?

You were saying…

Saying what?

You tell me.

I’m not sure where you’re going with this.

I haven’t begun, so I can’t be going anywhere with it. I’m simply waiting for you to continue and then we shall finally arrive at the destination of this conversation which you so joyfully began moments ago but now appear to have lost all recollection of beginning in the first place. So once more my friend, I implore you, please do continue..

I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about my good man! We’ve been sat here in quiet apathy to one another for the past ten minutes. This constructed, illusive, conversation which I was apparently so keenly driving appears to have driven out of reality all together. Are you sure you’re okay?

You are good my man, but not that good. You sought to side step the continuation of this wonderously captivating conversation you were presenting, by not just simply asking if I was okay, but asking it in such a manner that would lead me to believe that you have already asked me moments before. Were you hoping I’d be captivated by your side alley conversation and wander down there instead of taking a stroll down the main street? No no, I am fine, but I shall be quite comfortably content once you do carry on with the matter at hand.

Dave mate, who the hell are you talking to and why are you addressing them in such a formal tone?

Jim mate, I think I need another pint.

Sounds good. Where’d you get the plant from?

What plant?

Barkeep, two pints please.

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