I look into the small mirror, mouth three or four words, and then meet a particular silence. Vacuum passage. Cotton quiet. Skinless bubble. These unvoiced pairings fluff, inane, where the many nothings go - in a gap just off of crescendo’s peak. Dimensions here are explicit and absent. They contain want without action, a dry impulse to cry, eyes widened into two white flares, reflexes anticipating a jolt but met with stillness.
How did I find this place?
By intention or accident? Before or after? Am I here or curtailed, wiped away in a smudge of half thought? Who can I talk to? Why does substance less than air continues its piling on? How could I describe little more than scratches left by the cross up of these used-to-bes and wish-I-hads?
I am paused. I know not which way to turn,
September 13, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Campaign of Silence
No, I can’t prove the existence of your silent campaign. Is it passive resistance that you have chosen to promote your position? Are we fighting right now and how would I know for sure?
No, I can’t prove zero. If you do have thoughts you do not name them. You respond in empty space to my requests to know what you want, reject even the smallest offers. Polite, polite, but sustained in your semblance of non-preference.
Instead, the silence pushes it all back to me to sort out a path, to give shape to who we are and how we do. But your aims ooze anyway in all that you omit, neglect, claim to forget, delete from mention, fail to acknowledge. I infer the shape of what you seek by reckoning with the undone.
No, what I am is confounded and near defeat. Hear me that silence is cowardice. Abdication of responsibility. Deferral of the simple obligations of interdependence. So what if you compel my acquiescence to some unstated wish or set of choices you concealed. If you defeat me in this way, what will you have?
No, dear. Your semblance of invisibility, your faux-positioning of non-preference is a precious and caustic pose- a lie attaining no greater glory, no benefit, nothing. This strategy forsakes the broader field in the shitty smallness of stubborn, smiling, un-speaking spite. Then end we must from my lopsided throwing out for your non-catch. You are not even on your own side in this silent campaign.
Speak up soon please. Through my loss you have nothing to gain.
No, I can’t prove zero. If you do have thoughts you do not name them. You respond in empty space to my requests to know what you want, reject even the smallest offers. Polite, polite, but sustained in your semblance of non-preference.
Instead, the silence pushes it all back to me to sort out a path, to give shape to who we are and how we do. But your aims ooze anyway in all that you omit, neglect, claim to forget, delete from mention, fail to acknowledge. I infer the shape of what you seek by reckoning with the undone.
No, what I am is confounded and near defeat. Hear me that silence is cowardice. Abdication of responsibility. Deferral of the simple obligations of interdependence. So what if you compel my acquiescence to some unstated wish or set of choices you concealed. If you defeat me in this way, what will you have?
No, dear. Your semblance of invisibility, your faux-positioning of non-preference is a precious and caustic pose- a lie attaining no greater glory, no benefit, nothing. This strategy forsakes the broader field in the shitty smallness of stubborn, smiling, un-speaking spite. Then end we must from my lopsided throwing out for your non-catch. You are not even on your own side in this silent campaign.
Speak up soon please. Through my loss you have nothing to gain.
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