If you’re here it’s also a matter of time. The third or fourth thing you get told at the Base is a very simple exercise: formulate and ask yourself questions about time. What kind of time is it? How’s time? Where are you in relation to time? How much time do you have? How do you fill your time? Or is time filling itself?
I know, they seem silly questions, but trust me, it’s like a close-up on every single pore of the skin, yours or someone else’s. Like in a hole to be filled and emptied, filled and emptied.
My dear Sisifo, how’s the weather? Dark. Beautiful. Wolf. Bright. Magnetic. Normal.
What time is it? It’s your hour. The hour of those who surrender. The hour of those who, more or less pathetically, surrender to. Those who are and, sometimes, forget to be. How? With or without desire. What? How many? Why?
The desire to give everything and everyone up, whenever you want. The desire to be anything.
The desire of ‘whatever’. The desire to fuck a manhole in the daylight.
The desire of the manhole, the ball, the line, the fire, the shoe, the window.
The desire to change everything and ignore rules. Too many and often without desire.
The desire to stop everything and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!
Where were we? We were talking about the rules of others against your standards (?). The time of trees against your positions. Especially your time, that has nothing to do with timing. Employed, enlisted, justified, absent, dismissed, wasted, killer, traitor, pleasure-seeker, relaxing, wearying time and again: absent, absent, absent time.
Smile and let’s take a break.
Let’s suspend ourselves for an x lapse of time. Let’s pretend we know each other. Let’s share something extremely personal. Improper. Obscene. Visceral. I am talking precisely about that feeling, that slimy surface. Sticky, squishy, gelatinous, soggy, slippery, oily, pasty.
Hands sinking into the intestines of the goat thrown on the bare and repulsive rock, under a plumbeous and furious sky. The impetus of lightning in the dawn of times, when times were numerous. And the future could be right there, in those contortions. You know what? This is far ahead that people don’t understand it: I love it. Is it your blindness or my farsightedness? I know, it’s tough on the ears, but there’s so much heart in the head. Damnit. No one is ever ready, ever! Struggling to discover the blood ties between brain and duodenum, knew and stack, nail and sea. Why insist? How much time has passed? How much time is there left? Once you’ll think you know me, you’ll get tired of me. Staying, remaining, reanimating.
Ok, let’s have another break.
The time of a yawn. From here to there. But what happens when all the other bridges get bombed? What if you don’t manage to jump?Yes, I know that you can see the target, it’s right in front of you. But easier said than done.