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TOUSSAINT 2007
‘As soon as you give up being alone, all is lost.’ Mihail Sebastian All Souls Alone Although we’ll be all dead in the foreseeable, it’s normal to behave as though you are immortal. If I’m still here in ten years time I’ll be doing well but am I making my peace with the world? No, hell is paved with those who become sentimental at the eleventh hour. I’ll go down making trouble. 1. The more I know about man, my fellows, the less I am inclined to countenance our existence. The world began badly for what is human, and worsens with continuance. 2. Who said I’m morbid? Rot the thought, I’m not. Morgue humour I forbid myself. But to get shot of feelings I have hid all my life, I have got to say how perfid- ious life is. Begot, kidded, adulted, for what? The allot- ed pain till we’re not. 3. Come now, my sad sot. There’s joy and love to boot, and the Arts, even God. What passes for the truth feels good. Give life the nod. 4. You too can be a newt that swims when Aaron’s rod strikes the rock. You must shoot through the water till caught by some creature and cooked. Let me be a monad. I’d feel less of a fool at one with my own lot than being a molecule under the atom’s rule. 5. Sense tells you lick your own scars. Others can’t be depended on. Living with them is a farce, with a side show of cancan. I prefer solitary wars between myself and my con-. scious. Sure, I’m an also-ran, but at least I’m not the horse. I’m the jockey without one. 6. ‘Kiss my hand, not my arse’, said the saint. ‘A baisse-main is other worldly. Man does not live only on pain quotidien. Sliced pan is our manna from Mars. Our daily bread has run out and the spirit starves.’ 7. I’m at the height of my weakness. So don’t regard me as finished. I haven’t yet scraped the bottom. I’ve plunged in sentiment’s seaweed and seen strange fish kiss each other (who’s trying to eat who, I ask?). Wave me to sleep in my grotto of decline where the ocean knows no renewal now, other than recycling its waste. Nothing new in the deep anymore. Only the old growing into the fresh. 8. I see the world. It’s black and white. And all the eyes are white and blue. And all the eyes are weeping too. And all the eyes have lost their sight. The world I see that’s black and white closes its eyes, closes its eyes. Low and behold, what a surprise. Everything seems to be all right. The black and white that does not see, except the darkness in the light, is the black and white that is me. The blue is gone and it is night. 9. Maybe I should deaden the echoes of concurrent woes by moving my head around. The cliff-face is upside-down. And the sea, supported by gravity, is now the sky. What’s under me is ozone in free state, and so a stone dropped into it will be returning. I sit on a cloud, and risk a laugh that’s out loud. Its come back will dethrone me. |